This is a recounting of my experience doing a Cube of Truth similar to that done by Anonymous for the Voiceless (AV) with the UW chapter of Allied Scholars for Animal Protection (ASAP). More broadly, it represents a shifting of my views on animal advocacy towards being marginally more willing to call out unethical action and akrasia/other excuses. Thanks to Dr. Faraz Harsini and Ryan Blum for starting ASAP UW–Madison, and thanks to Ryan, Cian, Isaac, and Andy for your work doing the cubes.

“I never thought it would be something you’d want to do”.

I was a bit surprised and almost the slightest bit offended, though there was no trace of insincerity in Ryan’s voice. He was genuinely surprised, and I could understand why.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m an introvert. Sure, when I’m around my friends, and when the topic is interesting enough to me (so basically not small talk + bonus points for something philosophical/activism-related), I open up and I can be quite energetic. But in a room full of strangers, I’m pretty quiet and withdrawn. So something like the Cube of Truth—where you have to grab peoples’ attention and hold it and potentially argue with them on the spot—was intimidating to me.

I’m also a highly agreeable individual. While there’s a lot that’s good about being compassionate, polite, and affiliative, there is a glaring downside to this trait: it can be hard to stand up when standing up is needed. I certainly relate to this quite deeply. I am quite sensitive to any kind of conflict: it’s hard for me to stand even a tense debate. Advocating for animal welfare and veganism is no exception for me: in the past, I’ve struggled even with refusing to eat something that wasn’t vegan and asking whether a product was vegan. The negative reactions from family and across the internet were enough to repel me from any remotely combative form of animal advocacy, fearing that this would only make people more recalcitrant.

But when Ryan mentioned that he and some of our friends were going to be doing a Cube of Truth, a part of me rose up and asked to join. This was the part which had given rousing speeches on matters of great personal importance. This was the part of me that defied what was popular in favor of what was right. This was the part of me which had admired those who had given their lives to do what was right. This was the noble, courageous, authentic aspect of myself, and not only did it fight to win out, I wanted it to win out. However much I might be able to content myself with a desk job, I wanted to really give a part of myself for the cause which I so believed in.

Despite my conviction, I could feel myself getting a bit nervous as the time approached. Ryan had briefed me on the script the night before, and we did a bit of practice as we were getting ready. Still, I was taking too much time to think of the lines. And I was worried. What if someone got angry or violent? What would I do? Would I be able to hold my nerve? Look them in the eye? Keep a steady tone? What if I made a fool of myself out there, looking like some put-together activist but falling into a blathering mess the second someone came to talk to me?

“I’m really happy you want to do this,” Ryan said as we were preparing to go out. “But if at any point you get cold feet, just let me know and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

I nodded in appreciation. But inside, I knew that no matter how cold and clammy my feet got, I wasn’t going to give in to trepidation. Even if this goes badly, I told myself, I would see it through.

Getting to the square where we would be doing advocacy only made it more real. Pulling the Guy Fawkes mask over our friend’s face felt like crossing the Rubicon. I was really doing this.

I watched Ryan and the others go through a few rounds of conversations. Some people were sympathetic, some not so much. One lady ran away from a conversation. One girl shouted in passing that we should’ve been advocating against the genocide in Palestine instead. Most people just passed by, looking away from the flatscreen TV.

After a bit, Ryan walked up to me. “Alright, now that you’ve seen how it’s done, feel free to jump in.”

My first few attempts were fumbly and awkward. I didn’t quite get the words right. I forgot to say stuff. It was tough trying to remember the script while also attempting to engage people. But I pushed through. The first person who I really got into talking with was really receptive and kind, freely admitting that this was a bad thing and that he would really consider cutting back on animal products. Though I didn’t do everything exactly right, I felt good as he walked away. I was fairly confident that he really cared and would try in good faith to make a change.

I became bolder and better. I started to remember the script. I was able to adapt to talk with people who were already vegetarian/vegan as well as those who had objections. I started to flag people down in earnest. I settled into something of a rhythm.

I never became perfect at any of these things. There were still times where I tripped over my words, where I didn’t quite say the right thing, where I wished I’d asked someone to stop and talk. But I had never expected myself to be perfect. I’d even said as much before we’d gone out.

“I always feel really good in the moment, but then, at night, I can’t sleep,” Cian had admitted to me.

“Why? Oh, because of the footage?”

“No, not that. Because I keep thinking of the things I should’ve said instead.”

Cian was a guy who had (once had) fervent utilitarian leanings, and even if he had backed off of them a little since then, I knew that he was and would always be the kind of person to really think and feel deeply about these things. I knew he felt that every word he said had lives on the line. And I sympathised with that feeling myself. But I also knew that there was no point in self-flagellation.

“Ah, I get that,” I’d said. “But I also think that we can’t expect to always say the right thing. And the way someone reacts isn’t always going to match whether they become a vegan or not. Even if someone reacts angry, maybe that just means that they’re processing the information.”

I think that thought had helped Cian, and it certainly helped me. Whenever I slipped up, or let someone slip by, I took a deep breath, encouraged myself to try to do better the next time around, and moved on. And I was glad I did, because while there were many people who didn’t stop or weren’t very interested in talking, the people who did stop were generally quite thoughtful. Many people were truly unaware of the state of animal farming, or held naive and weak conceptions about the justifications for consuming animal products. They just needed someone to plant the seeds of change in their minds, and time and willingness would take care of the rest. For me, the Cube of Truth became less about arguing others into submission and more about opening dialogue and giving others the information and encouragement they needed to make a change. Maybe that’s what it always was supposed to be about.

Almost at the end, I had a few groups of people come up to me at once. I was surprised, not expecting such a crowd. I could feel their eyes on me. I began to falter, and I felt my throat seize up. A few people left. But again, I didn’t let myself panic. I got myself together and managed to salvage the situation. I realised I didn’t have to worry about making a fool out of myself. It had kind of happened, and it didn’t kill me. Pushing through, I managed to turn the situation around, and even gave some answers to justification for consuming animal products. Before they left, one of the girls even told me they thought my answers were thoughtful.

When we were all done, and we’d finished packing everything up, Ryan gave us a debriefing.

“I’m really proud of you guys,” he said. “Especially the last five to ten minutes, when everyone was really in their element and having good conversations. Thank you all for doing this with me.”

We were all thankful that Ryan had originally set this program up and led us through it. I knew that it was not something that I would have spearheaded for a number of reasons, but I could see the value of it and was glad to have participated. It was obviously good for the animals, as many people were now educated about their plight, and perhaps some would one day become animal advocates in their own rights. But I could see the effects it had on me, too. I felt more confident and empowered to stand up for what I knew was right. I felt more willing to hold others accountable, even if that risked necessary conflict. I felt less constrained by the opinions of others. The apprehension I felt at joining another cube or protest or other advocacy function was greatly diminished. 

I was really glad that I’d pushed myself out of my comfort zone and done this. I’d always felt that I wasn’t the kind of person to be an advocate for many reasons. I’d felt that it would be better for me to work behind the scenes. And I do think that I want to use my career for something behind the scenes. But it was a great experience to have been on the front lines this once and to have really talked with people directly. I think the courage and character that direct advocacy can build can be really valuable in both personal and professional domains in life, and I think that it’s also a great opportunity to renew one’s connection with the causes and communities one cares about. And I think that there’s more of an effect from direct advocacy than we might expect, even if it isn’t all that we’d hoped for.

So for people who care about animal welfare, veganism, or any good cause who feel a little apprehensive or like they aren’t the best-suited for advocacy, I really encourage you to give direct advocacy a try. Even if a cube is more than you’re comfortable with at the moment, I’d encourage participating in tabling or in a protest. You will definitely have something unique to bring to the table, and you might be surprised by how well things go.