From rental ads to restaurant storefronts in Dublin, the phrase “pure vegetarian,” sometimes makes an appearance in different places, Comment Editor Safreen AC writes about how the phrase is more complex than it seems.
In India, food hierarchies determine who does and does not belong. While there are significant regional variations, the distinction between who is and is not vegetarian often overlaps with existing caste, religion, and language based divisions. A personal acquaintance, while visiting Tokyo, was standing in line to order beef yakitori, when an older Indian woman, unprompted, asked her if she was Indian and was aware that “we don’t eat beef.” This kind of judgement questions someone’s Indianness solely on the basis of what they eat.
The extent of this judgement is not limited to relatively harmless incidents like this either. In the last few years alone, state and local level governments have banned or restricted the sale of meat in certain areas or during specific festivals, citing concerns related to public health or social harmony. While officials insist that they do not oppose any individual dietary choices, this kind of legislation has pushed out particular foods, and by extension, the communities that eat them away from public view, further into the margins. From universities and schools, to housing complexes and hostels, the insistence on maintaining “pure vegetarian” spaces strengthens existing structures of exclusion and marginalisation.
“Permanent accommodation available, (Pure Vegetarian Only),” an excerpt from rental advertisement posted on a public Facebook group for housing in Dublin. A cursory search reveals a few other posts with similar language. Similar language appears occasionally on other social media or messaging app groups in Dublin, including those that are exclusively for UCD students.
To those from outside South Asia, the request may just seem like another in the list of strict prerequisites that have become commonplace in the Dublin rental market: “No use of kitchen after 6:00pm” or “No visitors allowed.” However, within the context of Indian cultural politics, the request for “pure vegetarian” tenants can serve as a signifier of who is and isn’t welcome in a certain space. Often, it serves as a way to identify, and exclude those from oppressed-caste, Muslim, and other marginalised communities. In 2022, Dublin Live reported on how Indian professionals have been refused housing by other Indians (landlords and potential housemates) on the basis of dietary habits. People have also shared stories with me about flatmates who initially welcomed them, but later insisted that they not use shared appliances and utensils that came with the house to cook meat, passed judgement over the smell or look of their food, or even just asked them to move out on short notice. The scale of this kind of exclusion in Dublin may be limited, but it serves as an example of how discriminatory politics can travel across borders.
However, within the context of Indian cultural politics, the request for “pure vegetarian” tenants can serve as a signifier of who is and isn’t welcome in a certain space
There are Indians, including those from marginalized backgrounds, who choose vegetarianism or veganism for personal political and ethical reasons, and engage with the realities of how food morality is structured in India. They are also unlikely to be the ones advertising “pure veg only” accommodation or running “pure vegetarian” restaurants.
Restaurants that offer vegetarian options and showcase the diversity of food are welcome, but marketing it under the label of “pure vegetarian” (as opposed to just vegetarian), while seemingly innocuous, reinforces cultural norms and biases related to food, purity, and identity. If the intention is to offer alternative food options, why use a phrase that carries connotations of exclusion and discrimination?
If the intention is to offer alternative food options, why use a phrase that carries connotations of exclusion and discrimination?
“Pure vegetarian” restaurants in Dublin may not actively prohibit people from certain backgrounds from patronising their establishments, but the added “qualifier” of pure is loaded; it evokes a history of framing certain food practices as impure and socially inferior. The decision to advertise a place, whether it is a restaurant, home, or event as “pure vegetarian” cannot be disentangled from its historical context, even if those who use it deny associations between religious and caste-related purity. Discriminatory structures do not require conscious enforcement to endure. Seemingly ordinary language around food reproduces hierarchies of caste and religion, and carries with it an implication of who is actually welcome in a certain space. “Pure vegetarian” is not an apolitical phrase, and to challenge the use of the term is to demand recognition of how food can be used as a marker of exclusion.
The decision to advertise a place, whether it is a restaurant, home, or event as “pure vegetarian” cannot be disentangled from its historical context, even if those who use it deny associations between religious and caste-related purity.
When taking into account the cultural context of a country where people continue to refuse to share dining spaces, kitchens, and utensils with those from certain castes or communities; where children are deprived of nutritious meals over religious notions of purity; and where people are lynched over allegations of simply storing or consuming beef; dietary preferences cannot be reduced simply to personal choice.