One time, a friend of a friend I had just met said to me, “You know Hitler made all the German soldiers go vegetarian and it was the first state-promoted instance of a vegetarian diet, so you’re basically a Nazi.”
I don’t even remember how it came up that I was a vegetarian. I think I just mentioned that a place nearby had good sandwiches and he asked me what I had. Then he asked me why I got something without meat as if I had committed a crime.
I was frustrated, but I wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time I’d get this kind of reaction after revealing I didn’t eat meat.
UM…MOM
“What the fuck is wrong with you? What? So, now you’re not gonna eat my steaks? You love my steaks! They’re your favorite. They’ve always been your favorite. What are you gonna eat? Salad? Boring. You’re stupid. You look sick. Doesn’t your hair look greasy? This is insane!”
My mom said this to me one night, a few months after I went vegetarian. I don’t remember her exact words, I just remember how upset she was and how confused it made me. I remember her shooting insults at me about my hair, about how it was somehow painful for her, and how it didn’t make sense—like [share ]I was somehow violently betraying who I really was[/share].
That last part made a little bit of sense to me. If you had known me growing up, you’d have guessed I’d be the last person in the world to go vegetarian. I would have eaten steak every night if I could. I would have never eaten a single vegetable if I had my way and if I were absolutely required to, then it had to be served in a pool of ranch dressing.
WHY I BECAME A VEGATARIAN
That changed, though. Late in my time at college, I began to play around with the idea of cutting meat out of my diet. I had classes that year with two professors who were vegetarian. One I had known since my first year. He was a vegan concerned with animal rights. He was also a progressive liberal, a feminist, and a theater director/professor.
The other I had just met. I was taking my first class with him. He was an ovo-lacto vegetarian (he ate dairy and eggs) for personal reasons. I remember he once explained to me why he didn’t eat meat. “That’s flesh,” he said, more or less, “from an animal. It’s muscle and fat, just like I have. I can’t wrap my head around eating that.” Unlike the theater professor, he was politically conservative. He was also religious, and he was the chair of the Classics and Foreign Languages department.
They were two very different men with very different world views and very different reasons for not eating animals, but together, [share ]they inspired me to reconsider my feelings about eating meat[/share]. I never thought to ask them how the choice had affected their relationships with their parents, their best friends, or maybe complete strangers who might happen to see them enjoying hummus and toasted pita bread at a barbecue. I just had a lot of respect for them both and their dietary choices got me thinking. I didn’t realize how many relationships and potential future relationships I’d damage by making a lifestyle choice that seemed to affect no one but me.
However, I did realize, at twenty-two years old and about to graduate college, that I was no longer the seven-year-old boy who begged his mom to cook sirloin steak every night of the week. [share ]I wasn’t comfortable eating animals anymore[/share] and I hadn’t been for some time. I was finally being honest with myself about it.
To put it another way, I felt bad every time I ate a burger and not because it was greasy, but because I thought about the cow that had died to make it.
Eating meat became entirely unenjoyable. If I had been forced to do any part of the process of turning an animal into food myself, prior to unwrapping the meat and cooking it, I wouldn’t have been able to. I would never be capable of killing an animal, skinning, gutting, cleaning, and butchering it and being aware of all that made me unable to eat animals.
So I stopped.
It was hard. Not avoiding meat. Avoiding meat was easy. It was actually surprising how easy I found it to adjust to life without burgers, fried chicken, and ham sandwiches. What was hard was figuring what it meant for my identity. Steak had been my favorite food all my life. Buffalo wings were my favorite snack to eat during pub trivia games. I had developed a deep affection for spicy tuna sushi during my time at college.
Now, what did I like? Now who was I? I was a vegetarian, but what else?
Eventually, I found new favorites and other things to identify with. Avocados. Pizza. French Fries. Beer. I had changed, which required adjusting, but eventually I got comfortable. The people around me took longer to adjust and even now, I’m not entirely sure everyone really has.
Since going vegetarian, it’s not just my mom who has given me a hard time about it. At times, my dad has, too. So have aunts, uncles, cousins, close friends, a couple of women I briefly dated, co-workers, clients and customers, and even complete strangers. Strangers like that guy who called me a Nazi, for example. That was the first and last time I ever spoke to him and we had been introduced by a good, mutual friend. What made him so upset about my choice to eat a vegetarian diet that he felt absolutely compelled to compare me to perpetrators of genocide?
WHY PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME
I’ve had people yell at me. I’ve had people laugh at me. I’ve had people groan and wretch like a toddler forced to take Dimetapp for a cough in regard to a veggie wrap I was eating for lunch, as I was eating it.
For a long time, I didn’t get it. The anger seemed so unwarranted. I didn’t understand why everyone who found out I was vegetarian said, “Oh so you must like really love salad, huh?”
Why did everyone feel the need to ask where I got my protein?
(I get it the same place steak does, by the way—protein is really not that scarce in plant sources.) Why did anyone care what I ate or not at all?
I figured at least some of the animosity I received was because of other vegetarians who had given the rest of us a bad name. We’ve all heard the stories of militant non-meat-eaters, shoving their beliefs down the throats of others, constantly preaching the gospel of the plant-based diet, and calling anyone who happens to enjoy a hamburger once or twice a month a “murderer.”
The thing is, I’ve never met a single vegetarian who behaves so rudely. I’m sure at least some are out there, but in my experience, it’s not all that common. Most vegetarians pick their moments. They know there are times and places for that kind of behavior, and usually only speak about their personal dietary choices when asked specifically about them. Most will avoid the topic altogether, if possible.
Over the last couple of years, I slowly came up with another answer. The cliché is true; you are what you eat. It doesn’t just apply to health, but to identity as well.
Perhaps as much as almost any other thing, food is tied to how people understand who they are.
IDENTITY
It’s all in how a person’s identity is built. People identify as individuals, but also as part of a family, a region, an ethnic background, a religion, and a nation. All of these parts of an individual’s identity have unique foods at the center.
So, when a vegetarian actively rejects meat, some people respond negatively because they connect it to a very specific list of things they identify strongly with—“My favorite food, buffalo wings” “My family’s secret recipe for meat loaf,” “My state’s most famous dish, clam chowder,” “My ethnic background’s traditional meal, corned beef and cabbage,” “My religion’s customary holiday meal, Turkey,” “My country’s quintessential dinner, burgers and hot dogs,” and so on.
I’ve come to believe that some people get angry at vegetarians not because we don’t eat meat, but because they feel as though our rejection of meat is a rejection of them personally and everything they are. I don’t think it’s conscious or deliberate, but at least some people hear the word “vegetarian” and subconsciously think, “They’re not like me. In fact, they hate the things that make me who I am. They think who I am is wrong.” Then they direct their anger at the nearest non-meat-eater.
Why did my mom scream insults at me that one night so long ago? It wasn’t as if I waited to sit down to a meal she had already prepared for me to tell her about my new dietary restrictions. I was over at her place to eat some popcorn and watch a movie, maybe drink some coffee. In fact, I only brought it up in an attempt to be polite, so the next time I did come for dinner, she wouldn’t have to feel bad, and I wouldn’t have to uncomfortably eat food I did not feel ethically or physically comfortable eating.
At least in part, I’m sure she felt like I wasn’t the son she had known and loved anymore if I didn’t keep enjoying my favorite foods. I can imagine it would be pretty upsetting to feel like you don’t know your own child. Still, it was so strange that this woman had spent more than twenty years begging me to eat my broccoli and now that I wanted to, she was livid about it.
I think the bigger reason she was so upset is that by telling her I didn’t eat meat anymore, I effectively told her I was rejecting her steak, the thing she made best. Maybe to a degree, she felt like I was rejecting her as my mother. Of course, I wasn’t. It took a while, but she grew to understand that. My mom and I are on good terms now. She remembers and respects that I don’t eat meat these days, even if she still teases me now and then.
Who am I now? Yes, I am a vegetarian. I’m also an actor and a writer. I’m in love with Gilmore Girls and Arrested Development. I am happily addicted to social media. I love coffee and pizza. I hate salad, but only on principle. I love the gluten-free corn bread my cousin makes for her daughter and me at Christmas, and I have become borderline obsessed with pão de queijo, Brazilian cheese bread.
I am a son, a friend, a boyfriend, and I am what I eat… but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not what I don’t.
. . .
Note: Chris also has celiac disease, meaning he can’t eat gluten which is found in most wheat-based foods, like bread, pasta, beer, or basically anything good in the world. So if this article seemed a bit angry to you, be nice to Chris. He might be a little grumpy because he hasn’t had much to eat lately.
If you write a comment, Chris would like you to include your favorite food or dish and what how you think it relates to your identity. Share who you are!
About Chris O’Brien
A native of Rhode Island, Chris is an actor and a writer currently living in Los Angeles, CA. He has a BA in English Literature from Roger Williams University in Bristol, RI, where he studied Theatre as a second major.
Chris O’Brien is a young actor with a lot of experience, known for his trademark sense of humor balanced by an uncommon emotional depth. His range and ability to find the humor hidden in drama and the vulnerability behind comedy has helped him land roles in every genre on every media platform.
Chris is perhaps best known for playing Mark in Found Footage 3D, currently in post-production. He’s also known for playing Ewan McBay on Classic Alice, a hot new webseries that is drawing comparisons to award-winning series such as The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Chris also appears in the Pet Collective’s webseries, Barely Pet Parents in which he stars along side YouTube sensation Colleen Ballinger (Miranda Sings).
Connect with him on his website and Twitter.
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The post You Are What You Eat: The Vegetarian Wars by Chris O’Brien ( @microbrien) appeared first on Rachel Thompson.