In Partial Defense Of Kristi Noem (Really!)

I don’t think people are mad for the reasons they think they are

I take pride in being the chill type of vegetarian. I never express judgment toward those who have made different choices than I have on this front, in part because I destroy the planet in so many other ways (lotsa milk and eggs), so I don’t have much of a moral high horse to get on in the first place. I don’t freak out if I accidentally eat a little meat, I adopt a don’t ask, don’t tell policy with regard to rice at Mexican restaurants, which is often cooked in chicken broth (but how could I know that? I didn’t ask), and in general I try not to evangelize. 

If someone asks me how I became vegetarian, which is still a surprisingly common question in 2024, I won’t go on some moral rant. I’ll simply tell them I dated someone in my mid-twenties (we’re actually still friends), she was a vegetarian, and after we broke up I ended up reading the book that helped turn her vegetarian, Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, and it had the same effect on me.

The only thing that turns me from a chill vegetarian into an annoying, judgy vegetarian is hypocrisy. I remember one time, God knows how many years ago, I saw a local news segment where a supermarket customer freaked out because they bought a chicken breast (if memory serves), and the chicken’s foot had accidentally been included in the packaging. It’s not ideal, but on the other hand. . . where do you think the chicken breast came from? I can imagine situations in which I’d be okay eating meat, but I’d have to be closer to it — this system we have, where fresh chicken breasts just appear in your supermarket aisle and we consider it unusual if they are accompanied by any signs of the process that brought them there. . . I don’t think it’s a recipe for thoughtful discussion about our consumption habits. (But there I go, letting my residual judgmental side creep in!)

All this might partly explain my feelings toward the reality show Alone, which simply follows survivalists in harsh and remote areas as they try to survive longer than their competitors without “tapping out” and calling for help so they can return to their normal lives. The contestants film themselves, so they really are truly alone, save for the occasional medical check from the show’s crew and medical staff. Despite the fact that I don’t watch any other reality shows, whenever a new season of Alone pops onto Netflix, I end up binging it. I’m always fascinated by how seriously the contestants take the act of killing an animal. They get really broken up if the animal they are hunting suffers unnecessarily before dying. From their point of view, the worst outcome isn’t the animal getting away unharmed, but them delivering a non-lethal shot and then being unable to track it as it limps off, meaning it will die in some brushes somewhere in a slow and painful fashion, its meat and fur wasted. Many of the contestants, after killing an animal, will pet it and thank it for giving up its life to provide them sustenance. This couldn’t be further from Ewwwww, why is there another part of a chicken in the chicken portion I’m trying to buy.

That was all a longer preamble than I had intended to write. I bring this all up because of South Dakota governor Kristi Noem and her dog.