Interview with Jayaprakash Satyamurthy

It is always exciting to meet another vegan metalhead (if you are a vegan metalhead like me at least). I cannot quite remember how I met Jayaprakash Satyamurthy in the realm of Facebook-Earth, but it was a quick experience of exponentially increasing excitement. Jayaprakash, who lives in Bangalore, India, is more than just a vegan metalhead; he is also the bassist for the band Djinn And Miskatonic, as well as a published writer of weird fiction in the vein of H. P. Lovecraft. Oh, and on top of all that, he runs an animal rescue organization and shelter, which means he lives with a big furry family.

I was fascinated to learn more about Jayaprakash’s experiences and his work…

JayaprakashPlease share your story of going vegan. When did you decide to stop consuming and using animal products? What motivated this change in your lifestyle?

I was raised vegetarian. In my college years I started to eat meat. I can say that it was the usual process of dietary drift a lot of young Indians go through once they are exposed to a more diverse peer group in college; I can say it was just the convenience of picking up a sheek kebab or shavarma roll after a night at the pub with my friends. I can make any number of excuses, but the real reason is that my vegetarianism was simply a matter of habit, and even though I considered myself an animal lover, it was more of a sentimental thing, not something I’d thought through rationally as an adult. More to the point, I think it just showed how weak-willed and ready to be tossed about on the waves of peer pressure I was. I didn’t care to “fit in” in my choices of music and books or clothing; yet it seemed okay to go with the flow when it came to more crucial choices like diet and even clothing—I wore my share of clunky leather boots and jackets during this time.

I will say that I was never completely comfortable eating meat. I always felt heavy and sluggish after eating anything more than a kebab roll, I was repulsed by bone and gristle in what I was eating, and I frequently fought down a sense of nausea while eating meat, thinking of the living thing it had once been. In fact, meat formed a very minor part of my diet, which was mainly ovo-lacto vegetarian.

Questions of the use of animals for food and clothing and so forth surfaced in my mind from time to time, but I never considered them in sharp detail. I was opposed to animal testing, and I continued to enjoy the company of cats and dogs, but since moving out of my family home and living in a series of hostels and shared flats, I hadn’t had a pet and I think losing that daily connection with the animal world helped blunt my instincts.

I reverted to vegetarianism after living with the woman who would become my wife. She was born into a meat-eating community but gave up meat as a little girl, not wanting to harm animals. It felt to me like a natural decision, a relief, a homecoming. You might ask if I would have continued to eat meat if I had met a different woman, and all I can say is that sometimes the right people come into one’s life and leave it at that. A lot of people remain meat eaters even if their spouses are not—this was the case with my father and mother—and I could have done so too. I also stopped wearing leather shoes and retired my old leather jacket.

As I grew more involved in animal welfare, moving from activism to regular rescue and rehabilitation of stray dogs and cats, I started to learn more about the issues involved in how we exploit animals for our comfort, convenience, and luxury. I read a lot about ethical reasons for a life free of animal products, worked my way through Massimo Pigliucci’s examination of these issues on his Rationally Speaking blog, and reconnected with the deep emotional connection I had felt with all animals as a child. Finally, a video by PETA on dairy farming in India pushed me over the edge. I decided to stop consuming dairy as well, and called my wife up and told her I had taken the decision to become a vegan.

I know that the exploitation, torture, and murder of animals continues around me daily. I know that my ceasing to use the products of this cruelty probably doesn’t reduce any of it. But I take comfort in knowing I no longer have blood on my hands, in knowing that there is no ethical contradiction in my animal welfare activities (well hardly any) and in, perhaps, serving as an inspiration to others. I feel like I have finally become someone the five-year-old me would have been proud of.

You are involved in the heavy metal scene in a number of ways, from playing music to being an active commentator online. How long have you been into heavy music? How long have you been playing, and what is your band, Djinn & Miskatonic, up to these days? Any other projects in the works as well?

I discovered heavy metal music through MTV in the early 90s. I was already a music lover with diverse tastes for an early teen: classic rock, some blues, some alt, a lot of western and Indian classical. At first, I had little patience for the “long-haired guitar bands” on MTV. But then songs by Metallica and Guns n’ Roses started clicking. My home life was not altogether happy, and I identified with the rage in many of these songs. When I discovered Iron Maiden, I responded to their complex melodies and epic storytelling. Judas Priest filled me with intimations of power and glorious darkness. Slayer’s music showed me how music could be sinister and attractive at the same time.

I wanted to start playing this music at once, picking up an acoustic guitar and playing at writing songs and being in a band with friends. It took me years to get any good, and to decide to play the bass guitar. I played with a few different bands in my college years, covering everything from alt rock to thrash and heavy metal, and trying out a fair number of original songs along the way.

I’ve been playing the bass guitar since I was 17. I had a long hiatus from music but started again in 2010. In 2011 I formed what would become my current band, Djinn And Miskatonic. Our first album, Forever In The Realm, was a more traditional doom affair, with lots of Saint Vitus, Reverend Bizarre, and Electric Wizard influences. We’ve nearly finished recording our second album, and this time around the musical range varies from Sleep/Vitus doom to Cirith Ungol-influenced epic doom metal with a couple of other odd things along the way.

I’d love to do a couple of other musical projects—something more raw and thrashy as well maybe a space rock project some day. Right now, I don’t have enough time or collaborators for anything other than Djinn, and anyway we’ve got an anything-goes approach to songwriting which allows us to try out a lot of different musical ideas.

In an earlier interview, I discussed possible connections between an interest in black metal and veganism with Samuel Hartman of Anagnorisis. What is your take on being a vegan metalhead? Do you feel like your brand of veganism is in any way informed by your taste in music, or vice versa?

I think maybe extreme metalheads, if they have not been co-opted by the right-wing politics and misogyny that inhere in those circles, are people who are used to standing out from the mainstream and making their own decisions. I think there is a strain of nature-worship and pantheism in black metal in particular which is conducive to moving towards veganism.

But I don’t, ultimately, see a close link between the music and the ethics of veganism. I am happy to see that people like Mille Petrozza are vegan, but I also know many more metal musicians thrive on steaks and leather. There’s no consistent ethical stance in what is after all a diverse community of people and ideologies.

On the other hand, I have found in practice a lot of animal lovers in the metal community here. So that’s a good sign. I try to be visible in my veganism so that I can act as an advocate to people in the music community who may feel predisposed to at least hearing me out because they respect me as a musician. But ultimately, you become vegan because you do not wish to participate in the murder, rape, and torture of sentient beings any longer. People from any musical background can and have made that connection and that change in their lives, and I respect them for it and count them as my peers.

You are also an active writer of weird tales, and a fellow fan of H. P. Lovecraft (yes!). How does your penchant for weird fiction tie into your other activities—music, veganism, etc.?

Although I’ve tended to approach horror themes a little more crudely in my lyrics, my interest in weird fiction does have a lot to do with the urge to write dark, eerie music and with an overall preoccupation with dark, fantastic themes and imagery. So far, I haven’t written songs that are directly influenced by my ethical choices. I don’t know if there is any tie-in between weird fiction and veganism, but I have heard it suggested, I don’t know how seriously, that animals might have a very different kind of consciousness from ours, as different as those of the Lovecraftian gods are from our own—and we’ll never stand a chance of learning more about how that consciousness works if we keep eating them.

Along with all of this creative work, you also are involved in animal rescue in Bangalore. Can you discuss your rescue and what got you into rescue work?

I got into rescue work because I wanted to do something more practical and impactful than the activism too many animal lovers content themselves with. There is a place for raising awareness and running campaigns, but my own temperament draws me to working at the rescue side of things instead. I feel I am doing something of intrinsic and real value when I help nurse an animal back to health, find a new home for a former stray, or at least provide warmth, food, shelter, and love for a dying animal. There are many roles you can play in animal welfare: awareness, fundraising, admin, and so forth. I found that this was the role I could be most useful in, and even so I don’t think I’m very good at it yet.

My wife and I started to be the go-to people for anyone who found a lost or abandoned cat or kitten. There aren’t as many animal lovers in Bangalore working with cats as dogs, and our home population of rescued cats keeps growing. We also take in dogs, and starting a shelter seemed like a natural progression. We’ve had a setback recently, losing the land on which our first shelter was run, but we are looking at new sites and hope to include a full-fledged cattery at our next shelter. Our shelter is called Simba’s Run, after an abused Dalmatian who was one of the first rescues undertaken by our animal welfare organization, Animal Aid Alliance.

How does being vegan influence your efforts to rescue and care for animals in need?

The shelter I help to run is no-kill as far as possible. I have taken a decision to put down animals who were terminally ill and in pain, like a cat with a shattered spinal column or a puppy with an advanced, uncurable case of distemper. This decision is never taken lightly, and I try to spend time with the animal, comforting it, before the euthanisation. The idea of euthanasia for “unadoptable” animals or simply to keep shelter populations down is repulsive to me.

I’ve also had to accept that it is very hard to give cats and dogs a meatless diet. I don’t feel good enabling the slaughter of one set of animals to help my efforts to save another set, and this makes me feel like a hypocrite. Vegan diets for dogs and especially cats are a deeply controversial topic and hard to get clear facts and advice about. I have experimented with a vegan cat food with taurine added, but my cats have not responded to it especially enthusiastically. Still, I hope to learn more and to switch to vegan food for my shelter if it seems like the animals will not miss out on nutrients and flavor.

Sometimes I wonder what we’re all doing, setting up dependent relationships with animals and playing god. Some human beings respect that social contract with our companion animals; others don’t, and then people like us try to step in and rectify the balance. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.

What sort of advocacy work are you involved in, and can you talk some about the vegan scene in the Bangalore area? What are some successes you have seen there, and what are some key issues you think need to be addressed?

I’m not involved in any vegan advocacy in an organized way. I make no secret of my veganism, and as an “out” vegan I hope to influence others. I think I have helped at least two people go vegan. There are a couple of vegan restaurants in Bangalore and a few vegan meet-up groups. I still haven’t interacted much with them beyond the occasional online chat. I really should, I’m sure, but in a culture and society that’s becoming deeply committed to meat eating, I think it is more useful to be out there, being visibly vegan, sane, and happy.

In my country, meat eating is a complex affair. It’s a way to rebel against Brahminical strictures; it’s forbidden flesh; it’s cool and sophisticated. Suddenly everyone is a foodie, sampling steaks and whatnot at hipster eating places. I think people need to learn to see their dietary choices as not just about their lifestyle and self-image but in the context of the ethics of what we eat.

At the same time, the average Indian vegetarian is deeply dependent on dairy products and the idea of doing without cow’s milk is unthinkable to many. I’d like to see that lactose addiction being combated with better information and better awareness of what it means to keep a mother in captivity, impregnating her time and again just to steal her milk from her babies.

Our government has in the past run highly successful campaigns to popularize milk and eggs as healthy and essential to our diet; I don’t think veganism should be government mandated, but I’d like them, and the media as well, to at least table it as a reasonable choice and not something extreme or just a fad.

Thanks for taking the time to speak with me!

Thanks for the chance to do this interview. I’d like to invite anyone in Bangalore who is seriously considering veganism to reach out to me to learn more. Also, I now kmow one other vegan in the Indian metal community: Aditya Mehta of Solar Deity. I’d like for our tribe to increase, so if you’re an Indian metalhead who loves animals, and would like to learn more about veganism, once again, please get in touch. I’d love to hear from you, and I can be reached at



Mike Brown and Ferguson have been on my mind almost constantly for the past couple of days. We can never know the reality of what happened when Wilson engaged Brown and his friend, but it is still impossible to believe how things have played out.

Many people are downplaying Wilson’s actions and talking about Brown’s “personal responsibility” in his own death. His actions–robbery before, possibly lunging at Wilson and going for his gun–are enough to excuse the officer for fatally shooting an 18-year-old black teen..

But I cannot get the stench of a fundamentally biased legal system and police state out of my nostrils. Wilson talked in his testimony of how terrified he was by Brown, indicating that his shots were in self-defense.

Wilson is a police officer and white, so obviously he has been given enough credibility for many, including a prosecutor and a grand jury, to suspend their disbelief so much that he walks away.

Yet Wilson is 6’4″, and on that day he was armed and suited up on the protective gear of his trade. He also chose to shoot after Brown was a more than safe distance away, and apparently standing with his hands up.

The grand jury’s decision basically says that there is insufficient evidence to even explore the possibility of Wilson’s guilt, even on something like manslaughter charges. It thus shows just how much freedom police forces have too carry out capital punishment, and how acceptable it is for police forces to *create* a war zone by casting an entire community of people as the enemy and militarizing in order to control them.

When you believe you are at war and arm yourself for war, there will be war. When you pre-judge individuals to be dangerous criminals, do not be surprised if many lose any trust that you will treat them fairly and respond out of fear and spite. When you discount the lives of people because of the color of their skin and where they live, expect that resistance will grow…even if the legal system and many others will tell you what you have done is perfectly okay. It is never okay, and it will never be forgotten.

“Those things we cannot unsee”: Interview with Jacqueline Morr of Project Intersect

One of my driving interests as an ethical vegan activist over the past few months has been exploring the intersection of ethical veganism and other social justice movements. Having been one to indulge in the myopia of “animal rights” for many years, I have experienced quite the eye-opening (to put it mildly) since pursuing a broader stance of resistance, leading me to take seriously the interconnections of forms of oppression. And to take seriously the necessity and importance of solidarity with other activists across movements.

As I explained in a previous post, I am co-editing a collection of letters from current vegans called Letters to a New Vegan. Through that project, I got connected with Jacqueline Morr, a writer and activist currently living in Los Angeles who is doing a range of academic and activist work on issues surrounding intersectionality, ecofeminism, and animal/total liberation. She recently founded Project Intersect, a zine that I hope will become a nucleus for intersectionality that brings together academics, activists, and a broader population… sliiime

Can you talk about your process of going vegan? When was it, and what factors played into your decision to stop participating in the exploitation of animals? In January of 2011 I moved to Chicago. Nick, a longtime friend of mine, had contacted me about an extra room in his new apartment in Roscoe Village for only four hundred dollars per month; I did not hesitate to accept his offer. This was immediately after I finished with student teaching in my hometown (Mansfield, Ohio), which solidified my desire to teach—and to finally move out of state.

Nick left Ohio immediately following high school graduation, having earned a film degree from the School of Visual Arts in New York City in addition to working toward a Master of Arts in Interdisciplinary Arts Studies from Columbia College (Chicago) by the time I arrived in that city on the lake. He’d already been vegan for a year, whereas I was one of those self-proclaimed “vegetarians” who still ate canned tuna and never even gave cow’s milk or chicken’s eggs an iota of critical thought. I had also spent six weeks in an eating disorders treatment facility in Philadelphia in February and March of 2010—of my own volition, I still feel the need to mention—and was still recalibrating my relationship to food and hunger and also to the post-traumatic self, the multiply-fractured consciousness left in the wake of recovery.

When Nick found the skim milk, “organic, free range” eggs, and “100% real” butter I’d put in his fridge he indicated his discomfort. If I could name the sense of shame I felt for introducing animal products into his cruelty-free kitchen it might sound something like denial. This prompted serious conversations regarding his veganism, during which he recommended I read Eating Animals. I plucked that book from his shelf and read it in a little more than a day. I cried when I finished. Not only for the enormity of the other animals’ suffering but also for my own willful ignorance and, strangely enough, a recovered memory: an undercover video from a fur farm in China I’d seen years before, thousands of minks ineffectively bludgeoned and stripped of their skin while still alive and thrown into pink and steaming piles of others in various stages of dying and decomposition. Writhing ever so slightly. Lidless eyes filled up with the horror of that violent human indifference.

The next morning I held ceremony at my last non-vegan meal, which consisted of diner buckwheat pancakes and a milkshake.

Your academic experience is in trauma studies. How has that research and scholarship affected your work as an activist? Have you found it useful for yourself (and others) who are striving to end the suffering of others?

Trauma and the traumatic subject fascinate me. More than that—I feel indebted to the language and physiology of trauma. The hard work of my Master’s thesis, which culminated in an extended research paper (a history of eating disorders and female [writerly] resistance), an artist’s statement (on the inherent “madness” and “feminine” aspect of writing), and a conceptual nonfiction novel called sick girl (regarding my personal experience as a clinically “disordered” female), revolutionized my experience and understanding of research and writing and critical thought. Specifically: I had begun to more rigorously connect my desire for and aptitude toward knowledge to my increasing unrest as an advocate of critical pedagogy and feminism, amongst many other things (animal and earth liberation not the least of them). A further result was that I more clearly understood the urgency of action around the issues that were closest to my heart and mind—in addition to discovering their utter interconnectedness. During this time I made explicit the previously implicit connections between my feminism, atheism, ethical veganism, earth activism, anarcho-syndicalism, and so forth. Proclaiming it from the rooftops, as it were…sounding “barbaric” yawps from the Manhattan Bridge or the fountain at the center of Washington Square Park.

While my time in the Trauma Studies Department at NYU contributed positively and so thoroughly to my increasingly intersectional mode of praxis around my ethical and political self, it also clarified the extent to which my idea(l)s are “radical,” even (and oftentimes especially) in the context of disparate academic and activist circles. Where I sought allies I found willful resistance, oftentimes hatred and bigotry: “feminists” rejecting the equation of the exploitation of their reproductive systems to that of other female animals; polyglots and Ph.D. candidates in Literary Criticism arguing against boycotts and direct activism on the basis that “choice cannot truly exist;” LGBTQIA activists employing ableist, sexist, and speciesist language to discuss the history of their own oppression.

I could prattle on forever here, but perhaps I should end by noting that knowing itself can be traumatic. In the case of animal/earth liberationists and radical eco-feminists this strikes me as especially true. Those things we cannot unsee will often wash over us in a wave of cold desperation. Of panic, really, with an intensity that would bowl us over. You know the sort: undercover videos from factory farms implant themselves as memories in the Nightmares Section of our brain’s memory warehouse. This cathexis then connects to an intense urgency, hatred, fear around the gestation crate, the bull hook, the anti-nursing bullring, the captive bolt pistol, the puppy mill, the free-range shithouse.

What are some of your primary issues of focus these days as an activist and advocate? What do you feel ought to be some priorities of the vegan/animal-rights movement(s) in general?

Intersectionality remains a central focus of mine. How to cultivate safe and productive spaces for radical eco-feminists and (gender, ability, intellectual, or otherwise) nonconforming persons in animal liberationist spaces; how to successfully critique welfarist incrementalism and cognitive moral dissonance by modeling engaged, intersectional, abolitionist ethics and politics; and, perhaps most importantly, how to model intersectionality through the language I use and the tactics I employ.

There is, I feel, a startling lack of definitional rigor that encapsulates the contemporary movement for “animal rights” (I would instead use the term liberation or defense, for deploying rights-based language to advance any radical social justice movement mires us in legal jargon and a certain capitalist economy of subjectivity—very limiting and counter-productive. This is aligned with Martin Luther King, Jr.’s shunning of the concept of “tolerance” during the U.S. Civil Rights Movement: “True peace is not merely the absence of tension. It’s the presence of justice.”) Amongst the fractured sects of this movement there are no real working—read: widely-accepted and applied—definitions of violence, personhood, accountability, effective activism, and yes—even veganism. I am in no way advocating that diversity, nuance, multi-vocality, and anarchistic values be swallowed up by some equalizing structure or language. Each of us must retain access to the fullest range of significations without fear of subjugation or silencing. But if we are to organize we must ourselves be organized and intentional. Not slaves to any structure or forms but certainly willing pupils, always read to learn and humbly accepting our ill-fated (human) grandiosity: our gross lack of perspective.

You founded Project Intersect, which is an exciting effort to bring together different activists and scholars in order to create a space and vehicle for dialogue on various (but related) social justice issues. Can you explain, briefly, what intersectionality is, and talk some about why it is such a crucial component of ongoing justice advocacy and how you feel it can change the way we approach the ending of exploitation?

I feel I’ve talked about this a bit earlier in this interview, so I’ll keep it brief here: intersectionality, in my understanding, considers all oppressions as interlocking and mutually-reinforcing. Its foundation is built upon the recognition and acceptance of empathy as the driving force behind all ethical concerns—with some caveats around white (male) privilege, colonial histories, indigenous practices, geography, and so forth.

It’d be a true exploitation of my own privilege to claim that all persons should adhere to intersectional ethics as I must, and do. How do I honor the history of the term itself, which was coined by black radical feminist Kimberlé Crenshaw in “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color,” without coopting or claiming the experiences of persons whose lives, in so many ways, are distinct from my own? Me, born to middle-class white folks in Ohio exurbia, sent to Catholic school where I accessed a truly college-preparatory education, possessive of my BA and MA, never having wanted for food or shelter or, really, friendship. Of course, as a female-bodied, young, atheist, body-modified, anti-capitalist, earth liberationist, ethical vegan person, I can find multiple intersections between my experience (of oppression) and that of others, especially female-bodied persons. Never claiming their experience as my own; never speaking for or at or artificially “with” them; but in solidarity and humility to the greatest extent possible.

Identifying and illuminating these intersections is key to collaboration and solidarity across multiple movements for social justice and liberation (power in numbers). This means posing to feminist-identified persons that the exploitation of the female body, regardless of species, must be recognized as intolerable. It means speaking with labor organizers and those who campaign for the rights of working-class laborers and immigrant workers about the exploitation of workers (both adults and children) in slaughterhouses, tanneries, the ivory trade, and so on.

What are some of your goals with Project Intersect, in the near future and further down the road?

Well, of course, to distribute the zine more effectively and widely—to put the publication in the hands of as many unawares passers-by as possible! It’d be lovely to have the zine come out bi-annually, but I’m a High School English teacher and find that I don’t even have time to read for myself anymore, let alone write. Bitter about all of that (teaching is wonderful and awful and uplifting and miring all at once.) But! The first issue of the zine is currently available online (e-mail to request a copy) and in some brick-and-mortar stores: The Pop-Hop bookshop in Highland Park; Skylight Books in Los Feliz; and Stories Books & Café in Echo Park. All in Los Angeles, currently, but my collaborators on the project—Ashley Maier (a good friend and fellow activist) and Nick Morr (my spouse, and another radical liberationist)—are working to improve distribution and promotion of the zine. If anyone would like to help, please, contact us!

As a post-script I should mention that the theme for the next issue, whenever it DOES come out, will be On Violence.

Another of your interests is Ecofeminism. How would you define ecofeminism and its relationship to the larger feminist movement? Why is ecofeminism not always also a vegan movement?

These questions! Eco-feminism has a particularly interesting history, which I won’t recount here; instead I’ll point readers in the direction of Marti Kheel, Lori Gruen, Josephine Donovan, pattrice jones, and so forth. Eco-feminism itself represents that marriage I discussed earlier: a sort of praxis of ethics, experience, and care that fuses (without coopting or whitewashing or undifferentiating) multiple ethical, socio-political, economic, environmental, and ontological concerns. I fear I’m sounding too wordy but I hope my high-flung language is appropriate enough for this context. I care very deeply about the accessibility of these concepts and lifestyles, which must be moldable enough to fit the needs and desires of innumerable persons and communities.

As I’m finding myself a bit overwhelmed by this question, and in the interest of our time, I’ll be as direct as possible: vegan eco-feminism is a “radical” stance in that it establishes and aspires toward rigorous moral baselines. It’s polemical because many feminists identify strongly with one cause or another. Many self-identified feminists I’ve interacted with that are NOT vegan perhaps have never heard of eco-feminism, or feminist arguments for veganism. Or, if they are aware of such arguments, they’re resistant—perhaps they feel they cannot relate, or they have adopted a humanist stance, or they are simply disgusted at the comparison between their reproductive systems and those of female animals of other species. These run the gamut. Melanie Joy’s concept of cognitive moral dissonance resonates well here.

I am in no way asserting that feminists who have not yet made the connection between the oppression of “women” and the multiple other oppressions tended to by eco-feminists and ethical vegan feminists are “bad feminists”—nor are they bad people, necessarily (yet these things always must go forward case-by-case, as we know). As a white, cisgender, educated, able-bodied person I must accept the skewed perceptions that such privilege can and does promote. However, I feel no remorse in proposing that embodying ideals of non-violence, anti-capitalism, solidarity across social justice movements, and the opposition to all forms of bigotry (including speciesism, racism, sexism, ableism, ageism, classism, nationalism, and so forth) should rightfully be at the heart of all efforts to end oppression/the oppressors.

Besides all of these projects and interests, you have also contributed articles to a few publications and do your own writing. Where can we read some of your previous work?

  1. My personal blog, which has been cast aside as the result of my teaching schedule:
  2. I’ve contributed a few pieces for my column “I Forge Things” at Yay! LA Arts & Culture Magazine:
  3. I have forthcoming pieces in Letters to a New Vegan and an as-yet-unnamed project by professor, author, and activist Laura Wright on the intersections of ethical veganism, femininity, and eating disorders.
  4. Also, I’ve written a conceptual non-fiction book, titled sick girl, that sits gathering encrypted dusk on my hard-drive. It was written for partial fulfillment of my Master’s thesis. I love it and miss it, and intend to get through that final round of edits some day soon, and re-submit to literary agents. Hopefully. Hopefully.

Thanks so much for speaking with me about your work!

My greatest pleasure, of course!

Letter to a New Vegan

It has been a long process, but the Letters to a New Vegan book manuscript has made great progress. After contributing to the collection, I soon joined Melissa Tedrowe as co-editor and had the greater privilege to read so many touching, inspiring letters from vegans around the world. My original contribution will not be included in the book, so I am sharing it here for all of the new vegans, would-be vegans, could-be vegans, and my fellow vegans–if any of them care to read it.

Dear New Vegan,

The most important thing that I have to say is, “Thank you.” Your choice to end your role in the exploitation of non-human animals is brave, an action of insight and strength in the name of compassion. Simply put, it is remarkable.

I went vegan in 1999 as a sophomore in college. As someone who cared deeply for companion and wild animals alike as a child, it somehow took me almost twenty years of being alive to figure out that truly loving them is impossible while you are eating them, wearing them, experimenting on them, or using them for entertainment. I am saddened at the disconnect in my awareness for so long but also glad I recognized that the only way for me to be at peace with myself was to stop my personal exploitation of animals. That decision has directed my entire life since. I hope it does the same for you.

The world that you exist in as a new vegan looks very different from the one I entered and existed in way back in a previous millennium. The sheer quantity of vegan-friendly products, businesses, informational Web sites and books, and opportunities to gather and get active available today is mind-blowing. If I stop to think about how far veganism has come since I became vegan, I feel something akin to whiplash—in a good way!

Honestly, though, vegans are still a minority demographic in the United States and around the world. And depending on where you live, you can easily feel isolated and overwhelmed by the amount and normalcy of suffering that humans perpetrate on non-human animals. Simply open your eyes and look around, and you will find something that makes exploiting animals seem okay and even praiseworthy. It is appallingly obvious, and often cripplingly painful . . . yet we vegans are the minority who see and refuse to continue the system of suffering.

Believe it or not, it took me more than a decade to even begin to get past this hyper-awareness of being a minority and the ensuing sense of overwhelming isolation. Hell, it is far too easy to fall down that dark well of vegan melancholy when the world seems nasty, brutish, and so profoundly antithetical to everything we believe (we know) is true . . .

Nevertheless, your decision to go vegan is truly positive and worth rejoicing. It is an act of defiance in a society that thrives on status quo; it is perhaps the strongest statement against a bloodied, destructive machine that any person can make. Yet it is also the start of a life that brings the deepest joy, fostering the rare instance where one’s ethics come into alignment with one’s lifestyle.

There is so much power in this alignment, coupled with the vision to see through the veil of cultural normalization. So, so much.

My biggest mistake as a vegan was kowtowing to the sickness of society, shutting my mouth with a nod and a smile simply because I was convinced that I had no right to speak up. For so many years, I acted (and thought!) as a minority on the fringe, whose perspective and message would inevitably be ignored or laughed off.

When you believe this and accept the minority mindset, it can become hard to recognize your own strength, your own value, and your own place as a key part of something better. You may let that initial act of empowerment flicker and fade . . .

Never allow yourself to make this mistake.

Never let the dominant narrative convince you that you are a minority and should act accordingly. Never let the snotty comments, sneering questions, juvenile jokes, or inexplicable stubbornness of people around you—even those whom you care about and are sure should know better—bow your back under their terrible weight. Never let your voice be silenced nor your energy wane in the effort to liberate animals from suffering and exploitation.

Veganism is power, and veganism is empowerment. Never doubt this. Never forget this.

Looking back on the path behind me, and seeing you standing at the start of your own, I am excited to see so many others walking along with us. They are all speaking up—some louder than others but all in their own voices. There are many of us, yet we also desperately need your voice and your power . . . for the animals.

“Anorexia and Veganism: My Story” at Vegan Publishers

The relationship between eating disorders and veganism is a causal one for many people, especially (it seems) those in the media. But many of us vegans who have lived with/through eating disorders know that is not a general rule at all. In fact, quite the opposite can be true.

I published an article on the Vegan Publishers blog recently describing my experience with anorexia and how veganism was a positive force to counteract that disorder, not fuel for it.

Read the article here.

Hearing Voices

Author’s note: This essay appeared in the inaugural edition of Project Intersect, a new zine that “encourages radical intersectional analyses of oppression that are sorely needed both in activist circles and in general public discourse.” Learn more at



I walk out of the house and gingerly step down the stairs into the yard where our rescued chickens reside. I step gingerly because I know that the chickens, especially Amandine the hen, have gotten wise to the fact that my entrance into the yard usually means a treat is in store.

The ruse is short lived.

Amandine toddles across the yard on her little legs in a sprint that is graceful in its awkwardness. I sprinkle a mix of grains and seeds onto the ground, and Orion the rooster begins to cluck with short, excited sounds as he picks up and drops a kernel of corn, a sunflower seed, or a wheat berry. The other hens are beckoned by his proclamations telling them that food has been found, and once they arrive he proceeds to select certain morsels for them to eat. Often they just ignore him and eat what they want, but he continues to cluck excitedly at the food—or to make scornful sounds that seem to tell them they ought to be heeding his rooster’s wisdom. He does like to think he is in charge.


Our chickens talk almost constantly, conversing in their very own Parliament of Fowls. The boys especially make themselves heard, in particular when food is discovered or (and this is most endearing) when one of the hens is nesting to lay an egg. The hens themselves are quiet when nesting, each laboring for the consummation of the natural task that we humans have hijacked and made unnatural, often ultimately fatal. The roosters, on the other hand, are easily excitable and complain woefully while their hen is laying.

These are some of the many voices I hear every day, and every day I take the time to listen to what they are saying.

Though not human, chickens and all other animals do, in fact, speak. They have voices, though so often we silence them with our din.


Even before my life with chickens began, I found (and took) opportunities to speak on behalf of others—for non-human animals, for the Earth, and for humans, all of whom have been cheated of justice and respect in a system fueled by exploitation. Although halting and easy to miss, my voice has joined in a larger conversation, a rising chant and rallying cry against oppression in all its forms.

Once one gets in the rhythm of speaking, it is dangerously simple to get caught up in the act—in hearing the sound of my own voice and in the pointed rhetoric and shimmering abstractions that language creates—and thus trip over my own tongue as the speaking becomes a matter of process and form, not of having an intentional impact on individuals and ecosystems.

For in the intoxication of speech, in the blissful wandering of the mind around the cavern of itself, I find it terribly easy to lose perspective. To become ungrounded. To ignore the lone, quiet voice of self-reflection that draws me down into the reality of my body, my life, my self, my marriage, my family, and the vast world I inhabit.

This voice asks the most enervating questions, of course:

What historical and cultural forces, what normalized assumptions and values, have allowed me—a white male in the Western developed world of modern America—to have a voice, to speak?

What about those same forces, assumptions, and values have made it nigh impossible for others—for the very ones I am speaking, screaming, fighting for—to speak, to be heard, to have any voice whatsoever?

Finding one’s voice is a process of constant struggle—an internal and external labor of discrimination amongst the legion of voices that are screaming in order to silence. It has taken decades for me to hear even a hint of that voice, all the while recognizing more clearly that it is not one, but multitudes . . . and that there are so many others, not my own, that need to be heard.

Throughout the process of speaking, then, I feel that I must always keep asking myself: What privileges make it possible for me to speak, to write, to be heard? What forces stifle and choke out the other voices so desperately wanting to be heard?

And: What can I do to silence the noise of society so that their wisdom might be heard, be internalized, and be transformed into a catalyst for change?


There is a delicate beauty in the act of listening, of attending to. To cultivate a chosen silence and perceive it as active, engaging, and enlightening is not what we have been taught to do. We have learned that silences are meant to be filled.

The world is a noisy, noisy place. So much of the din around us is of our own making, and it serves as a convenient distraction.

Amongst all of this numbing cacophony, those of us fighting injustice and the oppression of others position ourselves as the voices, the agents, the change-makers for those who have been robbed of the power to speak, to act, to make change.

But we are not their voice.

The oppressed have a voice. Though the efforts to silence them are myriad and mighty, they have a voice, and they have never stopped speaking. We just have found it easier to stop listening.

We may help them to be heard. We may break down barriers so they may be attended to, and we may give them venues in which to speak.

What we cannot and must not do is minimize what they have to say because their language is not ours. We cannot relegate them to silence because their speech is unfamiliar, challenging, and not for our benefit.

We must open up the gaps and the silences so that they might be heard. We must hear their speech for what it is: the indelible expression of who and what they are. And once we hear, we must then allow ourselves to listen . . .

Perhaps the time has come for us to offer our silence to those who have not been heard, to allow them to speak without judgment or prejudice. For unless we perceive them for who they are, not what we want them to be, we will remain forever separate, mistakenly situating ourselves above and in the role of saviors rather than joining together with them in solidarity.

Let us then speak with them, not for them, and offer them what gaps and silences we can so that they, too, might be heard.

Jason crows


Image credit: tom burke (

I am not the voices in my head.

The Buddhists have a Pali term, papañca, for the mind’s tendency to wander and create perceptions of division, of conflict, of identities and essences, that all arise out of the central sense of self. Right discernment for one when recognizing papañca and attachment to some object is to reflect: “This is not mine. This is not me. This is not myself.”

But the voices sound so much like myself, seem so much like my self, that subsuming them within my identity and perceiving the world through their interpretive discourse appear possible only on the other bank of the river.

This is not me.

Whose voices are these that tell me what I ought to be? It seems odd to think that it is my self that is crippling itself with self-doubt and a sense of unending selfishness for not being what I am being shown and told that I am supposed to be.

But then who speaks? Who or what stirs up the rattling claptrap in my head? Which whisper is mine, is me, is myself?

The mind is a spider obsessively weaving its webs. Its art, its process, of spinning is papañca.

It has no say in what gets caught and what passes through. Some things move on, while some become memories and building blocks of who I am, dangling in the void inside the cavern of my skull.

Like stars.

This is not myself.