(For those who can’t see this: It’s a picture of a viking ship where the sails are made out of what appears to be prosciutto. The caption reads: “Keep your fancy wedding cake, I’m having a VIKING MEAT SHIP.”)
It bothered me. So I wrote back, “Ew.” My friend responded: “What’s wrong with a massive viking charcuterie?” Here’s the conversation that followed:
Screenshot of our convo, shared with permission. (Purple is me, grey is friend).
(If you can’t see the image, I signaled that I was about to step onto a soapbox. Then I said I thought publicly flaunting meat consumption was “like flaunting filling up your car’s gas tank and being like “hell yeah gas!”)
My friend, who is the most lovely and good-natured person ever, responded: [Sees soapbox come out, checks surroundings and sees that there is a climate crisis, looks down at shirt glamorizing meat consumption, realizes is the bad guy, hangs head in shame]. I should’ve checked myself before I wrecked myself.
What meatposting actually glorifies
My friend, to be clear, is not the bad guy. Like all climate-concerned meatposters, he simply forgot that meat is basically fossil fuels, except more delicious. It is a thing society uses every day but that is fueling a climate crisis causing massive human suffering, particularly among vulnerable populations.
Industrial animal agriculture is one of the largest sources of water contamination in the country. It is a massive contributor to drought in the West; the #1 reason for Brazilian Amazon deforestation; and responsible for up to 18 percent of global carbon pollution. It has been a huge source of suffering and death for workers, particularly during the pandemic. If meat and dairy consumption continue apace, there could be an 80 percent spike in global agricultural greenhouse gas emissions by the year 2050.
Climate-concerned meatposters forget this because meat culture is powerful. In America, we’re taught from a young age that the coolest thing in the world is to be a big man with a big car who eats big meat. This is part of our deeply embedded culture of petromasculinity. It’s why people still get weirdly furious when you suggest eating carrot hot dogs instead of regular hot dogs on the Fourth of July.
So I have great empathy for meatposters. I used to be one myself. If you scroll back far enough, my Instragram is a treasure trove of bleeding steaks, tender chops, and glistening loins. The pictures were all meals I made as acts of care for those I loved, particularly men. Of course I wanted to share them.
But eventually, as my climate reporting career went on, it no longer seemed ethical to actively encourage that behavior with enthusiastic social signaling. I stopped meatposting as an act of care for those I loved, and as an act of defiance against the powerful industry it benefited.
Meatposting is free PR for a high-polluting industry
My annoyance with meatposting is not about the fact that individuals choose to eat meat. We live in a society that makes it very difficult to live a totally climate-friendly life, and no one should be shamed for what they choose to fuel their body with.
My annoyance with meatposting is about the fact that it unnecessarily glorifies one of the most climate-polluting industries in America. Not only that, it glorifies an industry working tirelessly to prevent regulations that would reign in their pollution.
“It is astounding, the level of fear and pushback from the meat industry on our efforts to address the very real, substantial climate impacts of meat production,” Kari Hamerschlag, deputy director of the food and agriculture program at Friends of the Earth, told InsideClimate. “They don’t want to cede an inch on climate change.”
The fossil fuel industry has to rely on sophisticated PR teams to distract the public from their climate misdeeds, and to give them social license to operate. The meat industry has meatposters to do some of that work for free. And unlike the fossil fuel industry, the meat industry gets social media love from all over the political spectrum: not just conservatives and climate deniers. They don’t have to worry about social license to operate. You give it to them every time you post a picture of your plate.”
Blog by Emily Atkin
Original source: https://heated.world/p