Why I’m Still Vegan—and Why It’s a Choice that Matters

Animals endure immense suffering on factory farms, and many individuals and organizations are working to improve their living conditions. But are these efforts enough?

Toni Vernelli, former head of communications for the Veganuary program, believes they are. She argues that eliminating animal products from one’s diet is a waste of time and has said that “diet change shouldn’t even be a part of the conversation.” Vernelli now works for FarmKind, an organization that encourages people to set aside personal dietary change and instead donate to nonprofits focused on improving conditions for farmed animals.

I found the FarmKind website confusing. The organization claims its mission is to “end factory farming,” but it’s unclear what that actually means. Does ending the use of gestation crates for pigs or battery cages for laying hens—important reforms, to be sure—amount to ending factory farming? Or is it simply making factory farming somewhat less cruel?

More importantly, can factory farming really end while we continue to produce the hundreds of millions of animals slaughtered every day to meet current demand for meat, dairy, and eggs? A transition to smaller, more humane farms would almost certainly require a significant reduction in animal food consumption. And because welfare improvements often increase greenhouse gas emissions, these changes could actually worsen environmental outcomes unless we encourage people to eat fewer animals and animal products.

FarmKind does support the development of plant-based meats and efforts to make plant foods more accessible. But if outreach and education around dietary change are abandoned, where will the demand for these products come from? If diet change is “out of the conversation,” why would people feel motivated to seek out plant-based foods at all?

I don’t object to the kinds of solutions FarmKind promotes. But I disagree with the claim that veganism is meaningless or impossible—and with what appears to be an active effort to discourage it. FarmKind’s Forget Veganuary website portrays veganism as unpleasant and pointless, suggesting that going vegan makes you annoying and guilty, and claiming it helps only 22 animals per year.

Those numbers don’t ring true to me. For example, the USDA reports that Americans consume an average of four pounds of shrimp per year. If we’re talking about jumbo shrimp—the kind served in shrimp cocktail—that alone could amount to roughly 60 animals per person per year. Advocating for shrimp may seem far-fetched to many people, but FarmKind, which lists the Shrimp Welfare Project as one of their recommended charities, clearly believes these creatures deserve moral consideration. Shouldn’t they be included then in the number of animals we vegans are helping?  

And what about the countless sea animals killed as bycatch in commercial fishing? Or the wild animals who die in crop production—deaths that are higher for animal agriculture, given the enormous volume of crops grown for feed? None of these animals appear to be included in the “22 animals” figure.

As I write this on New Year’s Eve, I don’t have traditional resolutions—just a continued commitment to helping animals in the ways available to me. That includes:

• Supporting rescue, welfare, and vegan organizations financially when I can.
• Working with a local lobbying group to improve animal welfare legislation in my state.
• Doing hands-on work with a local TNR (trap–neuter–return) program for community cats.
• Contributing articles on plant-based diets to nutrition journals.
• Writing a Substack newsletter targeted to omnivores to encourage reductions in animal consumption and gently introduce ideas about veganism and animal rights.
• And (hopefully) devoting more time to this website to share evidence-based information on vegan nutrition and activism.

And yes, for the 34th year,I will continue my personal commitment to veganism. It’s a choice with measurable impacts (those 22 animals, plus shrimp, plus field mice) and others that are harder to quantify. I move in many non-vegan circles, and I know my own diet has encouraged others to try vegan cooking. At my church—where only five of us, including a four-year-old, are ethical vegans—every event now includes vegan food, and sometimes only vegan food. Eight years ago, vegan food wasn’t on the congregation’s radar at all. Our meat-eating neighbors send us vegan recipes and invite us over for vegan meals. My family is exploring more plant-based meats on their own after I introduced them to some of my favorites.

I can’t measure the impact of these changes precisely, but I think they matter. They help normalize plant-based eating and open the door to deeper conversations about why it matters.

There’s also something more fundamental at stake. Embracing a vegan ethic challenges the dominant narrative about our relationship with animals. It confronts the speciesism that underlies not only factory farming, but animal exploitation more broadly. That’s a heavier lift and a longer-term strategy than passing legislation to ban gestation crates for sure. But addressing root causes has to be part of any serious effort to solve the problem.

We need to do better for animals in every way we can. That means harm-reduction efforts like welfare reforms, and it means sharing a vegan ethic when people are open to hearing it. It means taking a clear stand against animal exploitation by accepting responsibility for our own consumption choices. As we head into 2026, I remain convinced that veganism is still a meaningful ethic and an impactful choice.