It's been a while since I last posted.
That's because this particular post has been brewing for a while, initiated by a tearful, non-shopping trip to my local Rossman.
Just two days ago, an emotional conversation about meat, Africa and childhood with a dear friend of mine made me realise that there is much much more to veganism than I have really been letting on. My choice of food affects my life in so many more ways, than simply the decision of what to put in my shopping bag, what to order from the restaurant menu or what to feed my children. It is a statement of who I am.
Identity.
Having never been white, I am certainly not an authority on this subject, but I can well imagine that the experience of being a Black (raw) vegan is completely different to being a white one. I am, by way of example, already quite expert in the ways of negotiating exclusion. I know what discrimination looks like. I am active in personal, political and professional ways in the struggle towards more diversity, social justice and social inclusion. And to be honest - it just doesn't feel good to be on the outside looking in. Who wants that?
So, as I walked through Rossman's one afternoon, already deep in one of my "what am I doing in a country that still see's me as exotic?" depressions, the feeling that I did not belong was reinforced in an extremely painful and acute way. I could not find a snack. I wanted to walk into a shop and buy something quick to eat like normal people do. It is not going to happen if you a raw vegan. I knew that. But in that moment, it wasn't about the food or eating. I just felt alone.
That feeling made me wonder (not for the first time, but in a really clear way) - what the hell is the point of this crazy diet? Because food is supposed to satisfy a number of needs. It brings people together, it nourishes, it comforts. Why should I of all people deny myself that? Me, who wants to be part of a community, live together with others, be welcomed and be welcoming - Why create such a barrier? Surely health is not only about the physical well-being but about the psychological? The spiritual? I felt utterly lost and miserable in that moment.
The truth is: I love meat and fish. I always will. I can live without dairy products quite happily. But some grilled salmon with olive oil, black pepper, lemon and tarragon? A well-done steak? My mum's chicken and peanut butter soup? No amount of tofu or saitan is going to make up for the longing I feel when standing at a BBQ or walking past a doner kebab stall. I love meat and fish. I love the smell, the taste, the texture. I love the way meat feels in my stomach - it fills and warms me and makes me feel like I have "really" eaten. And more - I love the way meat and fish are communal meals. Sunday roasts just are not the same if the chicken is replaced by nut loaf. (Duh... hello??)
And as I realised a couple of days ago - meat is special in a symbolic way for me also. Jonathan Safran Foer describes this beautifully in "Eating Animals" but I did not link it to my own childhood. For my parents meat was the very best they could do for me. It was nutritious and expensive. They themselves almost certainly did not eat meat everyday as children. Almost certainly, whenever there was meat (usually at special occasions), the best bits were given to the most senior (male) members of the family. It must have fulfilled a dream of theirs for my parents to be able to place a meal with meat everyday on the table for their children. My mother even tried to teach me how to prepare meat - skinning chicken, descaling fish, boiling snails... I have seen it all. What must it mean to her, when I now tell her "I don't do that anymore." Does she feel that I reject her and all that she raised me to be?
I first tried vegetarianism when I turned 16. I used to joke that I made the decision to annoy my parents. There is however something in that. I was rebelling against them - I didn't want to be forced into the "good wife training programme". When I first announced that I no longer wanted to learn how to cook meat, my father remarked: "and how are you going to cook it for your husband?" (lol...) to which my response was: "he is going to have to cook it himself." My father was furious.
I am a bit too old to be rebelling against them now. I am 38. I have children of my own. But following an emotional conversation about meat with a friend of mine, I came to realise that there is something really deep about my decision to turn vegan. It touches on my childhood. I am separating myself from Ghanaian culture and cuisine and in a very obvious way denying myself easy access to Ghanaian social circles. Am I simply making something explicit, which was always implicit? That I am not "really" from Ghana? And that I am not "really" from Britain or Germany? Veganism is a great way to underline that.
Or is it possible, that I can really see my dietary choice in a cultural vacuum: that I believe in animal rights, that I do believe factory farmed animals, fish and dairy products to be immoral, that I do believe veganism is a healthier, environmentally friendlier and generally more sustainable choice? And no matter which way I turn it - how is my choice received by others?
I was hurt when I realised that some people felt I was trying to put myself on the moral high-ground. That I was "preaching" to others, and forcing them to be vegan too. This has not been my intention at all. But I believe my intention is irrelevant in terms of how my choices are interpreted. What matters is what the other person understands or feels.
Being a Black raw vegan has been an interesting experience.
Being a Black raw vegan...
...interesting.
No comments:
Post a Comment