Visible Piety
I really hate making a big deal out of my veganism. I would rather just quietly nibble on a side salad with Italian dressing or a plain baked potato than to request something special when I’m out with friends. I try to avoid steering people to vegan-friendly places when they’re clearly more interested in eating somewhere with nary a vegan option on the menu. When people eat meat in front of me—even chicken wings, which in honesty make my stomach a little queasy now—I don’t begrudge them for their dietary choices. I never lecture anyone on veganism, and I try to avoid even answering their direct questions about what exactly is wrong with their meat while they’re eating. I’m a vegan for reasons of ethics and faith, and the intense love and concern for other beings extends equally to those around me. I don’t seek to overtly covert people. I am not an evangelical vegan.
I don’t like conflict, and I will go out of my way to avoid it. My default response to direct confrontation and antagonism is to attempt to diffuse the situation. When someone makes a disparaging remark about vegans, I’ll usually turn the whole situation into a joke to rob it of any destructive power. Truth be told, you have be a real asshole to throw that indignant punk-rock straight-edge switch from my youth and cause me to come out verbally swinging.
Even more than that antipathy toward conflict however, my quiet non-violent veganism is part of a conviction that my veganism shouldn’t be a form of visible piety. I grew up attending small Southern Baptist churches, and I become familiar with the archetypal church member who only did good deed in order to be noticed. I internalized Jesus’ statement that the right hand shouldn’t know what the left is doing. My good works should be born out of an expression of my true internal nature and not an attempt to be noticed.
Don’t make the mistake of assuming that the quiet practice of my beliefs in any way indicates that a weakness of conviction. I have no temptation to eat the meat, cheese, or honey on your plate. I feel keenly the sacrifice involved to bring your meal to your plate, and I honestly don’t want to be a party to it. The longer I eat a vegan diet, the stronger and more insistent that connection becomes. There are strong currents below the calm lake, so please don’t offer your food to me and please refrain from your teasing comments about the taste of your ribs that I’m “missing out” on. The end is so inextricably tied in with the means that the very idea is personally repugnant. My boundaries are not yours, and they are not negotiable.
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