I find it overwhelming how many options there are. The hill of social injustice, the hill of veganism, the hill of plastic, the hills of avocados or almonds, the hill of endangered animals, of world hunger, of animal cruelty, abortion rights, and climate change, to name a few.
For Dave and I, it’s veal. I’ve eaten veal maybe twice during the length of our marriage. Even before we were married I didn’t have much occasion to eat veal, but when we found out how milk-fed calves were treated, it didn’t make sense to eat it. It’s not much of a sacrifice and I don’t think we’ve ever had one of those awkward dinner occasions where you had to say, oh sorry, I can’t eat that, we don’t eat veal; people don’t seem to serve it at dinner parties too often. We eat other meat, but we try to buy ethically raised meat from a local farmer and if we buy it at the grocery store we try to buy grass-fed or bio, but sometimes we just buy what’s available. Except veal, and that’s not so much a hill as a grassy knoll, and I’m not sure I’m ready to die on it, it’s just a policy I have. I don’t point out to veal-eating people the way the calves are treated, because most people know and they’ve made their peace with it, so what’s the point? I would feel hypocritical if I were to bring it up, considering the many inconsistencies in my life.
A friend of mine won’t eat avocados because of the way the workers are treated where they’re farmed. When he told me this, I didn’t even think to mention my stance against veal, but now I’m kicking myself. Why didn’t I ask him whether he was also against the milk-fed raising and slaughtering of baby cows? He’s a chef, so I assume he can only draw so many lines, but who knows? I’m curious.
I’m fascinated by what hills people choose, and how they choose them. When you talk to someone who is outraged about one issue or another, you wonder whether they’ve ever heard of this other issue. My friend who won’t eat avocados has no problem with eating meat, for instance, nor with the monocultures of almond or corn farming and their affects on the environment. He knows there are problems there, but it doesn’t raise his hackles. How does it happen that one cause grabs you and you’re ready to defend it to the end, but another, equally just or important in some way, is not worth it? Maybe you watch a video about the big business of (for example) dairy farming and you’re properly horrified and it changes your life in a moment. I get it, but it’s never happened to me. It occurs to me that if one were capable of feeling strongly about every injustice in the world, it would be ultimately exhausting and crazy-making, like in the terrific TV show, The Good Place, where a character called Doug Forcett spends his whole life as a hermit trying desperately not to harm or upset any other being, in order to make it into heaven. Naturally he’s driven mad by his failed attempts.
Aside from the veal issue, I also feel strongly about all the ubiquitous plastic that will still be here, basically unchanged, for hundreds of years, but I’m still not quite on the top of that hill. Should I be shopping at Bulk Barn and bringing my own bags and containers? Yes, absolutely! Is it inconveniently far away? Absolutely. It’s hard to preach about something you’re not even willing to go out of your way to do something about.
I’m glad we’re all different and the things that really bother us vary, that way most of these important causes get some attention and the policy makers are forced to make some changes here and there. I’m glad there are people out there willing to die on hills, (although the pro-life people can jump off the cliff that’s just there behind them), but I’m not one of those people. I’m more like my mother, who reused plastic milk bags and composted long before those practices were popular, but never preached about it. She and I marched in an anti-pollution demonstration in the early 70’s, but I don’t remember her getting angry or riled up and reading me any lectures. That wasn’t her way. The older I get the more I realize how many of her genes I have, for better or for worse.
The least I can do is start writing letters to my MP when I’d like to see policies changed. I’m more of a letter-writer than a flag-waver, so I hope there’s a mail box on the top of that hill.
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