This was not an easy book to write. For many of you, it won't be an easy book to read. I know. I was a vegan for almost twenty years. I know the reasons that. But our attachment to the vegetarian myth leaves us uneasy, silent, and of Sustainable Agriculture. medical-site.info The Vegetarian Myth by Lierre Keith. Corrections to Some of the Many Errors and Misconceptions ghfghgf. The Claim: Lierre claims that grazed.
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This books (Vegetarian Myth, The [PDF]) Made by Lierre Keith About Books Vegetarian Myth To Download Please Click. Editorial Reviews. Review. "Everyone who eats should read this book. Everyone who eats vegetarian should memorize it This is the single most important. The Vegetarian Myth: Food, Justice and Sustainability. Table Of Contents. medical-site.info This Book? 2. Moral Vegetarians. 3. Political Vegetarians. 4. Nutritional.
If we want a sustainable world, we have to be willing to examine the power relations behind the foundational myth of our culture.
Anything less and we will fail. Questioning at that level is difficult for most people. In this case, the emotional struggle inherent in resisting any hegemony is compounded by our dependence on civilization, and on our individual helplessness to stop it. Most of us would have no chance of survival if the industrial infrastructure collapsed tomorrow. And our consciousness is equally impeded by our powerlessness.
There is no personal solution. There is an interlocking web of hierarchical arrangements, vast systems of power that have to be confronted and dismantled. We can disagree about how best to do that, but do it we must if the earth is to have any chance of surviving. In the end, all the fortitude in the world will be useless without enough information to chart a sustainable forward course, both personally and politically. One of my aims in writing this book is to provide that information.
We have no way to judge how much death is embodied in a serving of salad, a bowl of fruit, a plate of beef. We live in urban environments, in the last whisper of forests, thousands of miles removed from the devastated rivers, prairies, wetlands, and the millions of creatures that died for our dinners. The only way out of the vegetarian myth is through the pursuit of kas-limaal , of adult knowledge. This is a concept we need, especially those of us who are impassioned by injustice. I know I needed it.
In the narrative of my life, the first bite of meat after my twenty year hiatus marks the end of my youth, the moment when I assumed the responsibilities of adulthood.
It was the moment I stopped fighting the basic algebra of embodiment: In that acceptance, with all its suffering and sorrow, is the ability to choose a different way, a better way.
The activist-farmers have a very different plan then the polemicist-writers to carry us from destruction to sustainability.
The farmers are starting with completely different information. Joel Salatin, one of the High Priests of sustainable farming and someone who actually raises chickens, puts that figure at an acre. Who do you believe? How many of us know enough to even have an opinion? Frances Moore Lappe says it takes twelve to sixteen pounds of grain to make one pound of beef.
Meanwhile, Salatin raises cattle with no grain at all, rotating ruminants on perennial polycultures, building topsoil year by year. Inhabitants of urban industrial cultures have no point of contact with grain, chickens, cows, or, for that matter, with topsoil. We have no basis of experience to outweigh the arguments of political vegetarians.
We have no idea what plants, animals, or soil eat, or how much. Which means we have no idea what we ourselves are eating. Confronting the truth about factory farming—its torturous treatment of animals, its environmental toll—was for me at age sixteen an act of profound importance.
I knew the earth was dying. It was a daily emergency I had lived against forever. I was born in Hell was here, in the oil refineries of northern New Jersey , the asphalt inferno of suburban sprawl, in the swelling tide of humans drowning the planet. I cried with Iron Eyes Cody, longed for his silent canoe and an unmolested continent of rivers and marshes, birds and fish. My brother and I would climb an ancient crabapple tree at the local park and dream about somehow downloading a whole mountain.
No people allowed, no discussion needed. Who would live there? Squirrels, was all I could come up with. Besides Bobby, our pet hamster, squirrels were the only animals I ever saw. My brother, well-socialized into masculinity, went on to torture insects and aim slingshots at sparrows. I became a vegan.
Yes, I was an overly sensitive child. What romantic, tragic past could I possibly have mourned at age five? But it was so sad, so exquisite; I would listen to the song over and over until I was exhausted from weeping. That was real and it overwhelmed me. And the political vegetarians offered a compelling salve.
With no understanding of the nature of agriculture, the nature of nature, or ultimately the nature of life, I had no way to know that however honorable their impulses, their prescription was a dead end into the same destruction I burned to stop. Those impulses and ignorances are inherent to the vegetarian myth. For two years after I returned to eating meat, I was compelled to read vegan message boards online.
I never posted anything myself. Lots of small, intense subcultures have cult-like elements, and veganism is no exception. Maybe the compulsion had to do with my own confusion, spiritual, political, personal. Maybe I was revisiting the sight of an accident: Maybe I had questions and I wanted to see if I could hold my own against the answers that I had once held tight, answers that had felt righteous, but now felt empty. It left me anxious, angry, and desperate each time.
But one post marked a turning point. A vegan flushed out his idea to keep animals from being killed—not by humans, but by other animals.
Someone should build a fence down the middle of the Serengeti, and divide the predators from the prey. Killing is wrong and no animals should ever have to die, so the big cats and wild canines would go on one side, while the wildebeests and zebras would live on the other. That was a lie the meat industry told. No one objected. In fact, others chimed in. My cat eats grass, too, one woman added, all enthusiasm. So does mine! Everyone agreed that fencing was the solution to animal death.
Note well that the site for this liberatory project was Africa. No one mentioned the North American prairie, where carnivores and ruminants alike have been extirpated for the annual grains that vegetarians embrace. I knew enough to know that this was insane. But no one else on the message board could see anything wrong with the scheme. Carnivores cannot survive on cellulose. They may on occasion eat grass, but they use it medicinally, usually as a purgative to clear their digestive tracts of parasites.
Ruminants, on the other hand, have evolved to eat grass. They have a rumen hence, ruminant , the first in a series of multiple stomachs that acts as a fermentative vat.
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