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Navigating the Ethical, Cultural, and Environmental Complexities of Dietary Choices

  • Foto del escritor: Barbara Gonzalez
    Barbara Gonzalez
  • 18 dic. 2023
  • 8 Min. de lectura

Our choices about what we eat are never simply about sustenance; they are woven into a complex tapestry of ethical, cultural, and environmental considerations. This complexity is vividly illustrated in Tovar Cerulli’s journey, where his initial embrace of veganism, followed by a return to eating meat through hunting, reflects a deep exploration of the implications of his diet. Like Cerulli, my own dietary evolution has been shaped by a profound connection to nature, influenced by family traditions and ethical concerns. However, understanding these choices requires more than personal conviction—it demands a nuanced awareness of how personal values, cultural heritage, and systemic privileges intersect to shape our decisions. In this essay, I will argue that navigating the complexities of dietary choices in today’s world involves balancing these multifaceted influences while remaining mindful of the broader impact of our food consumption. By reflecting on Cerulli’s transformation and insights from Michael Pollan, Timothy Pachirat, and my own experiences, I will explore how grappling with these issues can lead to a more conscientious and informed approach to what we eat.


Growing up in Chile, my family’s relationship with food was deeply rooted in tradition and a solid connection to the land. Our backyard garden and orchard were central to our lives, providing fresh fruits and vegetables that we harvested and shared. Family gatherings often revolved around the “asado,” a traditional Chilean barbecue where various cuts of meat were prepared over an open flame, accompanied by homemade salads and produce from our garden. These meals were more than just a means of nourishment; they were vibrant celebrations of our cultural heritage and expressions of communal identity. From an early age, I understood food not just as sustenance but as a symbol of community and continuity, a perspective that profoundly influenced my initial perceptions of dietary choices.


A pivotal figure in shaping this understanding was my grandmother, Mama Lucy. She instilled in me a deep reverence for nature and the cycles of life that sustain us. Her knowledge extended beyond the technical aspects of gardening; she filled me with a sense of awe and respect for the land and each plant. This early awareness of food’s origins and broader significance parallels Cerulli’s initial commitment to veganism. Like Cerulli, who sought to reduce harm and live in greater alignment with nature, I, too, began to question the ethical implications of my dietary choices as I grew older. Cerulli notes, “The mere fact of living, I had begun to realize, linked me to larger webs of life and death. Regardless of what I did, whether I liked it or not, I had an impact” (2021, p. 52). However, just as Cerulli’s ideals were challenged by the realities of food production and his reconnection with hunting, my own journey would later reveal the complexities of balancing cultural traditions with ethical considerations in a world where the lines between sustenance, culture, and morality are often blurred.


At the age of sixteen, I made the conscious decision to become a vegetarian, driven by a growing awareness of the environmental degradation and animal suffering associated with industrial meat production. Like Cerulli, who initially embraced veganism to live harmoniously with his ethical convictions, I felt a deep moral imperative to align my dietary choices with my values. This shift was not a sudden epiphany but rather the culmination of a series of personal experiences and external influences, making it increasingly difficult to reconcile my love for animals with the knowledge of their suffering for human consumption. I could sense a troubling distancing between ourselves and our food from the reality of what happens inside a slaughterhouse. Pachirat’s observation that “This wall both demarcates and enables the volatile combinations of citizenship, race, class, and education that separate the industrialized slaughterhouse’s zones of privilege from its zones of production” (Pachirat, 2011, p. 27) highlights the broader social and ethical implications of this disconnect. This realization solidified my commitment to a vegetarian lifestyle to bridge the gap between my values and actions.


This newfound conviction led me to seek out communities that shared my concerns, becoming actively involved in environmental and animal rights activism with groups like “Anonymous for the Voiceless” and “Fridays for Future.” Through my participation in “Cubes of Truth,” I vividly recall forming a circle outside of McDonald’s, wearing anonymous masks while displaying videos of the brutal realities of slaughterhouses. Many passersby briefly glanced at us, yet some stopped, visibly shocked by the harsh truths revealed. These demonstrations highlighted the disconnect between convenience and ethics in our food choices, echoing Michael Pollan’s observation: “That perhaps is what the industrial food chain does best: obscure the histories of the foods it produces by processing them to such an extent that they appear as pure products of culture rather than nature” (p. 115). Pollan’s insights about the overwhelming presence of corn in fast food reflect a system that prioritizes efficiency over sustainability, masking the environmental and health costs of highly processed foods. Engaging in activism not only reinforced my commitment to vegetarianism but also illuminated the complexities of promoting dietary change in a world where food is intricately tied to culture, identity, and access, prompting me to reflect on the nuances of ethical eating.


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I also studied in Tanzania for two years. During my time here, I had the opportunity to visit the Hadza tribe, which marked a profound shift in my understanding of food and its role in cultural survival. The Hadza, one of the last remaining hunter-gatherer tribes in Africa, rely on subsistence hunting and foraging to sustain their way of life. Learning from their practices firsthand, I saw how deeply interconnected their dietary choices were with their identity, survival, and environment. The Hadza’s approach to food is not merely about nutrition or ethical considerations but a testament to their knowledge of the land and cultural heritage. This experience challenged my previously held notions of what ethical eating means, as I realized that their dietary practices involving killing animals are profoundly sustainable and respectful of the natural world.


This immersion into the Hadza’s lifestyle brought back memories of my grandfather’s hunting and fishing practices in Chile. I remember him using his slingshot to catch local birds in our garden and how delicious I found them then. I would eagerly anticipate these moments, sharing a connection with him that felt sacred. Sometimes, he would disappear for days with friends, fishing at the river and returning with horse mackerel, hake, and reineta fish. We would all gather to help clean the fish, turning dinner into a communal feast. Family trips to the countryside to collect burrowing shrimps also allowed me to engage in the full food preparation cycle, from catching them with pumps in muddy areas to watching my grandmother boil them alive for dinner. These experiences initially conflicted with my later vegetarian beliefs, yet I began to understand them in a new light. For my grandfather, as for the Hadza, hunting, and fishing were not mere hobbies or means of sustenance; they were cultural rituals that fostered a deep connection to the land and a sense of belonging within a community. The meat and fish he provided were shared among family and friends, much like the Hadza shared their game, reinforcing social bonds and communal identity. Engaging in activism and learning from other cultures not only reinforced my commitment to vegetarianism but also illuminated the complexities of promoting dietary change in a world where food is intricately tied to culture, identity, and access, prompting me to reflect on the nuances of ethical eating.


These experiences highlighted the limitations of viewing dietary choices purely through an ethical lens. Just as Cerulli understood that his veganism, while ethically sound, was disconnected from the realities of his environment and cultural heritage, I began to see that food is inextricably linked to one’s cultural context and environment. Cerulli’s statement on page 56 resonates deeply with my reflections: “I began to sense how indebted my life was to other lives, how inextricably intertwined. The blood of deer did run through my veins, and the blood of woodchuck and hare, chicken and trout—the blood of the land itself” (Cerulli, 2020, p. 56). For the Hadza, hunting is not just a source of sustenance but a way of life that embodies their connection to the land and their ancestors. Similarly, my grandfather’s practices were not about cruelty or indifference to animal life but about participating in a cycle of provision and gratitude. 


These experiences gave me a more profound respect for diverse food practices and a more nuanced view of hunting and subsistence living. I began to see that food is not just about individual ethics but is integral to cultural identity and survival. This realization resonated with Cerulli’s eventual acceptance of hunting as a means of engaging more directly with his food choices, recognizing that in some contexts, the most ethical way to eat is to acknowledge and participate in the natural cycles of life and death (p. 52). Understanding food in this broader context, as a cultural and environmental practice, has made me more open to diverse perspectives and more aware of the complexities of making truly ethical dietary choices.


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My experience studying abroad in Peru further underscored the contextual and relational nature of dietary choices. Immersed in a culture where fish is a staple of the local diet and often sourced sustainably from nearby rivers and the ocean, I made the decision to temporarily shift to pescatarianism. This choice was driven by a desire to respect local practices and to participate in the communal meals that were so central to the social fabric of the communities I was living in. Consuming fish in this context felt different from the industrialized meat production I had rejected; it was a direct engagement with the environment and a recognition of the importance of food in building relationships and understanding cultural identity.


This shift was not without its own moral dilemmas, but it taught me the importance of flexibility and the need to adapt my dietary choices to different cultural and environmental contexts. It was a lesson in humility and respect for local traditions, reinforcing the idea that ethical eating is not a one-size-fits-all approach. Much like Cerulli’s acceptance of hunting, I came to understand that adhering rigidly to one set of dietary rules can sometimes obscure the larger goal of living in harmony with one’s environment and community. Reflecting on Joseph Campbell’s words, Cerulli acknowledges that the ‘essence of life is that it lives by killing and eating.’ That, he argued, is ‘the great mystery that myths have to deal with’ (p. 180). This profound realization helped me see that living ethically often requires navigating gray areas and being open to re-evaluating one’s choices in light of new contexts and understandings, as I experienced during my time in Peru. Cerulli’s journey of grappling with moral ambiguity and his eventual acceptance of the complexities of dietary choices resonated deeply with my own, reminding me of the nuanced and often paradoxical nature of living in alignment with one’s values.


My current perspective on vegetarianism is shaped by a deepened understanding of the complexity of dietary choices and a recognition of the diverse factors that influence them. While I remain committed to vegetarianism as a reflection of my personal values, I now approach the subject with a more nuanced and less rigid stance. I have come to understand that what is ethical and sustainable for one person may not be the same for another, depending on their cultural background, access to resources, and individual circumstances. This evolution in my thinking echoes Cerulli’s eventual realization that a single dietary solution cannot be universally applied. I believe that being attuned to one’s values while also considering the context in which those choices are made is crucial. This openness allows for a more empathetic and inclusive approach to discussions around food and ethics, fostering a dialogue that is less about imposing a specific dietary choice and more about encouraging thoughtful consideration of the impact of our eating habits.


In conclusion, our food systems are deeply interconnected with cultural identities, environmental sustainability, and ethical considerations, and recognizing this interdependence is crucial. In my journey, growing up in Chile and engaging in a reflective journey regarding food has been of great importance, approaching the subject with humility and openness. Ethical living should be seen as a dynamic process rather than a fixed destination. By remaining receptive to diverse perspectives and adapting to the complexities of our world, we can collectively contribute to a more compassionate and sustainable food culture that honors the intricate ties between food, culture, and the environment. In doing so, we can foster a sense of shared responsibility and encourage thoughtful dialogue about the food choices we make every day.


 
 
 

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