by: Megan Grigorian
I started my career working in the US animal movement space two days after my college graduation in 2008. I was a twenty-one year old able-bodied, white, cis-gender woman with an English degree, a new-found passion for veganism, and a job writing copy for an animal rights organization. I learned about all the awful ways that animals suffer on industrial farms for food, and I was excited to do work that I thought made the world a little better for them. The concept of my privilege in this space did not occur to me until years later, nor did the knowledge gaps in my advocacy that made an inclusive and holistic approach to work in a social justice movement difficult at best, harmful at worst. For years my approach and perspectives were shaped exclusively by white people–white peers and leaders, white representation of animal advocacy in the media, and a white, Euro-American experience with food and diet.
My ignorance to my whiteness, power, and privilege caused me to remain unaware of how the white vegan movement brings about harm. Only through a series of events and conversations over many years —along with reading, listening, reflecting, and seeking direct exposure and education to the nuances of the industrial farming industry — did my perspective begin to widen. By the time I got to CreatureKind, I was beginning to see that I cannot talk about the injustices of animals used in the farming industry without also talking about the people who suffer in the same industry. By centering whiteness and prescribing white veganism in animal advocacy, BIPOC communities that understand these issues way more than white people do are left out of the conversation. There are so many factors to ensuring that everyone on God’s earth is nourished, with access to their own land and healthy nourishing food — going vegan cannot be the only one-size fits all prescription.
Over the years, I came to realize through education that my “go vegan” approach lacked nuance and was upholding a captilastic, white supremacist food system that creates the problems I was fighting against in the first place. By looking at only how animals suffer, I was asking for change to the part of the industry that I didn’t like, while doing nothing to question the parts of the industry that harm marginalized communities the most. After more than a decade in this space, I had to reevaluate my own motivations for doing this work when I found myself, for the most part, always surrounded by white people making the decisions. Was I drawn to this movement as an invitation to be righteous on behalf of a species whose language I do not speak and who will never challenge my words, views, or actions? Why did I think I had the authority to tell people how to feed themselves and their families? As the number of vegan options in the grocery stores and restaurants around me rise, while the number of animals killed on farms increases, is the vegan movement really working? I was telling people to “go vegan” out of compassion for animals, without understanding, or frankly caring, where that vegan food would come from or who really had access to it.
The mainstream US vegan, animal rights, and welfare spaces from the top have largely been occupied by white people, with many orgs, until recently, being run by cis-gender white men. Similarly, 95% of the nation’s farmers are white. Yet, many farm, field, and slaughterhouse workers are BIPOC — without legal protection, livable wages, or safe working conditions. The farmers in the US who are Black — many who focus on growing vegetables — have to fight for funding that is being blocked by white farmers. Food insecurity across the country, as well as access to fresh, nutritious and affordable food, impacts BIPOC communities the most.
The issues that affect the people who are harvesting our food cannot be ignored by those who talk about farmed animal welfare. They are injustices that exist because our food system centers white people with easy access to current capitalist structures. The work we do to dismantle that system cannot do the same thing if we want to work towards an equitable, safe, loving world that protects all of God’s creation and ensures their flourishing upon the earth.
A little ways into my first year of animal advocacy, I had a meaningful conversation with my dad. He wasn’t particularly religious then, and he was a pretty enthusiastic meat-eater at the time, so what he said surprised me. He said I was doing “God’s work.” I never really understood what he meant, and only in the last few years, working with CreatureKind and getting to learn from the perspectives of our leaders, fellows, and contributors, have I begun to understand how valuing the life of all God’s creation, not excluding the earth, human beings, ourselves, and animals, is inherently a spiritual principle. It’s what Jesus preached. It’s what we are called as Christians to do. All of God’s creatures deserve liberation. The work of CreatureKind’s food policy campaigns is committed to pursuing liberation for all, including those with the least power in the current hierarchies.
I have been a plant-based eater for sixteen years, and I feel that it sits right with my own spiritual practice. I do not practice a plant-based diet perfectly, and I still have a ways to go toward decolonizing my plate. At CreatureKind, we want to work in solidarity with small-scale, ethical farms and communities toward food sovereignty, so everyone can have access to safe, nourishing, culturally-significant foods that feed their bodies and their souls, while protecting the whole of God’s creation.
CreatureKind’s DefaultVeg program is an entry point for all communities to start thinking about the food we eat when we gather in ritual or celebration. What food brings us joy? Where does it come from? How was it grown and prepared? Who are we supporting (and not supporting) with the food we consume? Does our communion/community table center liberation of all beings impacted by factory farming? These answers will not be the same for everyone.The program can and should take into consideration accessibility and be tailored to the community's needs. Such attention takes time, effort, and intentionality, but at CreatureKind, we believe liberative, equitable eating is worth it. We’re here to support your efforts and offer guidance as you consider what DefaultVeg should look like in your community, too.
We are looking forward this year to celebrating multicultural foods and traditions that center BIPOC communities, while focusing on strategies that pursue decolonization. We warmly invite you in on this journey with us, as we keep learning together.
To start a DefaultVeg program in your church, organization, class, community, or small group please reach out, and let's begin the conversation.