7-Opinion

L

ast 
November 
saw 
the 

continuation 
of 
a 
local 

tradition in Rochester, N.Y., 

where hundreds of women adorned 
the grave of Susan B. Anthony with 
their “I Voted” stickers. The act 
is a nod to the role she played in 
earning women the right to vote. 
But the tradition glosses over a 
major problem with the history of 
the women’s suffrage movement: 
It was done almost entirely for the 
benefit of white women. Anthony 
was willing to denigrate Black men 
to advance white women’s suffrage. 
Her contemporary Elizabeth Cady 
Stanton was explicitly racist, and 
both women left the work of Black 
activists out of their narrative of early 
feminism. The prioritization of white 
women at the expense of people 
of color dominated mainstream 
feminism during the 20th century 
and still does today. This branch 
of advocacy has become a distinct 
form of “feminism” known as white 
feminism, and has been rightly 
criticized and called out.

However, I’m not writing today 

to call out Anthony or Stanton or to 
critique white feminism (although 
you should definitely spend time 
reading pieces that do). Rather, 
I’m using the feminist movement’s 
struggle with white feminism as a 
framework of comparison for another 
advocacy movement that’s struggling 
severely with pervasive whiteness in 
its mainstream: veganism.

That very word may have made 

you cringe. Vegans aren’t winning 
any popularity contests anytime 
soon, 
and 
lots 
of 
stereotypes 

surround the movement, one of them 
being that of whiteness. Perhaps the 
image conjured in your mind when 
you think of a vegan is a white person 
decked out in Lululemon and non-
leather Birkenstocks toting a Whole 
Foods bag filled with cashews and 
quinoa. Maybe, more negatively, you 
also thought of this person speaking 
down to others and demanding that 
everyone go vegan regardless of 
circumstance, while also refusing to 
acknowledge the privileges that allow 
them to have choice in their diets.

The prevalence of whiteness in 

mainstream veganism has made 
many want to reject the ideas of 
veganism entirely, claiming it’s a 
“gateway to white supremacy” or 
that it’s intrinsically racist, ableist 
and classist. White veganism is so 
damaging that many are outright 
dismissing 
a 
movement 
and 

philosophy which seeks to end the 
suffering and exploitation of billions 
of animals each year and which has 
“as far as is possible and practicable” 
built into its definition.

The 
relationship 
between 

veganism and white veganism is very 

similar to that between feminism and 
white feminism. Both movements 
have been and still are progressing 
through the work of people of color 
— work that has often gone unnoticed 
or uncredited. The white version of 
both movements is fundamentally 
opposed to the true goals of each 
movement, serving only white and 
often middle-class people at the 
expense of others, helping them 
benefit from oppressive systems 
rather 
than 
dismantling 
those 

systems entirely. White people who 
appropriate each movement refuse 
to acknowledge their own privileges 
and the constrained circumstances 
and choices others face that may 
limit their activism, contrasting with 
the intersectional approach both 
movements should be pursuing.

However, there is a dissimilarity 

between feminism and veganism 
in how their white counterparts 
have impacted their perception as 
a whole. While many acknowledge 
white feminism is a problem and 
it needs to be stopped, they still 
believe the fundamental purposes 
of feminism — to advance gender 
equity and human rights — are 
legitimate, and that feminism is still 
valid and important. But when it 
comes to veganism, its white form 
has given people license to dismiss 
it entirely. While this is frustrating, 
it’s partially on us; vegans have 
not done enough to quarantine or 
reject whiteness from veganism. 
However, I also think veganism’s 
detractors should genuinely reflect 
on their criticisms of veganism and 
evaluate if they may be motivated 
by their discomfort with veganism’s 
implications and goals.

On our end, vegans must root out 

whiteness from our practice and 
advocacy on both the individual 
and systemic levels. Unfollow and 
stop supporting influencers that 
perpetuate white veganism, such 
as sisters Ellen Fisher and Hannah 
McNeely or the somewhat infamous 
Freelee the Banana Girl, and make 
room in your feed for vegans of 
color like Jenné Claiborne, Joanne 
Molinaro and Nisha Vora, among 
many others. This doesn’t mean you 

can’t follow any vegans who are white, 
but make sure the white vegans you 
choose to support aren’t perpetuating 
white veganism and that your 
understanding of veganism is also 
informed by voices of color. Similarly, 
call out animal rights organizations 
that perpetuate the image of veganism 
as a “white thing” and demand they 
make space for diversity in veganism.

And this definitely doesn’t mean 

you shouldn’t be or become vegan 
or advocate for veganism if you’re 
white — I’m writing this as a white 
vegan. But you must make an effort 
to be educated on and cognizant 
of how pervasive whiteness is in 
mainstream veganism, in order to 
avoid perpetuating white veganism 
and to ensure your advocacy is 
intersectional. This also entails 
rejecting 
plant-based 
capitalism 

and acknowledging that we will 
never end the oppression of humans 
and animals under an economic 
system based on exploitation. In the 
poignant and revolutionary words of 
Audre Lorde, “the master’s tools will 
never dismantle the master’s house.” 
This is true whether we’re talking 
about sexism and the patriarchy or 
speciesism and animal oppression.

White veganism is a problem. If 

vegan advocacy wants to end the 
oppression and advance the rights 
of animals, it needs to distinguish 
white veganism from veganism as a 
whole and reject it, much like many 
feminists have done with white 
feminism. Veganism has a problem 
with racism, but we can isolate 
and remove this appropriation of 
the movement and work to uphold 
intersectional veganism in a way that 
benefits all humans and animals.

As for non-vegans who still believe 

veganism should be rejected entirely 
due to mainstream prioritization of 
whiteness: Would you reject feminism 
entirely on the same grounds? If not, 
you may need to reconsider whether 
it’s really white veganism preventing 
you from supporting veganism, or if 
you’re unable to confront the reality 
and magnitude of animal exploitation 
at this time. But if you ever decide you 
are ready, veganism will have space 
for you, no matter who you are.

A

s far as I can remember, I’ve 
always enjoyed interacting 
and conversing with other 

people. Peers and mentors would tell 
me I had a “dynamic personality” 
that would help me later on in life. 
This must be a positive quality, I 
assumed, and I refused to give my 
social ability any more thought than 
that. 

In winter 2020, I elected to 

attend the University of Michigan. I 
immediately figured meeting people 
would be one of the easiest, most 
enjoyable aspects of freshman year. 
I was coming off the adrenaline 
high that was my senior year of high 
school, reassuring and providing me 
with newfound social confidence. 

Then 
everything 
changed. 

COVID-19 hit. Cases went up. Dorms 
shut down. 

One year later, I blinked and 

realized I had spent the entirety of 
my first year in college at the same 
desk, looking at the same view of my 
subdivision, as I had done for the past 
12 years. 

The hardest part was not seeing 

anyone for eight months. I woke 
up, got a glimpse of my classmates 
in a pixelated box, ate food, did 
homework and went to bed. If I had 
elected to go to campus in-person, 
perhaps this would not have been the 
case. I will never know. 

When I started my job this 

past summer on the staff of a local 
golf course, I quickly realized my 
new, 
once-unfathomable 
reality: 

I hadn’t socialized with anyone in 
eight months, let alone 14 soon-to-
be coworkers. Once I grasped the 
situation, the social rust began to 
show. It’s almost like I forgot how to 
do the very thing that helped me get 
to where I am today: talk. 

The first month or so at the golf 

course was rough. Talking to golfers, 
colleagues and the like, I stuttered, 
slurred words or — worst of all — 
would zone out in the middle of a 
one-on-one conversation. I began 
to stick to company lines instead of 
improvising original material. No 
golfer enjoys being fed the same three 
sentences from everyone on staff, but 
somehow that was all I could muster. 
I was completely lost. What the heck 
is going on?, I thought to myself. Am 

I okay? 

Frustrated and dumbfounded, I 

searched for answers. Chris Segrin, a 
scientist at the University of Arizona 
with an emphasis in interpersonal 
relationships, claims that “social 
skills are like athletic skills. If you 
don’t practice them for a long time, 
they atrophy.” Okay, I thought, but 
why does it still feel like it’s only 
me navigating this intrapersonal 
uncertainty? It turns out I wasn’t 
alone. According to a study conducted 
by Harvard University’s School of 
Education, 61% of young adults ages 
18-25 reported “miserable degrees 
of loneliness” during the pandemic. 
In all honesty, my post-quarantine 
social sluggishness was not only 
common, it was perfectly normal.

***
I’ve never given much thought 

to the introvert-extrovert debate, 
because I believe most people are 
a healthy blend of both. After the 
past year and a half, however, I’m 
wondering if we’ve all become 
introverts, with some of us trying to 
claw our way back to extroversion 
again. 

Opinion

BRITTANY BOWMAN

Managing Editor

Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

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Joel Weiner
Erin White

*** Author’s Note: This article 

should be read with R.E.M.’s “It’s the 
End of the World As We Know It” 
playing in headphones. If that song is 
not available, Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t 
Start the Fire” is an author-approved 
substitute.
W

hile it’s been a terrible 
year and a half for 
almost everything, it’s 

been a great time for R.E.M.’s 1987 
hit single “It’s the End of the World 
As We Know It (And I Feel Fine).” 
The song has steadily crept back 
into our playlists, radio stations and 
general psyche during the past two 
years. Growing up, I used to listen 
to the song frequently and found its 
satirical, nihilistic tone to be quite 
comforting. In the aftermath of 9/11, 
living through the 2008 economic 
crash and the beginning of regular 
school shootings, it’s clear our 
generation was dealt a tough hand 
at a young age, a fact that has heavily 
shaped our lives. American stability 
has never been a comfort we could 
enjoy — even before the COVID-19 
pandemic — and is certainly not 
something I foresee us enjoying in 
the near future. 

As I’ve recently been listening 

to the song, the end of the chorus 
has stuck out to me. For those 
unfamiliar, the chorus: 

It’s the end of the world as we 

know it,

It’s the end of the world as we 

know it,

It’s the end of the world as we 

know it, and I feel fine.

The last time I listened to the 

song, that line in the chorus “and I 
feel fine” hit me like a sack of bricks. 
In many ways, it does feel like the 
world is ending, certainly as we 
know it. And I most certainly do not 
feel fine!

How 
do 
we 
individually 

process issues that so greatly 
affect the collective? From the 
ongoing pandemic to reports of 
the devastating effects of climate 
change; to the societal upheaval and 
fracturing we’ve witnessed from the 
steps of the Capitol Building to our 
own living rooms, it seems like the 
world is falling out from under us. I 

think these feelings of grief, despair, 
sadness and anger are natural, and 
we should accept and feel them 
when they arrive. However, we 
should not let them stifle our other 
emotions. 

I’ve found a few strategies that 

have helped me process living 
through this series of unfortunate 
events 
we 
find 
ourselves 
in; 

strategies that both allow me to 
be involved in creating solutions 
while also taking care of my mental 
health. Going forward, I urge you to 
consider these strategies for yourself 
or to at least begin to engage with 
some of these topics.

First and foremost, creating 

an intentional consumption, and 
lack thereof, of media surrounding 
overwhelming topics has been key in 
preventing me from spiraling when 
addressing such topics. Finding time 
to hold space for stillness or taking 
a step back from certain topics is 
crucial in preventing a given issue 
from 
becoming 
overwhelming. 

When things become overwhelming 
they can become all-consuming, 
where one may feel hyper-fixated or 
unable to focus or act upon anything 
else. Alternatively, they can become 
compartmentalized, 
where 
one 

refuses to engage with a topic to 
prevent further emotions when 
addressing it. Both these responses 
prevent us from feeling the natural 
range of human emotions that 
should accompany our lives and 
perspectives on these topics. 

A simple way to hold time for 

yourself is to segment time in your 
day to engage with a certain topic, like 
climate change or politics, therefore 
allowing you to engage with these 
critical issues thoughtfully. This 
provides you with space during 
the rest of the day to focus on other 
things, knowing you have addressed 
or will address those areas of concern. 
This promotes healthy reflection, 
action and engagement with these 
overwhelming topics. Other ways 
to help include adding filters to 
Instagram and Twitter accounts 
to limit the amount you consume 
regarding a certain topic while on 
the apps. Unexpected engagements 
with depressing articles can be 
incredibly demoralizing without 
producing any positive engagement 
or action.

Another strategy I’ve found, and 

one that is especially possible at the 
beginning of the school year, is to get 
involved with on-campus initiatives 
that 
can 
create 
local 
impact 

regarding topics of concern. While 
the doom and gloom surrounding 
a host of issues sometimes feel 
hopeless, getting involved on campus 
to make a local impact is incredibly 
important both for creating change 
and helping us feel the spectrum 
of feelings that accommodate our 
current situation. Being involved 
on campus in the work on topics 
like climate justice, racial justice, 
economic equality or sustainable 
living creates a sense of hope and 
purpose towards addressing those 
topics while simultaneously actually 
helping make change around them. 
So many wonderful groups exist 
on campus that are doing the work 
to engage and combat many of 
these seemingly insurmountable 
problems. 

A final strategy is to just do 

something else, anything else. I 
often found these doomsday-like 
topics (that are frankly our reality 
for the foreseeable future) could 
quite literally push me into a corner. 
Feeling trapped and hopeless, I spent 
much more time thinking about 
all the things I could and should be 
doing than doing any of it. While we 
try to ‘what-if’ ourselves to death 
on a host of topics in an unhealthy 
and unproductive manner, finding 
something that works to combat 
these overwhelming feelings is 
imperative to preserving our mental 
health and working to fight these 
tough topics. Go on a walk, have an 
impromptu dance party, call your 
grandma. Don’t think, just break the 
ice.

At the end of the day, we’re all 

navigating what R.E.M. would 
describe as “the end of the world 
as we know it.” While we live 
through it, work our best to fight 
against it and ultimately see where 
current times lead us, we shouldn’t 
always feel fine. The “end of the 
world as we know it” can be quite 
daunting, scary and bleak — we 
should embrace this reality with 
authenticity and care. As we do 
so, let’s do our best to laugh, smile, 
cry, love, grieve, work, rest and take 
care of ourselves along the way.

I

t is a wonderful month for 
infrastructure! On Aug. 10 this 
year, the U.S. Senate passed a 

$1 trillion infrastructure bill. Along 
with $39 billion for public transit and 
$65 billion for broadband, this bill 
would also streamline the federal 
environmental impact assessment 
process. This included codifying a 
Trump-era executive order intended 
to speed up certain federal projects, 
as well as amending how the federal 
government applies the National 
Environmental Policy Act (NEPA). 

NEPA is the most influential piece 

of federal environmental policy in 
recent history. Former President 
Richard Nixon signed the NEPA into 
law in early 1970. Originally a piece 
of legislation meant to protect the 
environment, it has been perverted 
by proponents of a “not in my back 
yard” or NIMBY ideology to do the 
opposite. The actual text of the law is 
benign, merely requiring that federal 
agencies assess the environmental 
impacts of any projects that are 
undertaken by the government or that 
need a federal permit. Unfortunately, 
in the 50 years since the law’s 
enactment, the implementation of 
the act has spiraled into a web of 
obstruction and lawsuits that shocks 
many European regulators and 
planners alike. 

While environmental groups like 

Earthjustice and the NRDC have 
criticized the move to streamline 
NEPA, this was absolutely the right 
decision. Current applications of 
environmental regulations are in 
and of themselves environmentally 
harmful, as they are often the cause of 
the death, extreme delay and extreme 
cost for the sorts of projects that we 
need most desperately, such as high-
density housing or public transit. 

Is it hyperbolic of me to say that 

an environmental protection law is 
harming the environment? A little, 
but let’s look at the facts.

The United States is one of the 

most expensive countries to build 
infrastructure. According to the 
Niskanen 
Center, 
the 
average 

environmental 
impact 
statement 

takes around 4.5 years to complete. 
Regularly over 1,000 pages, these 
documents 
cost 
development 

entities, both in the public and private 
sectors, billions of dollars in delays. 
Running on average around 600 
pages, these documents have to be 
thorough because they are subjected 
to an odious legal gauntlet from 
homeowners associations and other 
aggrieved parties. 

But what does that mean in terms 

of how much extra cold hard cash is 
spent on projects? As Vox journalist 
Jerusalem 
Desmas 
reported, 
a 

recent New York City Second Avenue 
subway 
expansion 
project 
cost 

taxpayers $2.6 billion per mile. San 

Francisco’s Central Subway Project 
took $920 million, and the Los 
Angeles Metro’s D Line spent a cool 
$800 million per mile. 

A 
very 
similar 
project 
in 

Copenhagen? Practically free at 
$323 million per mile. In Italy and 
Spain, these types of projects can 
be as cheap as $160 million per mile. 
It is not out of the question to say 
that with European centralization 
of transportation authorities, we 
could get as much as 10 times the 
bang for our buck compared to the 
present day. 

This obstruction is deadly. Every 

public transit project delayed is 
another pedestrian killed by a 
motorist. Every day delayed is 
another thousand tons of carbon 
spit into the atmosphere by bulky 
SUVs and pickups. So yes, of course, 
we should pay attention to the 
environmental impact of action. 
But, we should also consider the 
environmental cost of inaction: 
the cost of continuing in our car-
centric, human-unfriendly method 
of development, continuing even 
when the laws of both capitalism and 
human nature tell us that we need to 
change.

The NEPA is still a largely 

beneficial 
bill, 
requiring 
the 

government to be deliberate in the 
actions they take and how they affect 
the environment. 

Congress is weakening the National 
Environmental Policy Act. That’s 

good for the environment.

COVID-19 hurt our social skills — it’s 

time to bounce back

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
8 — Wednesday, September 8, 2021 

It’s the end of the world as we know 

it. How could we feel fine?

ANDREW GERACE

Opinion Columnist

JULIAN BARNARD
Opinion Senior Editor

SAM WOITESHEK
Opinion Columnist

Design by Melissa Lee

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

Dismantle white veganism, but don’t 

reject veganism altogether

MARY ROLFES
Opinion Columnist

Read more at MichiganDaily.com