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We regret to inform you that your student loan application has been denied.
Fuck.
I am staring blankly at my phone, trying to process this unexpected news when a voice startles me.
“Excuse me, Miss? May I order now?” A man’s voice snaps me back to reality. I am drawn to his tone — feigned politeness veiling impatience at the lack of immediate attention. He is a youthful yet older man with a stern expression softened by smile lines on his clean-shaven cheeks.
“Uh, ya…yes,” I stammer trying to hide my own irritation at this intrusion. Is it too much to ask for a minute to absorb the blow I just received? “What can I get you?”
I prepare his coffee, minding all the specific preferences. He unapologetically admits his failure to bring a reusable cup, and we both try to hide our eye rolls as I tap in the extra 7% fee. My first day at Greener Bean, I was impressed by the idea of an added fee for disposable cups. Assertive and to the point. If you choose to unnecessarily create garbage, it will cost extra. I wish that was the universal rule. Landfills don’t need to be involved every time you drink a goddamn cup of coffee. I smile and give this guy a break — sometimes we all forget the world is on fire. But again, is it really too much to ask to bring your own cup?
I scan the half empty coffee shop. The place where I’ve spent much of my time outside of school for the last four years. I relax as I inhale the familiar smell of brewing coffee, baked goods and whatever scent is blowing in from the streets. I slow my breathing to savour the smells. It feels like the comforting wrap of the fuzzy blue and green plaid blanket of my youth, warming me like my childhood home now that I am in the uncertainty of independent life. Rationally I know my blanket remains folded on my childhood bed, in a home I struggled to leave, but I allow myself to feel it a moment longer. What do I have to show since leaving home? No degree or diploma yet to speak of. I am so close. I just need more time. But with my loan denied? It’s painful to think it might all be for nothing now. Maybe my path stops here.
I am punching in another 7% fee for a customer when I see a familiar presence come through the door. Josh.
“Hey Lillian,” he smiles.
“Hey Josh, how’s it goin’?” I pack the despair of my loan rejection in a corner for now.
“You know, you and my mom are still the only ones who call me by my full name.” I smile as I watch him breeze by to become one with the chair at the counter. Josh has always seemed to blend with his surroundings, an envious trait.
“You have old lady’s name but it’s cool and it suits you,” he says factually. He’s not wrong. Josh has been this way since high school, honest and unassuming with an obvious kindness.
“I’m doing alright, keeping busy. It’s been a while, how are things?” He asks taking his reusable mug out of his bag.
“Oh, you know me…still trying to save the world one almond milk latte at a time,” I smile slyly as I reach for his cup. He nods with gratitude, handing me his cup as confirmation of his drink order. Our eyes meet briefly and Josh studies my face for a moment too long, I am eager to change the subject.
“How are things going at your start-up?” I ask quickly.
“Really good. Busy but in the best way,” he gestures to his laptop. He has always had a confidence in his direction that I admire. Since he finished his degree last year, he’s been working at some fancy up-and-coming company that’s shrouded in mystery. Or maybe I just can’t quite remember the details.
“We can chat later. After…” he gestures to the growing lineup. He knowingly glances at me, “And I’d like to hear what’s actually going on with you too.”
I feel my lip quiver slightly. Now’s not the time. I nod and get back to work.
When my shift ends, I lock the door behind the last customer and sit down beside Josh. He’s still glued to the counter lost in his work, his empty mug next to him.
He pauses to look at me and finally asks, “So, what’s up man?”
I hesitate as I reach for that cornered box of despair, perched on the edge of awareness for the last few hours, and try to reconcile it with my current reality, “I got declined for further student loans…I don’t think I can afford to stay in school for much longer.” I shrug as my eyes burn, “I pretty much found out when you walked in earlier.”
“Ah, sorry Lillian. Shit, that sucks,” he gives me one of those combination smiles — empathy and pity in a tight line across the lips.
We talk for a while; he is as supportive as appropriate for someone who didn’t sign up to be a support system today. I admit it feels better to talk about it and release some emotion while I figure out my next steps.
“Want to go for a walk? Looks like it’s finally gonna be a nice evening out there,” Josh asks. I nod, why not. Some fresh air may provide some perspective or at least a distraction. I gather up all the uneaten soon-to-be ‘day olds’ and pile them into my backpack, we shut off the lights and head out.
As we step into the fresh air, it hits me that I haven’t been outside for hours. It feels euphoric. The warm, humid air hits my face and I breathe it in. It tastes like summer once the sun has set and the air has cooled. These last couple weeks have been scorching, that unpleasant heat that catches in your chest as you inhale and suffocates your lungs, just like flowers shrivel up in retreat. This is one of those perfect evenings that makes the heat of the day almost seem worth it. The flowers that line the streets seem to come back to life, extending their faces to the sky – mirroring my own.
I lead the way as we head down my usual route, on either side of the street is a makeshift village. Tents and tarps, sleeping bags and duffel bags acting as pillows. Not a tree in sight, pavement and buildings providing the framework. One of the growing communities of those without secure housing who have little choice but to create their own. It’s been quiet over the last few weeks as many have been forced to take refuge in shelters and parks in the search for shade. Quiet — save for the sirens. I heard people have been unwell and have needed medical care. It is livelier again tonight as the air is cooler and hopes for temperature reprieve are high.
I scan around for the familiar face of my friend, Jane. She’s sitting at her spot, on the pavement near a row of well-worn bikes all supported tenuously by the scrawny kickstand of the first one. We exchange glances and smile as Josh and I walk over.
“Hey Jane,” my smile widens as I introduce them to each other. “This is, Josh. Josh…Jane.” I unintentionally hold my hands out to showcase each of them as though they are prizes on The Price is Right.
“Nice to meet you.” Jane smiles and nods slightly, her eyes warm but tired tonight.
“You as well,” Josh responds. I see his right hand jerk subtly as he seems uncertain if he should hold it out. After a split second, he seems to decide upon a reciprocated head nod. I’m fascinated as I realize the vast number of decisions we must make just to get through the day.
I take off my backpack and start to pile up the day-olds from the coffee shop and a jug of water at Jane’s side, she’ll make sure it goes where it’s needed.
“Tonight’s loot,” I shrug at my own awkwardness as Jane chuckles. I am always happy to see her, a sentiment I think is mutual. I sometimes feel as though we are the same forms in different circumstances. We chat only briefly before we head out, “See you soon.” I smile and give a little wave.
“Goodnight Lill, nice to meet you Josh,” Jane smiles back.
We continue on in a leisurely summer night pace, and I feel Josh studying me.
“So how do you know Jane?” He asks.
“I met her last year,” I explain and can see he is waiting for more. I continue, “I talked my manager out of trashing perfectly good food…” I trail off and wave around at the unique spaces that act as homes, assuming he’ll see the connection. Josh nods in understanding. “Jane was a welcoming face the first time I showed up and we’ve been friends ever since.”
“Cool. That sounds about right,” he smiles.
We cut through a parking lot despite having no immediate destination. The loud idling of a large black truck outside of a convenience store distracts us both. I watch a large cloud of exhaust float by and turn to look at Josh.
“That is fucking criminal,” I blurt out without concealing an ounce of frustration. I close my eyes and take a big breath and try again more calmly, “That person should be reminded that idling their truck is very harmful…especially that goddamn monstrosity.”
I start walking briskly over to the truck as I finish my sentence. The driver finally looks up from his phone and meets my gaze. I hold eye contact as I tap the sign in front of his spot ‘NO IDLING ALLOWED’. He rolls his eyes and I brace for a fight, but he relents and turns the key to cut the engine. I give an approving but disappointed-I-had-to-say-it-in-the-first-place look and turn to leave. I accidentally bump into Josh who I hadn’t realized was back standing beside me.
“Sorry,” I smile and playfully tap my elbow against his arm as I feel my heart rate returning to normal.
“Lattes alone won’t save the world,” Josh warmly quips.
The night air cools slightly as we leave the parking lot and head toward some lush grass that reveals itself as dandelions and wildflowers. I ask Josh about his new company. He instantly comes more to life. His passion is palpable.
“What exactly is it that you are working on again?” I ask. Genuinely curious.
“Well, food. Have you ever really tasted your food? Like really tasted it. I’m working on an enhancement of taste receptors in response to the connection your food has to the Earth,” Josh starts. He pauses and seeing he has my attention, he continues, “We’ve bioengineered technology that increases the expression of our taste receptors. Increasing the production of neurotransmitters, thereby enhancing the signal to what’s called your gustatory cortex…basically it is an explosion of taste in your brain. It enables you to taste the magic of the Earth’s creation of food. And we’ve engineered it to be so simple. The best part is — all you need is a drop under the tongue.”
“Wow, that sounds incredible,” I respond. Trying to fully comprehend what it means.
“Actually…” Josh starts but hesitates. I look at him expectedly until he continues, “um, we are looking for paid volunteers to trial the refined prototype. We’re calling it, Excelsior. It’s a one-month commitment but the payment is generous.”
I perk up, excited yet perplexed as to why he didn’t lead with this earlier as I unloaded my cash flow troubles. “Would I be eligible to be a volunteer?” I ask eagerly.
He nods.
“Are there any deadly side effects?” I half joke but Josh appropriately responds earnestly.
“It is still a prototype. But this will be the third round of trials and I think we have refined it almost to the point of predictability.”
We look at each other in silence for a few moments.
“Do you trust the technology?” I ask, fully aware of both the answer and my need to hear him say it out loud.
“I do, yes.” He replies without hesitation.
“I’ll do it,” I say. I feel suddenly compelled to take this opportunity that has fallen into my lap to solve my loan problem. Maybe my path doesn’t stop here.
“Great,” Josh smiles, “take the evening to think of any questions. If you are free for lunch tomorrow, I’ll text you where to meet in the morning?”
I nod, “Let’s do it.”
After a restless sleep, I wake feeling relieved. I impatiently wait for Josh’s text over my morning coffee. Finally, he sends me an address with a message, Hey Lillian, meet me at this spot for lunch. My stomach is too nervous to touch breakfast, I drink one more sip of my coffee and I get ready for my busy day: Lunch. Become a research subject. Go to classes and embrace them with an entirely new appreciation.
As I walk into the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant chosen by Josh, I find him at a table outside. The tables are worn but sturdy, each chair slightly unique in design. It is a rustic and unassuming place that smells like a combination of freshly baked bread and cinnamon on apples. It’s warm enough out that I am slightly damp to the touch, but it feels cool compared to the last few days. Josh is perusing the menu with a small pile of papers in front of him. Beside them is a small green glass dropper bottle and a large glass half full of ice water. He rises as I walk over, and we both sit.
“Hey,” Josh smiles as we sit down.
“Hey,” I must admit, it’s refreshing to see him again and I feel confident in my decision. As my apprehension fades, I remember my hunger. I am starving.
While we are waiting for our food, Josh takes out a stack of papers. He says it is the trial prototype contract and begins to review it thoroughly, he is serious and professional. He again describes the biotechnology and his excitement toward it is obvious. As he explains the details, I look over his shoulder in search of our lunch. I am now recalling that Josh can be a little long-winded. I start remembering past stories he’s told me, definitely interesting but definitely full of extraneous details. I see that has not changed. We are who we are. The old lady and the chatterbox, I smile to myself.
Josh gets to the last page and asks if I have any questions. I shake my head. I’m actually excited. I sign where I am supposed to, as does he. He asks when I would like to start.
I shrug, “no time like the present.”
The best part is all you need is a drop under the tongue.
He reaches for the glass dropper and, as I stick out my tongue and nod, he places one drop underneath. Tasteless yet earthy.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s it.”
At that moment, lunch arrives. Thank you, Jesus!
As the first bite of food hits my tongue, I feel every tiny hair on my body stand on end. The breeze seems to lift me from my seat and the sun radiates in my chest. My heart is beating rhythmically in tune to the birdsongs I hadn’t before noticed. Tears spring to my eyes in a flood of emotion as I move the food around my mouth with my tongue. Noticing the texture of a piece of carrot, feeling every tiny fragment bursting with flavour. The salt mixes with the vegetables as my mind struggles to make sense of the intensity, just then a chickpea bursts in my mouth as I feel it feeding every cell of my body. My eyes are closed now as I savour this moment. I slowly open my eyes. My cheeks turning crimson as I remember Josh is observing me with a sly smile.
“So?” He asks with a twinkle in his eyes.
I am at a loss, I feel happy. Grateful. In a way I’m not sure I remember feeling. I look down at my bowl – instead of vegetables and chickpeas covered in some sort of nut sauce – I see life. I see the dirt from which these plants were born, the sun that warmed them, the rain that quenched their thirst. I see them offering themselves to me after all those months of growth, they now gift me with what they have become.
“Thank you”, I whisper.
I am still in a bit of a fog as I bike to school. I make sure to find the backroads as my senses feel heightened from lunch. A slight euphoria lingering. By the time I make it to my first class, I have regained my composure. Optimism has gifted me a lightness. I settle in for my first class of the afternoon by taking out my laptop and placing it on the table. I look at the faded grey sticker on the outer shell of my computer and read it for the thousandth time and chuckle, ‘No more dick’. I used to explain that it once said, ‘No more oil’ until the ‘l’ wore off and my friend, Sunny, flawlessly made the ‘o’ into a ‘d’ and added the ‘ck’. Most people seem to think it’s a proclamation of my sexual preference which is fine. Either way, it seems to start some ideologically revealing conversations. I reach for the trusty water bottle I’ve had since ninth grade and take a sip of water. As the cool freshness floods my mouth, I smile and exhale.
It has been a long day of classes. The excitement of the morning subdued by fatigue but ever present. I check my watch, it’s almost eight. I decide to grab supper quickly on my way home. I hop on my bike and ride to the buzzing neon sign of the nearest fast-food restaurant to my building. The aroma of frying potatoes and sizzling burgers hits me. I am so hungry the scent leaves me a little queasy, but my lips curl up at the thought of what I am going to taste. I grab my order and excitedly walk out the door. I fill my basket on the front of my bike with the greasy paper bag and make my way home.
At home, I am set up to finally relax. My pyjamas already on, my supper set on the coffee table and my current binge-worthy show loaded.
“Hey Lois”, I say as my cat gently pushes the side of her mouth into my hand. I pick her up and we touch faces, “Who’s my sweet girl?” I ask as her soft purr gets louder. I break off a piece of my burger and place it beside my supper, we both deserve a treat today.
I lean over and take a bite of my burger, bracing myself with a smile. Before I can taste anything, I am overcome with heat — dry heat. I can smell smoke and hear crackling around me. Is there a fire? I look around frantically to find the source. I can’t see anything, but I breathe it in. My lungs tighten and I start to cough, spitting scraps of food onto the table in front of me. My eyes are forced closed, I get a flash, a vision, so briefly. I see darkness and wild, raging flames. I see birds frantically flying away, colourful feathers still visible through the smoke. I hear beating wings escaping through the singed air. I see a sloth stuck in a burning tree, their terrified eyes a stark contrast to their sweet permanent smile. I hear the screaming of unseen animals. I’m in a…rainforest? In disbelief my eyes open again, I look around and suddenly see only my apartment – safe and cool. But I feel no relief, my eyes are watering, they are burning from the flames that I cannot see. I close my eyes, as I swallow the last of the food remaining in my mouth. I see scorched earth; the fire is finally out. The vegetation now ash, the taste of ash saturating every one of my taste buds. I open my eyes. My apartment remains untouched and shocking in contrast. I close my eyes again to rest. I see a cow grazing the scorched earth, wandering a part of earth their feet are not meant for but see surrender in their large eyes – as they have known no other world. I open my eyes again, I rub them. I gather what’s left of my supper and throw it in the compost bin in disgust. I sit on my couch with Lois in my lap for hours, afraid of what I will see if I close my eyes again. My hands still trembling as I grapple with reality, my lungs still burning from the smoke that wasn’t there. I listen for unusual sounds, making out occasional whispers and screams in the distance. I am terrified and exhausted. Fatigue starts to overtake me, I feel my eyelids failing me, each blink getting longer.
I can tell it is morning, I feel the daylight hit my eyelids and I nervously open them. The air is clean as I breathe it in, my lungs move easily. I feel Lois beside me, her paw reaches gently for my face as she makes a throaty sound to say good morning. I’m in my room, in my bed. I’m certain I did not fall asleep here. It is an absurdly typical morning. Was it all a dream? I am lost in my thoughts as I make my way to the kitchen. Nothing out of order. I relax slightly. I then notice my hunger and the tension begins to rise within me. I look at the below par selection in my bare cupboards. I pull out a poorly sealed bag of bulk oats and find some borderline over-ripe berries from last week’s farmers market…or was it two weeks ago? All the same, I figure they are still edible.
After preparing breakfast, I anxiously sit down at the table. I cautiously place some food on my spoon and touch it to my lips, pausing. As the flavour reaches my tongue, I sigh loudly with relief and pleasure. It is delicious and beautiful. The berries that were nearly spoiled taste like flower blossoms in my mouth, each tiny section its own burst of summer. I get visions of lush green bushes covered in ripe fruit, the sun shining on the tiny moist dew drops on the leaves. I close my eyes and I see fingers pulling the berries from their home with laughter and chatter in the background. It’s the taste of joy. I eat every last mouthful and sit back in my chair. This is definitely what Josh meant by ‘an explosion of taste to the brain’. The unsettled fear from last night is replaced by mild euphoria. This is a new day, I tell myself as I start getting ready for work.
On my usual path to work, my mind paces between the frantic stress of last night and present moment serenity. The air is cool in my lungs as I inhale deeply, balancing the warmth of the sunny day. The streets are busy as people once again feel safe to go outside. Bikes create refreshing breezes as they go speeding by me. The heat has lifted and seems almost a distant memory now. The chirping of birds outcompetes the drum of traffic and human movement. My mind wanders back to last night, still trying to make some sense of what happened. It was not real, at least not to me. But how did it feel so real? My heart rate quickens as my senses remember and my heart begins to ache. Without the fear of the moment, only deep sorrow remains as it floods back. If this is an unwanted side effect of Josh’s prototype, how do I make sure it doesn’t happen again? As I reach to call Josh, I recall the pleasure of my breakfast this morning and smile. I put my phone back in my pocket. The unease slowly fades when I reach Greener Bean; time and distance separating me from the memory of last night.
I finish with my last customer of the morning and grab some lunch for myself. I avoid taking the last empty table and grab a stool at the counter. Only an hour to eat and get to classes, but I really should take a take a proper lunch break. I kick off my shoes under the stool and let my hair free, massaging my temples. It’s a relief to fully relax for the first time today. I’m watching the commotion of the coffeeshop with mild fascination which has replaced the hurried urgency I feel when working. I distractedly unwrap my sandwich, I look down to see the same BLT I opt for on most of my shifts. I have almost forgotten to expect anything extraordinary. Suddenly, I am struck with excitement about tasting one of my favourite foods for the first time with my new senses. Without hesitation, I lean over and take a bite of my bacon sandwich.
Oh no, no, no! Please, not again. Not again.
I am almost chanting to myself, hoping to escape what is coming. I’m unsuccessful. The faint pungent smell suddenly envelopes me in a cloud of ammonia and waste. I instinctively open my mouth to breathe but it is worse. Shit. I taste it, I taste the shit in my mouth — I start gagging in response, feeling as though I am losing conscious control of my body. My heart is slamming in my chest, I am looking around frantically yet I am acutely aware that I do not want to see what is there. The sorrow I feel for myself is quickly overcome by two small soulful eyes staring directly into my own, the wire of a cage between us. My heart lurches in my chest, the ache is unbearable. The eyes look at me without judgement but rather with empathy, empathy for me as they sense my fear. They know that feeling too well. I look around again and am vaguely aware of the people around me, I see coffee cups and tables, hear the chatter of many different conversations competing for airspace. They are unfazed, unaware.
I am sweating, my shirt clinging damply to my body. My eyes are forced closed. I see the source of the smell, a waterfall of waste running down an embankment. I want to stop it, but I cannot see how. I watch it enter the waterway, the smell changes as I am closer to a river. The burning of ammonia is mixed with sulphur and fish. Fish are struggling to make their way through the river, they are slow. Many of them are still, the impossibility of life in such waste. I watch the clean water become stained as it flows downstream. Suddenly I open my eyes and I am back looking down at my lunch, the crystal-clear water in my cup leaving a perfect circle of condensation on the counter beneath it. My mouth moist, knowing it has never experienced truly unquenchable thirst. I see my sandwich with one small bite missing and I am aware I still hold it in my mouth. I use my tongue to push the food to the paper below me, unconcerned if anyone is watching. Hoping it will end this horror.
As I look around me, the customers in their summer clothes have been transformed. Their feet are bare, their clothes tattered. Instead of hardwood floors, they move on compact dirt. Their limbs are thinner than I am used to seeing. They move slowly, purposefully, careful not to waste energy. I see mothers holding their children, the warm embrace so reminiscent of my own childhood, my own mother’s arms. In the distance I see grain loaded up by the ton as it is taken away. The anger fills me as I suddenly feel intense hunger, a hunger I have never known. The tears flood down my cheeks at the injustice, the inhumanity. I drop to my knees. I cannot bear it. I feel my body collapse in grief.
I am jarred by the touch of two hands on my shoulders. I look up and see two eyes looking empathetically into my own. They are different than the ones from before, they are the human eyes of my manager, Eileen. She helps me up off the ground. I am now keenly aware of my surroundings on the floor in the middle of the coffeeshop. It is eerily quiet as people pretend to look away.
“Let’s get you to the couch in the back office,” Eileen says, guiding me quickly away from the crowd.
“I’m OK,” I insist as I ask for some time in solitude. I am still catching my breath as I fumble to find my phone and dial Josh.
As soon as Josh answers, I hoarsely demand, “I want this to end.”
“Lillian? Are you OK?”
I am enraged by the question but momentarily lost for a response. “I — I am not OK. You lied. You promised me heaven and delivered me to hell. I quit.”
I hear Josh sigh gently. He chooses his words carefully and asks, “Do you remember what I told you before you started? That day at lunch?”
I half-heartedly think back but I cannot recall. I am too exhausted to play games, “Just tell me!” I snap.
“I told you that this technology heightens your senses and allows you to feel a connection to the Earth. The taste receptors. The neurotransmitters. Excelsior, it enables you to feel intense pleasure when you eat food that nurtures the Earth – food that is produced with sustainability and justice.” Josh pauses to allow me to remember, I am unable as I realize I was not fully listening. My silence voices this admission. “But when our Earth is hurting, so are we all. I warned you of the uncertainty of reactions to that which harms the Earth and the living beings that inhabit it. That is the unpredictability we have been unable to fully control.”
Josh pauses before asking, “What did you eat? Which meals did not deliver heaven?”
I think back to my supper of fast-food and today’s lunch. I start to make connections as my mind races — the puzzle pieces begin to fit together. My rage grows with these revelations. I did not sign up for this, at least not knowingly. I did not agree to this knowledge, this trauma. I avoid the question, “I would like to withdraw from the trial.” My voice is stern.
Josh is quiet for a long while. Finally, he says, “Of course, Lillian, it is your choice. I have the neutralizing serum and I will reverse Excelsior if that is truly what you would like. Just another drop under the tongue.”
I don’t speak.
Josh breaks the silence, “Just consider one thing, will anything ever taste as good as the lunch you had with me that day? Will anything ever again taste as good as the truth did when it was just?”
Josh’s words echo through my mind. Resentment rises in me as I yearn to unsee. How much time will it take to forget enough? I try to balance the ease of comfort with the burden of truth. I am so angry. One thing of which I am certain – I cannot live like this any longer. I make a plan to meet him, and I hang up the phone. I lie back on the couch and rest my eyes in bitter relief.
_________________________________________________________________
Dear Dr. Lillian Adams,
We would graciously like to invite you to return as a keynote speaker at the Continued Global Sustainability 2040 symposium.
Nice.
I reach over and take a bite of my lunch and smile as I look out the window. I close my eyes. A breeze lifts me from my seat and the sun radiates in my chest.
Accompanying Summary
The inspiration for this short story is the climate impact of the dietary choices we make daily. A comprehensive discussion about climate change cannot occur without considering the impact of the production of our food, particularly the positive impact of eating lower down on the food chain. The production of animal-sourced food significantly impacts climate change in numerous ways, including: increased GHG emission; land use, deforestation, and land degradation; water supply stress, and decreased food security (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), 2019). As stated in an IPCC Special Report (2019), “many studies now indicate that dietary shifts can significantly reduce GHG emissions” (Can Dietary Shifts Provide Significant Benefits section, para. 1). The impacts of animal-sourced food are complex and multifaceted.
Livestock raised for meat contribute 18% of GHGs through feed production, methane release from animal digestion, manure breakdown, processing, and transport (Stoll-Kleemann & O’Riordan, 2015). Additionally, cattle ranching is one of the key factors of tropical deforestation via clearance of forests for cropland and livestock pasture, through slash and burn techniques (Climate Institute, 2017; NASA Earth Observatory, 2007). Deforestation is environmentally devastating as it releases carbon through the clearing of forests as well as decreases carbon sequestration from destroyed vegetation (NASA Earth Observatory, 2007). Deforestation is estimated to contribute 25% of the total global GHG’s (Climate Institute, 2017). Croplands in the rainforest, as well as worldwide, are largely used to feed to livestock. For example, 77% of the world’s soy production is fed to livestock in the meat and dairy industry with only 7% going directly towards human consumption (Ritchie & Roser, 2021). This redirection of cropland to livestock versus direct human consumption is one of the primary drivers of global food insecurity (Stoll-Kleemann & O’Riordan, 2015). Access to clean water supply is also impacted due to the water requirements of livestock coupled with direct pollution from unsustainable agricultural practices (Stoll-Kleemann & O’Riordan, 2015). The complexities of food choices are not limited to environmental impacts as cultural and societal influences largely shape dietary preferences (IPCC, 2019). However, it is clear that our current global dietary preferences are placing demands upon the Earth that are unsustainable.
Despite objective evidence illustrating the need to switch to a sustainable diet, there is discomfort discussing this issue and a tendency to dismiss it, even amongst climate activists. A study by Stoll-Kleemann & O’Riordan (2015) found four barriers to decreasing meat consumption: unawareness; cognitive dissonance; cultural influence; and powerful influence of animal agribusiness. My short story hopes to overcome some of these barriers by using imagery to illustrate the impact of the food we choose. My hope is that narratives may increase engagement and empower the audience to make more just and sustainable choices.
The references for this summary as well as those that contributed to “The Taste”, have been included in the following section.
References
Bennett, L. (2017, April 18). Deforestation and climate change. Climate Institute. http://climate.org/deforestation-and-climate-change/
Dutkiewicz, J. (2020, August 31). The climate activists who dismiss meat consumption are wrong. New Republic. https://newrepublic.com/article/159153/climate-change-dismiss-meat-emissions-wrong
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). (2019). Climate change and land: an IPCC special report on climate change, desertification, land degradation, sustainable land management, food security, and greenhouse gas fluxes in terrestrial ecosystems. [P.R. Shukla, J. Skea, E. Calvo Buendia, V. Masson-Delmotte, H.-O. Pörtner, D. C. Roberts, P. Zhai, R. Slade, S. Connors, R. van Diemen, M. Ferrat, E. Haughey, S. Luz, S. Neogi, M. Pathak, J. Petzold, J. Portugal Pereira, P. Vyas, E. Huntley, K. Kissick, M. Belkacemi, J. Malley, (eds.)]. In press. https://www.ipcc.ch/srccl/chapter/chapter-5/
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