I Can’t Believe It’s Not Abattoir!

In Happy Meat, four Canadian sociologists attempt to unravel the mystery of what they call the meat paradox: “the simultaneous existence of deep concern for animal welfare and the environmental harms of industrial meat production, alongside the persistent consumption of animals.” Although the authors do not oppose meat consumption, noting that they eat meat themselves, they are interested in the narratives that people use to reconcile their choices within this paradox. Identifying happiness as a central theme, they tease out a story of “happy meat” and the way that this story is used to deflect systemic critiques. This is a timely book, as the low adoption rate of non-religious vegetarianism and veganism is truly puzzling, despite rising awareness of environmental, health, and animal welfare concerns.

The story begins with the ascription of happiness to cattle, lambs, hogs, poultry, and the like farmed for their flesh. Even though these animals are destined for inevitable slaughter, the assumption that their short lives are happy right up until a violent end is used to justify their purpose and production. However, the tale quickly leaves behind the assumed happiness of farmed animals, shifting to a narrative that highlights the role of consumer happiness, which is found immediately in the hedonistic experience of eating meat as well as embodied in physical sensations, embedded in cultural norms, and enjoyed as social status. The happiness of the meat itself — as flesh onto which sentiments are projected — gives meaning to all other dimensions of the story. Through interviews, focus groups, and surveys, the authors find that consumers feel guilty about meat consumption — but not guilty enough to stop. They cling to a happiness narrative like a fig leaf.

For those who have reservations about consuming meat, this narrative can help overcome objections, even enhancing pleasure. Produced in an agricultural system that is imagined as different from the factory farm, so‑called happy meat is assumed to be healthier and more environmentally sustainable. Ideas about alternative agriculture offer both moral and aesthetic consecration, allowing consumers to justify their choices. The equation of flesh with protein makes consumption desirable for those who wish to be fit, strong, or slim because meat consumption is frequently framed as necessary to being healthy and to preventing undesirable weight gain. The authors skillfully uncover this narrative, and they show that consumers are willing to pay more for meat — even consuming less of it overall — in exchange for the peace of mind that comes from at least minimizing harm.

The authors write of an “ethical meatscape.” Against the background of an industrial agricultural system, “alternative agriculture emerges as a ‘salvation story’ where people must find their way through the morass of conventional farming and come to achieve personal, environmental, and/or economic redemption.” They then illustrate how the factory farm has become the referent for all discussions; against the spectre of ultimate evil, other models of meat production can be framed as good. The artisanal butcher, for example, becomes a hero. Beyond simply offering the consumer a choice, the butcher is seen to respect the animal, honouring it by taking responsibility for its death, which is transformed from a slaughter into a noble act of sacrifice. “The ethical meatscape offers ‘joy’ for the eater,” who also adopts a heroic personage.

Elsewhere, the authors make a strong case for a straw man that one might call the “bad consumer,” and they reveal an entire consumer class that positions itself in opposition to the average consumer of “unhappy” meat (produced in the industrial system, which is, of course, responsible for the vast majority of meat production in the industrialized West). Many of their interviewees seem to be quite content with this compromise, and the authors do an excellent job of demonstrating how they solve the meat paradox — having their steak and eating it too.

Happy Meat does have one weakness: a loosely defined ethical framework that mirrors the loosely defined ethical framework of the interview subjects. As well as considering the ethical dimensions of the happy meat narrative, the authors consider its emotional resonance. It serves as a comforting fairy tale that can be mined for emotional reassurance. However, it becomes clear that any distinction made between the ethical and emotional dimensions of this story is arbitrary and ultimately false. The ethical choice is simply whatever a given individual feels is ethical. In other words, the decision to consume happy animals is an ethical one because it was made consciously. This circuitous logic summarizes the ethical framework that emerges out of the interviews. Although the authors certainly capture its absurdity, I cannot help but wish they had asked the obvious follow‑up question: Why?

Despite using the term extensively, even devoting an entire chapter to the ethical meatscape, the authors never actually define “ethical.” More frustratingly, they never seemed to ask how their interview respondents understand the term. Their interviews discuss ethical consumption at length, yet it is often unclear if this language was chosen by the respondents or if it is a framework that the authors are using to make sense of the interviews. The authors are clear, however, that they do not intend to engage with morality or take a normative stance on the ethics of meat production and consumption. They keep to this aim throughout the book, maintaining a neutral tone and refraining from adding any of their own commentary on the topic. But their choice not to engage with conceptions of morality seems to extend beyond their refusal to take a position, as they also refrain from interrogating how moral and ethical frameworks are understood by their subjects. If the authors ever asked their respondents how they understand morality, or how they describe their own ethical positions, these exchanges did not make it into the text. Instead, words are used without definition, while the implicit understandings of the vocabulary seem to shift constantly. This is a shame, as that next, deeper layer of understanding would add to the discourse substantially.

At points, the authors show us how beliefs can be deceptive. For example, one narrative holds that ethical meat production honours the animal by throwing nothing away: “The story of nose-to-tail eating, where every part of an animal is carefully utilized, holds a significant place in the ethical meatscape.” Small farming or butcher operations are often assumed to use more of the animal, perhaps because they are seen to sell a wide variety of cuts or simply because it feels true. Yet, as the authors point out, the opposite is more often accurate.

Industrial operations are organized around the principle of extracting maximum value, generally using more of an animal even if much of the process is invisible to consumers. Even if they are seen to sell only prized cuts of meat, they have the infrastructure to break down all parts of a carcass into saleable commodities, including those that small farmers and butchers often throw away. While this example helps us fact-check the happy meat narrative, the underlying normative assumptions of it are not explored fully. If using all parts of an animal holds such an important position in moral judgments, this too leads to the obvious question: Why?

The authors’ fieldwork included dozens of site visits and seventy-six in‑depth interviews with ethical meat producers in British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Ontario. Of course, these and other people interviewed for this book are not naive. The authors are careful to point out the ways the subjects leverage happy meat discourses to reassure themselves, even when they are both skeptical of the stories and keenly self-aware of the ways they choose to use them. This is a hugely valuable finding; the interviewees consciously deploy these characterizations to frame themselves in a flattering light, even when they are their own audience. The authors are respectful of those they interview, stressing their agency while also remaining attentive to structural conditions and differences at play. In doing so, they emphasize three common plot lines: “first, the story that a healthy body (read: thin, muscular) is a meat-eating body; second, the many stories showcasing the centrality of meat to a valued cultural identity (e.g., meat dishes connected to nationality or ethnicity); and, third, the story of happy meat — meat from animals that led fulfilled lives, raised by caring and contented farmers who are attentive to sustainability.”

Having looked through this window into the thinking of consumers, I have one word stuck in my mind: fascinating.