Embracing Your Identity, Building Community, and Feeling a Sense of Belonging
No man is an island, entire of itself. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
—John Donne
Social creatures through and through, humans yearn to be part of a community of like-minded people who share similar goals, interests, and values. Psychologist Abraham Maslow placed social belonging just after basic physiological and safety needs in his hierarchy of needs, first posited in 1943. According to Maslow, meeting basic needs such as hunger, thirst, safety, and security comes first, but belongingness immediately follows, taking precedence over self-esteem, self-actualization, and self-transcendence. Researchers who both preceded and followed Maslow asserted similar need-to-belong theories but with more of an emphasis on sexual drives and parental bonds and attachments. It wasn’t until 1995 that social psychologists Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary empirically demonstrated that humans are fundamentally driven by the need to belong to and be valued by social groups and that this need is strongly rooted in our evolutionary history. Providing survival and reproductive benefits, as well as emotional, cognitive, and physical ones, our need to belong, they argue, “can be almost as compelling a need as food.” In other words, humans have survived and thrived over these millennia because of our bonds with one another.
As social animals, we evolved in small communal groups that relied on close alliances—sharing mutual goals, working together to achieve common objectives, and protecting one another from various threats. Cooperation benefited everyone in the tribe, but it also strengthened bonds, and even enhanced feelings of self-worth and esteem. “Evidence suggests,” write Baumeister and Leary, “that being accepted, included, or welcomed leads to a variety of positive emotions (e.g., happiness, elation, contentment, and calm).” The inverse is also true: Considerable research shows that not having a sense of belonging leaves people susceptible to loneliness, social anxiety, mental distress, and clinical depression.1 A study by Naomi Eisenberger, a social psychologist and director of the Social and Affective Neuroscience Laboratory at UCLA, revealed that “the same neurochemicals that regulate physical pain also control the psychological pain of social loss.”2 When we connect with others, it stimulates the production of opioids, which makes us feel really good. On the flip side, when social connections break down and relationships disintegrate, opioids are not produced, and we feel bad. In short, lack of acceptance among social groups triggers emotional distress. Our need to belong to a community—large or small—is as great as our need for air or water; without it, we fail to thrive.
When it comes to becoming and staying vegan, this is where the rubber meets the road. According to the research, feelings of social isolation and pressure from one’s peers and family members can be the hardest part of living a vegan lifestyle. In Faunalytics’ study of lapsed vegetarians and vegans, 63 percent of former vegetarians/vegans said that they didn’t like how it made them stick out from the crowd, and almost half said they didn’t have sufficient interactions with fellow vegans or vegetarians. And 84 percent of those who reverted to eating animals reported that they were not active in vegetarian or vegan clubs or organizations.3
The need to belong is so strong that many people would rather be disconnected from their own values than be disconnected from other people.
These data suggest that the need to belong is so strong that many people would rather be disconnected from their own values than be disconnected from other people. In social science studies that examine why it’s so hard to change behavior we know is causing harm, the conclusions continually point toward the fact that “social norms constrain human behavior, as the mere thought of doing something drastically different from what others are doing, or what others appear to approve of, can lead to intense feelings of discomfort, embarrassment, or shame.”4
Here is a letter from a podcast listener named Jesse that I think represents thousands of other, unwritten letters.
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 again. Oddly enough, as passionate as I was about not contributing to animal suffering ever again, I fell off the wagon a year later and reverted to eating (and even wearing) animal products. I now realize this was largely due to having felt completely alone, isolated, and hopeless. I was the only vegan I knew at the time, and what support I had from nonvegan friends and family was superficial at best; at times I was ridiculed and criticized for eschewing animal products. I felt like I was the only one trying to do the right thing and ultimately gave up! Some months later, I thankfully got myself back on track, but I knew that I would not be able to stay vegan without some kind of support.
Jesse’s story is a testament to the fact that awareness, passion, and compassion aren’t always enough to stay vegan. Aside from the fact that she was probably deep in empathic distress (see Stage One) and clearly suffering from hopelessness and unresolved anger (see Stage Five), she was also living in a kind of no-man’s-land that so many find themselves in—feeling disconnected from nonvegan friends and family while belonging to no tribe that speaks their language. But the distress that Jesse and so many like her feel doesn’t only come from lacking like-minded people they can relate to, or from feeling detached from those they love; it also comes from the pressure to conform to the values and gastronomic habits of their friends, family, and culture—and dealing with disappointment or criticism when they don’t. This is exactly what happened to podcast listener Stacey:
I am a returning vegan. I was vegan a few years ago for approximately two years for health and weight reasons but reverted back due to lack of support from family and friends. The teasing and rudeness got worse with time, and I wasn’t educated enough to make much of an argument in defense of veganism. I switched back to meat eating for a year, but it never felt right to me. This year, I began to actually feel sick to my stomach and sick to my heart if I ate meat. I knew I was becoming more conscious of the animals I was putting in my mouth, and over time it became more about them than about me. So, I took the time and effort to start over. This time, applying your suggestions for overcoming the social challenges, I am now a compassionate, joyful vegan.
Luckily for them and the animals, both Jesse and Stacey realized they needed to boost their social support in order to stay vegan the second time around, but it goes to show that as much as we want to avoid causing harm to animals, competing motives such as the need to belong and the desire to fit in play equally strong roles in determining our behavior. The price for group membership often involves conforming to the norms of others, and when it comes to what we eat, there is perhaps no greater socially accepted norm than the consumption of animal-based meat, milk, and eggs. “Most people eat meat because most people eat meat,”5 as advocate and vegan strategist Tobias Leenaert observes. So, despite our own ethics or health concerns or whatever compels us to stop eating animal flesh and fluids, we may continue to do so for fear of being different. Or we may stop being vegan because the social pressure to eat animal products is simply too great. And the key to combating both of those is celebrating all aspects of who we are and how we identify.
EMBRACING OUR IDENTITIES
The desire to belong is both a barrier to entry for meat-eaters and a cause for recidivism among vegetarians and vegans. We often hear that individuality is valued in our culture—and of course it is—but we have enough empirical data and anecdotal evidence to conclude that we value conformity a lot more. Nonconformist is a dirty word in many people’s vocabulary, and the consequences of dissenting can be severe—namely becoming a persona non grata and being cast out from our group (and even from more than one group). It may not be a literal exile, but it can certainly feel that way, as our need to belong plays out in both subtle and direct ways. Our fear of not pleasing everyone around us can paralyze us and compel us to favor someone else’s desire for us to conform over our own desire to do what we feel is right. A recent article reviewing how humans respond to environmental crises grappled with this very dilemma: “Psychologists do not yet know why some [people] are willing or able to take a bold stand for change in the same situations that drive others to support the status quo or to simply withdraw. What they do know is that resisting the pressure to conform . . . requires nothing short of heroic effort.”6
There’s an ancient Arabic folktale about a witch who visits a kingdom one night and taints the public well with a poison that drives people mad. The next morning, all the villagers drink the water and indeed go mad. The king avoids drinking the well water and thus remains sane. Later that same day, the villagers arrive at the king’s palace and accuse him of being mad. The king realizes he has a decision to make. He could drink from the well, lose his sanity, and conform to everyone else in his kingdom, while remaining king. Or he could not drink, and remain sane, but be deposed from his throne by those who see his sanity as madness. For ordinary folk like you and me, the stakes may not be as high as those in this story, but I think they feel that way to many of us. Though we may not have a kingdom to lose, we’re often afraid of losing relationships or even just our own sense of comfort, and these things are as valuable to an ordinary citizen as a kingdom is to a king.
Because our veganism may be seen as antithetical to the other communities to which we belong, we may as a result become less liked, perceived as suspicious, or considered deviant. Similar to reactions we received when we came out vegan:
We may be accused of rejecting our cultural heritage: “This is the way our family has eaten for generations. It’s part of our culture.”
We may be accused of turning our back on our family lineage and thus insulting individual members: “How can you do this to your grandmother? It would break her heart if you didn’t eat her [fill-in-the-blank] dish on Thanksgiving.”
Our choice is taken as a personal affront: “You’ve always loved what I cook for you, and now suddenly it’s not good enough? How can you be so ungrateful?”
We’re told to fend for ourselves: “I’m not going to the fuss of making a separate meal for you. If you want to eat this way, you’re on your own.”
We’re even accused of denying our evolutionary heritage as human beings. The argument goes something like this: Since early humans ate animals, we’re justified in continuing to eat them now. And so it follows that vegans—in eschewing animal flesh and fluids—are turning their backs on their evolutionary heritage and sacrificing a part of their human identity. Surely, our identities are defined by more than our paleontological past. Besides, do we really want to use Neanderthals as the model for our ethics? Can’t we do better than that? We often say that we want to do better than we did a generation ago, two generations ago—I presume we also want to do better than we did tens or hundreds of thousands of years ago. Isn’t that the point of being human—to learn from our past and make better, more healthful, more compassionate choices once we know better and have the ability and opportunity to do so?
It’s not only our place in the group that can become questioned and even threatened when we become vegan; it’s our own individual identity. A large number of people resist labeling themselves “vegan”—even if they tick all the boxes of what “vegan” means. There are a multitude of reasons for this, and for some people, all of them apply:
They want to avoid the negative stereotypes associated with the word.
They eat only whole, raw plant foods and associate “vegan” with highly processed foods.
They don’t want their personal choices to undergo public scrutiny.
They want the flexibility to occasionally consume animal products.
They just want to eat without being interrogated.
They are afraid of “not doing it right” and therefore looking like a failure or a hypocrite.
They are afraid of being judged for being imperfect (and they associate being vegan with perfectionism).
They don’t want to be accused of being a fake or a fraud by fundamentalist vegans.
But one of the key reasons people choose not to describe themselves as vegan is that they don’t want to take on “vegan” as an identity. In fact, in Faunalytics’ study of lapsed and current vegetarians and vegans, 58 percent of former vegetarians/vegans said they never saw vegetarianism/veganism as part of their identity, which may be one explanation for their recidivism. In contrast, 89 percent of current vegetarians/vegans did see vegetarianism/veganism as part of their identity.7 This doesn’t mean that in order to stay vegan you have to call yourself “vegan,” but it may mean shifting your perception to see not eating animal products as more about who you are than just about what you do. Research shows that we tend to place more value on something that is part of our identity; it’s the difference between “I am vegan” and “I eat vegan” or between “I am plant-based” and “I eat plant-based.”
Because our identity is relative to the social groups to which we belong, when we feel isolated from these groups, it can rock us to our core, altering how we see ourselves and how we relate to others. When our existing identity, rooted in family, culture, religion, politics, and/or gender, collides with our vegan identity, we experience a great deal of conflict—both interpersonal and intrapersonal—and may feel compelled to choose one over the other. This conflict often serves as a justification for making no change at all or for returning to eating meat, dairy, or eggs: “My background is German; I could never be vegan.” “I come from Irish stock; my meat-and-potatoes family just couldn’t take it.” “My Jewish grandmother would roll over in her grave if I stopped eating chopped liver!” “I’m a Texan; BBQ is in our bones!” In other words, we often hear that being vegan is incongruent with being . . . well, name it. There isn’t one cultural group I haven’t heard cited as one whose food traditions are antithetical to veganism. Here are excerpts from a few letters I’ve received over the years regarding national identity and food traditions:
“Here in Brazil there is a really strong culture around barbecue, and it makes being vegan difficult.”
“I’m from Uruguay, and no one understands why I want options that don’t include meat, dairy, or eggs.”
“Here in Sweden, cheese, dairy, and meat are a part of everything, so just talking about the concept of ‘veganism’ has been really difficult.”
“I live in Denmark, which probably has the world’s highest intake of meat per inhabitant. Even being a vegetarian here is considered extreme.”
“Because Mongolia is a heavy meat-eating country, I’m often told that it’s not suitable for a Mongolian to abstain from meat. Everyone around me says it’s simply not the Mongolian way.”
“It’s sacrilege to be vegetarian here in Argentina.”
“New Zealand is entrenched in animal agriculture, so much so that milk and whey are in everything.”
“Being in Colombia, I find that it is not very friendly to plant-based eating. There are a lot of cultural biases toward eating meat.”
“I’m in the UK, where vegan food isn’t as readily available as it is in the US.”
Do you see what I’m getting at? Most cultures have a history of heavy meat and/or dairy consumption; there are few that don’t, particularly as they became wealthier and more industrialized. Food is indeed a significant expression of culture, and we become very attached to the foods we grew up with and the recipes that have been handed down to us, but there are questions we have to ask ourselves:
“Is my cultural heritage reason enough to not make some modifications that are in alignment with my current values?”
“Are there other ways—including through food—that I can express and preserve the traditions of my ancestors while still honoring my desire to be vegan?”
Meat, dairy, and eggs are indeed prevalent in many cuisines, but so are plant foods. With a vegan’s-eye view of the world, we can just as easily and legitimately celebrate our family history and cultural traditions through the vegetables, fruits, grains, beans, lentils, fungi, herbs, and spices that characterize the cuisine of our heritage—whatever that heritage might be. For instance, here are some examples:
Maize has provided daily sustenance to Mexicans ever since it was domesticated by the indigenous people of Mexico over ten thousand years ago. Throughout this vast region and across all socioeconomic classes, maize remains the foundation of Mexican cuisine, enjoyed in a variety of forms, from food (tortillas, tamales, tacos) to beverages (atole, champurrado, pozol). In addition to maize, beans, amaranth, and chia were the main crops of Aztec cultures and were even considered suitable as tributes to the gods. Other foods the Mesoamerican people regularly ate that the rest of the world now enjoys are tomatoes, avocados, squash, vanilla, and chocolate. That’s a lot to celebrate.
Soybeans and tea remain staples in Chinese cuisine, which greatly influenced the Japanese, who added them (in the form of miso, tofu, and shoyu) to their repertoire of seaweed, rice, noodles (udon and soba), and vegetables. Mushrooms are also prevalent in Asian cuisines.
Southern Asian dishes feature a variety of vegetables and aromatic herbs and spices, inspiring many types of curries and broths. Indeed, in many regions of India, vegetarianism is the norm.
Comprising a large variety of countries and peoples, Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cuisines boast hundreds of commonly consumed and highly regarded plant-based ingredients, including olives, olive oil, pistachios, sesame seeds, dates, figs, pomegranates, eggplants, legumes (particularly fava beans and chickpeas), lentils, and a variety of deep-flavored herbs and spices such as coriander, cinnamon, turmeric, saffron, and garlic. First cultivated in the regions of the Fertile Crescent around ten thousand years ago, wheat constitutes the foundation of many Middle Eastern dishes in the form of breads, bulgur, and couscous. Who could say you’re turning your back on your Middle Eastern roots when you center your diet on dolmas, falafel, hummus, baba ghanoush, tabbouleh—and coffee?
Instead of seeing the consumption of plant foods as a rejection of our cultural communities, we can see it as a celebration—simply shifting our emphasis away from one type of traditional food and over to another.
Instead of seeing the consumption of plant foods as a rejection of our cultural communities, we can see it as a celebration.
But no matter how much we romanticize the notion of cultural tradition, the truth is our attachment to it is not as tenacious as we make it out to be. Throughout our lives, we selectively choose which customs and traditions we want to uphold depending on how convenient, healthful, or ethical they are. We take what we want from the past to create our myths, customs, and traditions, and we leave behind what doesn’t suit us anymore. We change our ancestors’ recipes based on which ingredients are available or what our family’s taste preferences dictate. We modify our relatives’ recipes to make them healthier or hypoallergenic. (They most likely made several changes of their own before handing them down to us.) We don’t have to perfectly replicate a recipe to honor its creator; it’s not only impractical, it’s impossible. Brands disappear, vegetables and fruits are modified, tastes change, kitchen tools are improved. The idea is to celebrate the spirit of our traditions rather than create perfect reproductions of them. We turn to cultural customs and family heirlooms because they act as bridges to the past; our desire to feel connected to something older and greater than ourselves is really what we value.
The same is true regarding our religious identity:
“I’m Jewish/Christian/Muslim/Pagan; therefore, I’m compelled/expected to consume meat/dairy/eggs.”
Just as with our cultural customs, we pick and choose which aspects of religious texts and tenets we want to follow in our everyday lives to suit our modern tastes and desires. When it comes to the consumption of meat, dairy, and eggs—or abstention from them—messages have varied and rules have been relaxed again and again throughout the centuries, depending on how certain scriptures have been interpreted or translated, on what types of meat were available or affordable (and to whom), on socioeconomic factors, on cultural preferences, on climate, class, and convenience. In other words, in all world religions, we can just as easily find support for eating plant foods as we can justifications for consuming meat and other animal products. Here, too, it’s a matter of what we focus on.
Plant foods with symbolic meanings abound in many religions. And yet because the majority of the members in religious communities eat animal flesh and fluids (save for a few holidays where they’re asked to abstain for a short period of time), it’s the animal products that vegetarians and vegans don’t eat that people use as evidence that they are snubbing their religious community and upbringing, As a result, vegans can feel detached from yet another group to which they may have once felt a connection, and the pressure to conform may eventually outweigh the desire to do the right thing for themselves, the Earth, or the animals.
It doesn’t have to be that way. The foods and rituals associated with religious holidays and observances are really symbols for something much deeper, and in being attached to the form (eggs at Easter, lamb shank at Passover, for instance), we risk losing the true meaning of whatever it is we are celebrating or honoring. If we uncover the meanings of these symbols, we even find that a plant-based menu better reflects the values and significance of these holidays—renewal and rebirth at Easter, freedom and mercy at Passover—and we can celebrate with foods that are more congruent with those values—namely spring vegetables and matzoh, respectively. These plant foods are already a significant part of these holidays; there’s no reason they can’t take center stage. Just because the animal products are absent doesn’t mean the meaning behind the holiday or religious observance is.
In addition to cultural and religious identity, gender identity is another area that often collides with the vegan identity. Although we’re seeing evidence of it shifting, the cultural association between meat and masculinity is deep and persistent. According to a recent survey by the UK’s Vegan Society and Vegan Life magazine, 63 percent of respondents who identified as vegan were female, while only 37 percent were male.8 The ratio is similar in the United States. “Meat remains for many men a stable, if arbitrary, hook on which to hang their gender identity,” says sociologist Richard Twine, and that has huge implications for men’s behavioral choices as well as their standing in the larger community. A year-long research project by scientists from the University of Southampton found that the men in the study experienced “social isolation” after admitting to friends that they were reducing their consumption of meat. Their social shame was so great that—even if they didn’t like meat or were directed by their doctors to eat less of it for medical reasons—they had difficulty ordering the vegetarian or vegan option at restaurants for fear of being ridiculed.9
Results from numerous studies10 confirm the strong connection in the public’s mind between eating meat—especially muscle meat, like steak—and being masculine. Meat is considered manly; plant foods are considered effeminate. Meat connotes virility; plant foods, effeminacy. In surveys, vegetarians are considered virtuous but also less masculine—as if we can be only one or the other. The media and those in the business of selling animal flesh reinforce the tropes about masculinity and meat with tired stereotypes and offensive ads that claim that meat is manly and tofu is for wimps. Real men eat meat, so the marketing slogan goes.
At this point, I know I’m supposed to counter the image of the stereotype by pointing to all the vegan bodybuilders and endurance athletes who are beautifully demonstrating that you don’t need to eat meat and other animal products to be strong, fast, and muscular. Though that’s true, I’m reluctant to perpetuate such a narrow view of masculinity. Although I’m thrilled there are vegan men demonstrating to themselves and others that you can build muscle and win Ironman competitions fueled by plants, that’s still only one facet of masculinity. Having strength isn’t measured only by the number of pounds you can lift; it’s also about standing firm in your principles, having the courage of your convictions, and exerting control over your own behavior and destiny. Responsibility, integrity, consistency, discipline, logic, being protective, being a good provider—all of these are traditional masculine attributes to be proud of, and none of them are antithetical to being vegan, as this letter from a male podcast listener attests to:
As a heterosexual twenty-six-year-old guy I could really relate to the content in your podcast episode about how a lot of men believe that eating and cooking meat is “manly.” Unfortunately I think that this belief is keeping a lot of men from becoming vegan. I know, for myself, before I became vegan, I had some insecurity about how veganism would affect my masculinity. The only vegans I knew at the time were women and homosexual men, and with all the societal propaganda equating meat eating to masculinity, it was easy to have doubts. I’ve been vegan for eleven months now and am happy to announce that so far veganism has affected my masculinity in a very positive way. I feel physically healthier, stronger, and I have more energy. I also feel more confident in social settings because I have become comfortable doing what I think is right without the need to conform to social norms.
The association between meat and masculinity affects women as well. If meat makes the man, then the woman who feeds him vegetables is emasculating him. I’ve lost count of the number of times in the last twenty years my husband was asked if he would still be vegan if I weren’t around. The implication is that I made David vegan, that I’ve “whipped” him into giving up meat, and that he would run for the nearest steak if I weren’t looking. Of course, I am the one who inspired David to become vegan, but he read the same books I did and reached the same conclusions. I’m grateful my becoming vegan didn’t create tension in our relationship, but for many women it does, and that has a lot to do with socially assigned gender roles whereby women still tend to do the grocery shopping and cooking and feel obliged to feed their hungry man all manner of meats. Personally, I’ve heard from more vegan women whose husbands have followed them into plant-based eating than those who have not, but I’ve also heard from plenty of women for whom the tastes and preferences of their family take precedence over their own—compelling them to prepare meat for their husbands, male partners, and sons even if it disgusts them.
I certainly don’t begrudge anyone for wanting to please their loved ones or for choosing the path of least resistance. I get it. We’ve all been pressured to conform to the status quo at one time or another. It is easier to go with the flow, blend in, eat like everyone else, and look like everyone else, but the question we have to ask ourselves is At what cost? At the cost of our own values? At the cost of our own health? Those are pretty high costs, in my opinion. That’s not to say we have to rock the boat every chance we get, but what’s the point of having opinions and values if we don’t manifest them in our behavior or defend them when they’re being undermined? We all want to make a difference. We all want to leave our mark on this world, do something meaningful, live a purposeful life, provide for our loved ones, protect the things we care about, contribute something important. Everyone says they want to make a difference, but I think we forget that in order to make a difference, we may have to do something different. Only people who are willing to assert their individuality and act on their personal beliefs will actually have an impact.
One of our major tasks as we mature from adolescents to adults is to navigate the difficult waters of differentiating our personal identity and values from those we internalized from our parents and the broader dominant culture. This is what it means to grow; this is what it means to be human—negotiating the tensions that inevitably arise in our social circles when we emphasize one identity over another and reconciling all the contradictions that come with being multifaceted humans. Walt Whitman wasn’t the only one who contained multitudes. We all do. In other words, if being vegan didn’t threaten our belongingness to a particular group, something else likely would.
In order to make a difference, we may have to do something different.
Identity is never fixed; it’s variable, flexible, and reflexive, and it continues to develop throughout the course of our lives, shaped collectively by all of the groupings that give rise to who we are. We’re continually shifting the placement and priority of our many identities—as men, women, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, daughters, sons, Christians, Jews, Muslims, atheists, progressives, conservatives, Italians, Americans, Cubans, African Americans, humans—and vegans. We don’t have to exclude one for any other. We can absolutely live harmoniously within our existing communities while adhering to our many personal values and multiple identities. We can—and should—embrace being a Puerto Rican Catholic Male Vegan or a Gay Black Vegan Atheist or whatever various identities we claim. Just as we don’t have to abandon our vegan identity in favor of the others, we also don’t have to abandon our other identities in favor of being vegan. Guiding our friends and family to see that eschewing animal flesh and fluids is not antithetical to our existing group memberships, but rather part and parcel of it, will help them better understand our new behaviors and thus not see our veganism as a rejection of them.
THE DARK SIDE OF TRIBALISM
Although we may feel excluded for being vegan because it doesn’t jibe with the accepted norms of a particular group we belong to, we may want to examine where we create divisions between ourselves and those groups as well. Do we overemphasize our vegan identity to the exclusion of others? Do we respond to rejection with rejection? Do we avoid community gatherings where meat and animal products are served? Even if we do these things in the name of self-preservation, our friends, family members, or other peers may still feel judged or rejected themselves because of them. As much as we dislike when people make generalizations and assumptions about vegans, we may be unaware that we’re making generalizations and assumptions about those who aren’t. Do we talk about people in dichotomous terms—as being either vegan or not vegan, as if no other identities exist or matter? Do we foster an us-versus-them, good-versus-bad, vegan-versus-nonvegan mentality? Indeed, the identity-forming process is as much about drawing distinctions as it is about highlighting similarities, but when differences are exaggerated, it can move us further and further away from our once-beloved, once-safe communities, leading to strained relationships and severed bonds.
As we’ve seen, belonging to a group of people with common beliefs and values is a fundamental human instinct, and tribalism—having a strong feeling of identity with and loyalty to one’s group—can play out in positive ways, such as when we align with a particular sports team, religion, sorority, fraternity, country, gender, race, military branch, profession, political party, pro-or anti-movement, or any other special interest group. Tribal affiliation can provide communal strength and foster trust, cooperation, and even love. But tribalism—like all human instincts—can have a dark side. Tribalism becomes problematic when we see our group as superior to—rather than just different from—another group. Or when we dwell on what divides us from another tribe rather than on what unites us within our own. Tribalism’s negative aspects are in play when we make being vegan look like a club or a clique that’s exclusive to those who think and act exactly like we do, or when we perceive anyone who isn’t vegan as the enemy. For some “ethical vegans,” their vegan identity supplants even their human identity, such as when they denounce billions of their fellow humans by idealizing the extinction of the human race. (After all, they would say, it’s humans who are wreaking all the havoc on animals.) The ugly side of tribalism can keep potential vegans away and push existing vegans out.
Tribalism is problematic when we make being vegan look like a club or a clique that’s exclusive to those who think and act exactly like we do.
To remain a vegan, then—and a joyful vegan at that—means cultivating relationships in all of our communities: in both our smaller tribes of family and friends and in our larger tribes of culture and kind. As we discussed in Stage Three, some relationships change and some fall away, but not all do, and some that are strained can be rebuilt. I’m not suggesting we stay in relationships that are toxic, shaming, abusive, or unsatisfying, but we need to nurture our place in the other communities to which we belong. We may be vegan, but we remain coworkers, neighbors, friends, daughters, sons, uncles, aunts, parents, grandparents, siblings, and fellow humans.
FINDING YOUR LIKE-MINDED COMMUNITY
Once we’ve established what we need in order to feel confident being vegan within our existing communities, it’s natural and necessary for us to want to find, build, or join a community of people who share our vegan values. One of the reasons vegans yearn for connection and community is to find a respite from the cruelty they see all around them. Just knowing you’re not alone and that other people think and feel as you do—that there is a commonality of experience—is often enough to feel connected. Finding a like-minded community might entail simply following other vegans on social media, reading blogs, or listening to podcasts. I’ve personally heard from thousands of people over the years who told me that when they first became vegan and found my podcast, videos, and books, they considered me a friend who made them feel connected and less isolated.
“I know it’s a bit silly, since I’ve never actually met her, but I feel like Colleen is my friend. I live in an area of rural England where I’m pretty isolated in my veganism, but because of Colleen’s work and her support and wisdom, I don’t feel alone.”
“Listening to your podcast has been so helpful in keeping me from feeling like I’m lost or alone—or losing my mind!! I’d be listening and sometimes just burst into tears, shouting, ‘Yes! That’s exactly how I’m feeling!’ Your podcast makes me laugh and cry and gives me the strength, patience, and focus I need to navigate as a joyful, kind, and compassionate vegan, especially when so many around me are not!”
“Becoming vegan has been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. I feel truly liberated and truly connected with everyone around me—both human and nonhuman animals; however, the journey isn’t without its very difficult moments. In the mere six months since I became vegan, I’ve gone through many emotional ups and downs, and I’ve often felt incredibly isolated. Thankfully, I found your work to keep me connected and less alone.”
“I have yet to meet a vegan in real life, but hearing you read the love letters you’ve received from people all around the world, you showed me that I was not alone and that there was indeed hope for this world.”
While hearing your voice echoed in someone else’s and feeling that you belong to something bigger than yourself is essential, it is not necessarily enough to stay vegan—or at least to remain a joyful vegan. As grateful as I am that my work provides comfort and support to people all around the world, it’s still just a bridge; I’m no substitute for a proper community. So while I encourage you to find and follow virtual role models, I recommend also that you join online and offline forums and groups filled with real people with whom you can identity, kvetch, and problem solve. Being part of a supportive community of people who share the same joys and heartaches, victories and challenges, pleasures and concerns is critical to staying vegan. Search online for local vegetarian/vegan/animal organizations, meetups, happy hours, groups, VegFests, or potlucks. Go to Meetup.com to see if there are any near you; start one of your own if there’s not. As isolated as you feel, you may be surprised to find others in your town or county who feel exactly as you do and who are yearning to meet others like them. Many popular social media websites enable you to filter by location, so you may be able to turn some of the online relationships you’re cultivating into real-world friendships. (This can also empower you as an advocate. Evidence suggests that when individuals realize they are not alone in their beliefs about an issue that may be considered contentious in the public eye, they become more willing to speak out.)
Whatever groups you find, you may want to watch from the sidelines for a bit to gauge the tone and content before you chime in. If you join one vegan (or plant-based or animal advocacy) group and find it doesn’t match your perspective or personality, try another—or try several at once. It might take some time to find your tribe, but don’t give up. And don’t assume that just because you’ve found some that aren’t to your liking that they’re all the same. They’re not. Also don’t assume that a few cranky members are representative of the entire group. They’re probably not.
Online groups can be a great resource for making vital and intimate connections, but I very much recommend joining those that have rules of engagement that explicitly emphasize respect and civility over those that don’t. You may be relieved to find a community of vegans or animal advocates but dismayed to witness attacks, judgements, and vitriol within those communities. After all, some vegans are still stuck in the anger stage, some have turned their vegangelism into fundamentalism, and some wear their “vegan” badge as a way to signal their virtue to the rest of the world.
Being part of a supportive community of people who share the same joys and heartaches, victories and challenges, pleasures and concerns is critical to staying vegan.
We may understand why some vegans act this way (read all the previous chapters), but the effects are not innocuous. It’s a turnoff not only to potential vegans but to existing vegans as well. Perpetual bad behavior stokes divisions and could have the unintended consequences of pushing other vegans back into their meat-eating ways. I’m not saying that everyone who witnesses conflict in a vegan community returns to eating animal flesh and fluids or that recidivism is the fault of angry vegans, but if people feel less accepted by other vegans who profess to be kind and compassionate and more accepted by nonvegans who don’t judge their every move, they will naturally gravitate toward the people who make them feel good. Baumeister and Leary didn’t just find that the need to belong is fundamental to our human surviving and thriving; they found also that “satisfying the belongingness motive requires that two aspects of relationships be met: The first part is that people need to have positive and pleasant—not negative—interactions with others. The second part specifies that these interactions cannot be random but, rather, should take place as part of stable, lasting relationships in which people care about each other’s long-term health and well-being.”11
It’s not enough to be a vegan among vegans; we need to feel accepted and secure as well.
In other words, belongingness isn’t satisfied simply by virtue of affiliation; it’s satisfied when we form and maintain positive, supportive relationships. It’s not enough to be a vegan among vegans; we need to feel accepted and secure as well. This applies also to how we respond when someone announces they’re no longer vegan. In Faunalytics’ survey on recidivism, “more than a third (37 percent) of former vegetarians/vegans indicated that they’re interested in resuming a vegetarian/vegan diet. Of these individuals, more than half (59 percent) said they are likely or very likely to do so.”12 That’s a reason to be hopeful, but given vegans’ reactions to ex-vegans on social media, I’m not sure the latter will feel there is a place for them if they want to return. My hope is that by gaining insight into why some vegans become ex-vegans, we can not only avoid the traps ourselves, but also be more sympathetic and understanding to those who do lapse—and be ready to welcome them back when and if the time comes.
DISAGREEMENT MEANS DIVERSITY
That’s not to say that even in a safe environment of compassionate vegans there can’t be disagreement; of course there can—and should be—room for differences of opinion. Just because we share a common ethic of compassion and wellness doesn’t mean we have to share the same viewpoints on other matters. Being inclusive means welcoming different opinions and perspectives. Unfortunately, the binary identity divisions currently dominating politics (us/them, in-group/out-group) are all too prevalent in the vegan community as well. You’re either welfarist or abolitionist. You’re either plant-based or vegan. You’re either vegan for health or vegan for animals. If you’re vegan for health, you can’t call yourself “vegan” (according to the vegan police). If you’re vegan for animals, you’re probably a “junk food vegan” (according to whole food, plant-based eaters who avoid processed foods).
We profess diversity, but what we really seem to prize is homogeneity—particularly homogeneity of thought and ideology. There is a presumption among some vegans that if you’re vegan, you’re also liberal, socialist, atheist, feminist, intersectionalist, progressive, and leftist—and that if you’re not these things, you’re unwelcome, or at least you don’t really belong. I’ve heard from a number of vegan men and women who feel there is no place for them in the vegan community because they don’t fit into the above categories.
If believing that it’s better to eat plants rather than animals is the only thing we agree on, that’s enough. That’s a lot. That’s really what vegan means. Some vegans, however, have made it their mission to change the definition of what it means to be vegan, asserting that to be truly vegan, it’s not enough to just forswear animal flesh, fluids, and fabrics. According to them, you also have to tick these boxes:
1.Be an animal activist.
2.Identify as liberal, feminist, intersectionalist, anticapitalist, atheist/agnostic, etc.
3.Renounce foods that are not also fair trade, palm oil–free, organic, and GMO-free.
Though the intentions are good—inspiring more people to get involved to help stop violence against animals as well as creating connections between animal abuse and other social issues—the unfortunate result is a narrowing rather than a broadening of the vegan pool. As you add criteria to the definition of veganism, fewer and fewer people qualify. And by making the door through which people can walk even smaller, fewer and fewer people will cross the threshold—or even want to. The number of people who meet the basic and widely understood definition of veganism is already small enough. Do we really want to make it smaller?
Being respectful and welcoming of different political, social, or ethical views doesn’t make us hypocrites; it makes us diverse. Inviting diversity means also inviting (and accepting) diversity of ideas, perspectives, lifestyle choices, and life experiences. There are plenty of organizations, associations, and groups you can join that celebrate conformity of thought, and that’s fine; there’s a place for them online and in our real lives. But many vegans aren’t necessarily looking to be advocates or activists; they’re just looking for a community where they don’t feel like a freak for not eating meat, dairy, and eggs. That should be the only price of admission.
To those who argue that we shouldn’t welcome or accept people who—though they may not be eating animals—may be contributing to harm in other ways (wearing leather, buying personal care products that were tested on animals, going to the zoo, etc.), I say this: we’re all on a journey. The process of awakening is just that—a process. I’ve heard from thousands of people who stop eating meat, dairy, and eggs for health reasons; then, at some later point, their hearts and minds become open enough to start considering rejecting other forms of culturally accepted animal abuse (which I address more in Stage Eight—Stretching Your Comfort Zones). It may take time, but it’s their journey—not yours—and a sure-fire way to impede their progress is to call them “fake vegans” and judge them for not “getting it” more quickly.
The same applies to those in the “plant-based” community who criticize overweight vegans and excoriate anyone who eats oil, sugar, gluten, or processed foods. Not only is it unkind, it’s also not your business. Everyone’s journey is their own. You can certainly model positive eating habits and provide inspiration and information, but I encourage you to temper any desire to criticize and judge. People don’t respond positively to either, and they certainly don’t respond well to body-shaming. The bottom line is that the desire to not hurt animals and to live healthfully is universal, and those who espouse them should be embraced regardless of weight, color, creed, country, class, culture, or political affiliation.
Being welcoming of diversity means also welcoming diversity of ideas, perspectives, and life experiences.
Being—and staying—a joyful vegan means having a broad notion of what it means to be . . . any of the things we are. None of our identities—cultural, religious, gender, human, etc.—are static. Being a joyful vegan means giving ourselves permission to embrace all of our identities, even as they morph and change and expand. It means spending energy not only noting differences but also recognizing similarities and acknowledging that the individuals in our respective identity groups are complex beings, not one-dimensional stereotypes. Being a joyful vegan means being confident in our vegan identity without undermining our other identities; it means embracing a broader definition of diversity to include diversity of thought and ideology. It means fostering relationships in all of our communities and valuing all of our identities. There is no prescribed profile of what a vegan looks like, dresses like, worships like, votes like, or acts like. Or at least there shouldn’t be. We all contain multitudes.