My Beef with Vegetarians...

Vegetarianism as an ideology is nothing new, but lately the practice has seemed trendily righteous. Perhaps owing to Harvard’s penchant for Hollywoodisms, everywhere I turn I find a vegetarian, or several of them.

Not to say they are all the same. Oh, no. Today’s vegetarians come in all shapes and sizes. But they share one thing in common: they shun meat. Wait, rewind. That’s wrong too. Some of them do eat meat. Confusing, I know.

There isn’t anything wrong with being a vegetarian, at least not terribly. Some people are vegetarians for religious reasons and some for health (though the claim that vegetarianism is actually healthier is largely unsubstantiated). Others are vegetarians because they feel bad for the animals; the sounds of bleating sheep—bahh!—ring in their ears every time they cut into filet.

These people are all okay by me. It is the pseudo-vegetarians that really push my buttons. For many of these so-called vegetarians, commitment to the creed depends on mood. One friend of mine makes exceptions for steak, and another for chicken. One friend only eats meat when she’s drunk. These sorts of people are euphemistically called flexitarians, but what flexibility that is exactly is unclear—the flexibility to pass judgment on other people who eat meat, perhaps?

And regularly, they do pass judgment. More than once I have been eating meat in the presence of one of these friends when she makes known to me how badly she feels for the animal that was killed for my meal. Don’t I ever think about that? And did I know that I’m going to die younger because of that flesh on my plate? Of course, this leaves me wondering why, just the week before, I spotted her slipping her pretty feet into a pair of Ferragamo loafers and devouring a pastrami sandwich.

But to be fair to the (sometimes) meat-averse, flexitarians are not the only set of Harvard students who regularly dabble in hypocrisy; the classic Harvard examples of idealists gone astray are plentiful.

There are those social justice boys who rant about class divides and illegitimate power structures in their freshman year, accusing their classmates of embracing collar-popping elitisms. But then they have a change of heart, and they sell their souls in their sophomore year to cross the thresholds into the smoking rooms of the ever-enticing final clubs, never to attend a SLAM meeting again.

There are those aspiring nonprofit organization members who preach about achieving the greater good for the environment and society, rallying against the exploitation of ANWR and overdevelopment. But senior year comes along, and they are increasingly aware of the realities of what it takes to lead the good life after college. They are hired off by investment banking firms and invest in brand new gas-guzzling BMWs.

None of these paths are bad or evil or misguided. Final clubs are fine and investment banking is fine. Even vegetarians—I suppose they too are fine. Merely, for so many Harvard students, a set of beliefs is championed before one has even considered whether it is the doctrine he truly espouses; beliefs seem to be inherited, not adopted. The effect lost is credibility.

In an era already sopping with societal contradictions, we must take the responsibility to stand by our words and to resist the temptation to be preachy if we aren’t sure where we really stand. If you’re planning to ascend that soapbox, make sure you’re in it for the long haul.

Lucy M. Caldwell ’09, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Wigglesworth Hall.