“The interconnectivity of our world” write Simonn Nyguyen and Natalie Cheung “is alike a plant, ever growing, adapting and supporting the elements around them.” Not only are plants and animals not so different, but plants and worlds appear to operate similarly. While this is certainly insightful, in a way this is the default perspective. Humans often mistake flora for the world, and vice versa. Worlds are made of grass, trees, flowers, and bushes, and it is us, human and nonhuman animals, separate from the world, which traverse it. Nyguyen and Cheung recognise that even if we can intellectually undo this ideological separation of plants, animals and worlds, plant blindness remains “inescapable as […] even through an awareness of this concept, the conditioned surroundings of the human world pushes forward this hierarchy.” Simply knowing this to be true sometimes is not enough to change our perspectives.

Over the past few years I have had an interesting relationship with plants, as have many of the people close to me. Three years ago I decided to go vegan after I had committed to vegetarianism a year before that. This signalled a radical shift in my perspective of the world, my relationship to the commodity status of nonhuman animals, and my consumptive habits. My omnivorous diet became intellectually dishonest since any justification I could muster to defend meat-eating became incoherent and unconvincing. I stopped acting like nonhuman animals existed to be exploited and slaughtered for my own gustatory pleasure; even if I never truly believed this to be the case. But like the fetishist says: “I know very well, but all the same.”

Among the vegans I know there is a clear split in the way they evaluate the lifestyle. Some see veganism as doing something good, others see it as the absence of doing something bad. The latter perspective recognises that veganism could not by itself change the world: one cannot overthrow an exploitative system by simply changing their consumptive behaviours (i.e. undermining capitalism with an oxymoronic eco-capitalism). In this case, veganism becomes a molecular refusal. A form of disengagement.

However, it is clear that while my veganism assumes that while animals are not meant to be eaten, it also suggests plants somehow are. An argument for this perspective could be easily sustained: for example, you could say that the consumption of fruits serve an evolutionary purpose to spread a plant’s seeds—thus, the plant supposedly wants to be eaten. Though these arguments can often appear overly convenient and continue to propagate this notion of “plant blindness.” While there are many bad-faith arguments levied against veganism from omnivores—e.g. “how do you know plants do not feel pain?”—many vegans end up agreeing with these epistemological uncertainties. These people become convinced and pushed towards diets like those followed in Jainism: vegan plus no root or underground vegetables (onions, garlic, etc.) as to not kill entire plants or harm microorganisms. However, it is impossible to not leave a mark on this world, whether positive or negative, creative or destructive. Even if every footstep taken on a walk kills an ecosystem beneath your feet, what can you do armed with this knowledge? Sometimes the fetishist’s “I know very well, but all the same” appears like the only viable option.