Very often, a viral news story about animals is a comedy to its audience and an unmitigated tragedy to its subjects. That was the case this past weekend, as footage of bands of juvenile cows dashing through the streets of Kansas City stampeded across the internet. 

The details are as follows: Last weekend, in the middle of the night, a semitruck carrying close to 120 young cattle plunged off a highway interchange in Kansas City’s downtown, spilling out dozens of animals. The truck driver and one other person sustained minor injuries. Dozens of the cows were killed, many others were seriously injured, and still others went running into the city. Some of them traveled for several miles, the city’s fire chief told the Associated Press. The animals were chased around the streets by first responders and self-described “cowboys” (one of them appearing to carry an electric cord as a lasso); authorities said all were rounded up by the end of the day.

To many people, freak accidents like these understandably look a little funny, even fantastical. “We take free roam BBQ very seriously,” one Reddit comment, with more than 400 upvotes as of this writing, said. “Much as I lament the tragic loss of bovine life, these videos have brought such joy to our fair city,” another commenter wrote. 

The clips undoubtedly have a certain charm. If only the animals were as carefree as they appeared in those brief moments — and if only they could truly escape the fate that humans had in store for them. But as my colleague Kenny Torrella has written, the strange animal stories that periodically capture the public’s imagination almost invariably circulate stripped of the darker reality from which they emerge — humanity’s dominion over nonhuman animals. In this case, the cattle crash illuminates one of the most overlooked cruelties of modern animal agriculture: the nightmare of livestock transportation.  

When you imagine the lives of animals raised for food, you might think of a factory farm (in a large majority of cases, very cruel) or a slaughterhouse (likewise, and not just for animals raised primarily for meat — dairy cows and egg-laying hens are slaughtered, too). But the animals need to be transported from the farm to the slaughterhouse, and also between numerous different facilities — breeding farms, hatcheries, feedlots, auctions — over the course of their lives as they progress through different stages of the livestock supply chain. Most cattle raised for beef and dairy are transported multiple times in their lifetimes; between four and six journeys is common. A recent US Department of Agriculture report found that half of cattle shipped to feedlots traveled for more than 250 miles, and 22 percent traveled more than 500 miles. 

Kansas City, along with Chicago, St. Louis, and Omaha, Nebraska, was once a major national hub of livestock transportation, with cattle arriving by the trainload at its busy stockyards (earning the city its nickname, “cowtown”). But the rail-based livestock trade that made it famous has largely vanished, replaced by a sprawling system of truck transit that carry animals between farms, feedlots, and slaughterhouses across the country. These form the connective tissue that makes it possible for the American livestock industry to raise and slaughter nearly 10 billion land animals every year. 

You’ve probably seen livestock trucks on the interstate, with their long, aluminum bodies and oval ventilation holes. They appear unremarkable enough from the outside. But the most important thing to understand about farm animal transportation is that these creatures are not handled like passengers, the way you or I would be treated on a long-distance trip. Rather, they are freight, loaded into metal trailers, often packed tightly together  for long, very uncomfortable, sometimes dangerous stretches of highway travel. Picture yourself hurtling down the interstate in a box at 70 miles an hour, struggling to balance for many hours, without a seat, a seat belt, heating or cooling, or any of the other protections designed to keep human passengers safe and comfortable. As the hours pass, urine and manure accumulate beneath the animals’ feet, which can cause them to slip.

The trips “can span many hours and thousands of miles, potentially exposing livestock to overcrowding, extreme temperatures, limited ventilation, and lack of access to water or food, among other things,” according to a damning report on farm animal transportation released over the summer by the US Government Accountability Office (GAO). “If not managed properly, these conditions can lead to injury, illness, or death.” 

Even the process by which animals are herded onto the trucks is often highly stressful, with frightened animals pushed, prodded, pulled, and otherwise handled roughly. I have reviewed, over the years, more videos than I can count of stressed farmworkers treating cows and pigs in ways that appear appalling to people not steeped in animal agriculture, simply because they’re desperate to meet the demands of their jobs and get the animals to move.

According to a 2022 investigation by The Guardian, more than 20 million animals every year “are dead on arrival, or soon after,” when they reach a slaughterhouse. Most of those are chickens, the species that makes up the overwhelming majority of land animals raised for food; about 166,000 of them, per The Guardian, were cattle. 

Catastrophic crashes like what happened in Kansas City are far rarer than the more routine, mundane cruelties of livestock transportation, but they do happen regularly. On a cursory search, I was able to find 20 others that have occurred in the US so far this year. Aaron Caster, who owns the towing company that handled the recovery operation in the crash, told me that almost all of the animals were female, and estimated they were around 6 months old, not yet fully grown. They’d been shipped from Virginia, he said, and had been on their way to Nebraska.

Caster’s account of the scene of the crash is harrowing. “The cab was ripped off the truck, the trailer was on its side with the entire trailer blown apart,” he told me. “Just cows everywhere. Some alive, some were dead.” Some had “really busted legs, ripped up pretty good,” and were euthanized. Caster, who is also a rancher, said he took more than 50 surviving cows to his property in Bates City, Missouri, to recover. Two of those have since died, he told me earlier this week, including one who had been “cut up pretty bad” in the crash and was euthanized after developing an infection.

In the US, there’s one major law designed to protect the well-being of livestock animals in transit: The Twenty-Eight-Hour Law of 1873, which says that livestock in transit traveling across state lines can’t be confined for more than 28 hours without being unloaded for rest, food, and water. 

That rule excludes poultry birds entirely, meaning that the vast majority of animals raised for food aren’t covered — a major oversight. But even for those species that nominally benefit from it, the law is very rarely enforced. Farmed animal advocacy groups have documented and complained about that for years, and the GAO this summer similarly reported that enforcement is extremely limited. The report paints a picture of the federal system for protecting farm animals in transit as woefully inadequate and largely toothless, dating back to the era when livestock traveled primarily by rail. 

The report identified six factors that contribute to cruel conditions for animals on the road, including not just the length of the trip but also temperature extremes, unsafe and unsanitary vehicles, rough handling, and being transported when they’re too sick, injured, or vulnerable (like animals who are extremely young or heavily pregnant). Federal law fails to cover most of those dangers while offering almost no meaningful enforcement of the 28-hour duration rule that is in place. 

Between 2013 and 2025, the USDA investigated just 23 suspected violations of the law, resulting in no fines and only four warning letters — and in 2022, the GAO report notes, the USDA stopped issuing even those. The GAO contrasts the US system with more modernized protections in Canada, Mexico, Australia, and the European Union, which include requirements around animals’ fitness for travel, adequate space, humane handling, and vehicle safety.

Some of the most heartbreaking livestock transportation conditions that I’ve personally covered have been in the dairy industry, where it’s common to ship fragile newborn calves, just separated from their mothers, across long distances. It’s also routine to ship dairy cows on long journeys to slaughter once they’re no longer profitable. On these trips, they’re often exhausted, pregnant, and in poor physical condition: A 2022 industry audit found that roughly one in three had impaired mobility when they arrived at the slaughterhouse.

A modern and comprehensive system overseeing farm animal transportation might prevent some cases like these, which are among the most wretched miseries found in our food system. It wouldn’t stop every horror that unfolds inside a livestock truck, nor could it eliminate the most visible disasters, like the crash in Kansas City; for that, we’d need to more fundamentally alter our relationship with animals and our prodigious appetite for meat.

LONDON — When Prime Minister Andy Burnham arrived a few minutes late to a meeting with regional mayors on Thursday, his Cabinet ally Angela Rayner had a name for it. She joked they were on “Andy Time.”

The rest of Britain is beginning to learn what that feels like.

Burnham entered 10 Downing Street three months ago promising a “new economic model.” However, the prime minister’s first budget next Wednesday will ask voters to wait a bit longer for it.

John Healey, Burnham’s top finance minister, is expected to announce cuts to business regulation, new steps to move power out of Whitehall and targeted cost-of-living help as energy bills surge due to the wars in Iran and Ukraine.

But while London’s banking sector is resigned to a tax rise, Healey is broadly not expected to completely overhaul tax regimes that many in Burnham’s center-left Labour Party have long seen as unfair. These include business rates, which treat high street shops more harshly than out-of-town delivery warehouses; capital gains tax, which charges less on income from assets than from work; and council tax on homes, which is based on valuations from 1991. 

Healey and his allies are already rolling out a pitch for lower-key changes to tax and spending than his predecessor, Rachel Reeves, insisting budgets are about more than their bottom-line “scorecard.” They point instead to thinning the “sludge” of business bureaucracy and helping “bloody-minded” entrepreneurs.

The reason behind this is about much more than war dragging on the British economy and keeping inflation high. Many radical reforms just aren’t ready yet. 

Next Wednesday will mark just 100 days since Burnham took office, after a whirlwind special election that ended the Greater Manchester mayor’s decade-long absence from parliament.

Burnham’s much-touted “10-year plan” to rewire Britain’s public realm is far from finished; its publication date is edging closer to Christmas. And many granular details of his plan for reform — including higher defense spending, welfare reforms and ownership of the water sector — will only come at a multi-year spending review some time in 2027. Healey is still trying to decide when that will happen.

POLITICO spoke to 22 current and former government officials, MPs and people who speak regularly to Downing Street to map out Burnham and Healey’s strategy, most of whom were granted anonymity to speak frankly. 

Several offered the view that Healey’s budget was designed to act as a stepping stone toward the 10-year plan and spending review, while not spooking the bond markets — which Burnham complained Britain was “in hock to” last year. That is despite Britain inching closer to a general election that the prime minister must call by summer 2029.

“They want it to be a non-event,” one person who speaks regularly to both 10 and 11 Downing Street said of the budget. 

Expectation management

This narrative has already left Healey’s allies bristling.

People are “accusing us of not making decisions and kicking the can down the road when actually this budget is incredibly difficult,” said one government official. This person added: “This is the first budget of this country that will have come to the House of Commons for scrutiny while the war in the Middle East is raging and an illegal invasion of Ukraine continues by Russia. The idea that this is by any means small is quite difficult to stomach.”

A second U.K. government official argued the budget would be “as ambitious as possible within the political context.” But a third government official said they believed the budget would be more “steady as she goes” than finished solutions to Britain’s problems.

Ruth Curtice, a former Treasury official who is now chief executive of the Resolution Foundation, a think tank focused on living standards, added: “In some ways it’s quite surprising to have such a small budget, given we have a new prime minister and chancellor and quite a lot has happened in the world since the last one.”

The opposition Conservative Party is preparing to seize on this “deferral budget” theme. Tory strategists are ready to paint it as a cowardly act from an administration they claim prefers sweeping vision to hard decisions. “Why act tomorrow when you can act today?” said one shadow cabinet minister. “Have some balls!”

Cameron Brown, a former Tory special adviser in the Treasury, was more sympathetic. “There’s no need to crystallize any kind of savings or cuts now,” when the spending review is looming anyway, he argued. Brown predicted a “tight and concise” but “intellectually coherent” package: “[Healey] will have some buffer at the end, a nice little cost of living package, Labour MPs will be happy, he’ll target the bad people — gamblers and banks — and he’ll push things down the road a bit.”

A Labour official voiced concern that a cautious budget could lose the goodwill Burnham has built with the public — as happened to his predecessor Keir Starmer, who promised “change” in his 2024 manifesto.

And Reeves’ former Political Secretary Matt Pound urged “caution” on deferring too many decisions to the 2027 spending review. “The truth is that they could end up putting a monumental amount of pressure on that spending review,” he told POLITICO’s Westminster Insider podcast in an interview released Friday. “There are already a lot of pressures they will need to fund.”

Hard to get

“Energy” will be the key thread linking Healey’s messages for the budget, a fourth U.K. government official said — from “breathing space” help with bills to building a more resilient infrastructure network. 

There will also be a “fiscal devolution roadmap” on budget day, setting out terms of how regional mayors can get more power and money and drawn up partly by Burnham’s new Manchester outpost, No. 10 North. Legislation to let them impose tourist taxes will be published in the coming weeks. And officials have talked behind the scenes about procurement and boosting Britain’s heavy industries; the budget needs to find almost £5 billion to plug a hole in a defense investment plan unveiled under Starmer.

Targeted cost-of-living measures appear likely to include scrapping “standing charges” on domestic gas bills, which cost the average household just over £100 a year. Burnham said Wednesday that he had asked Healey to look at the issue — though any help could be eclipsed by a predicted £276 rise in domestic bills this January.

The other message will be that the Treasury can do big, consequential things without raising taxes. Healey will make “a political argument that actually there are other types of budgets that you can have,” said the first government official quoted above, “busting through some of that sludge and ripping up a lot of that red tape.” Cash-strapped chancellors have reached for regulatory reform before, with mixed success.

MPs are looking closely at cost-of-living support. One backbencher in an affluent seat said any help had to be significant, because even their well-off constituents were struggling to take the holidays they wanted. Defense, by contrast, barely comes up on the doorstep: “There are hardly any votes in it, but it’s just something we have to do.”

There has been heavy engagement with Labour MPs, whose detachment from No. 10 helped force Starmer out in July. Treasury ministers Torsten Bell and James Murray are among those engaging while Chief Secretary to the Treasury Emma Reynolds handles tricky negotiations with Cabinet ministers, alongside No. 10 chief of staff James Purnell.

Healey has negotiated with Cabinet ministers and spoken to union leaders, banks and MPs — though not lobbyists. “No one can get to Healey,” said one. “It’s very smart. Let him do his job.”

Markets will look at the “headroom” — a snapshot of the buffer between Healey’s five-year plans and his self-imposed fiscal rules. The fourth official quoted above said Treasury officials have considered having only a small “headroom” buffer compared to the £21.7 billion left by Reeves, as it could be increased in future years. 

Reeves’ former political secretary, Pound, warned against this, telling Westminster Insider: “If the headroom is so low that it’s clear that they can’t clear the defense investment plan, for example, or the wider defense pressures, then I think that that could then start to have a bit of a knock-on effect that would be quite negative.”

However, headroom is merely a snapshot, often out of date by the time it is published. It is likely to be buffeted further by any events in the Middle East arising from the U.S. midterm results on Nov. 3.

And as with all budget briefings, some opposition politicians believe there is an element of expectation management. Conservatives suspect that headroom will come out higher than predicted — which Healey can paint as a victory.

Time is ticking

Then it’ll all be over — and Westminster will immediately start preparing for the next step.

A date was never confirmed for Burnham’s 10-year plan (beyond the latter part of 2026), but some officials believe it has already slipped slightly from the original intention. 

Downing Street and Cabinet Office officials remain determined to publish it in December, though some in Whitehall worry it might be delayed. “Knowing the things on the horizon and how big they are, I genuinely don’t see how you could make space for it,” said one official in another department.

While some Cabinet Office civil servants were first tasked to work on the plan in August, others only joined the team this month as it has grown, according to one person with knowledge of the staffing. Burnham’s ally Louise Haigh, the first secretary of state, is leading three “task forces” ahead of the plan on the cost of living, public control of utilities and the renewal of run-down high streets.

The 10-year plan won’t have all the answers, though. POLITICO reported this week that while it will contain a high-level vision, priorities and principles for the water industry’s future, much of the granular detail of how future ownership models will work is expected in the 2027 spending review. 

One Labour figure who has spoken to the government about the water industry said they believed ministers will choose “different horses for different courses” — an array of ownership models for various firms depending on how stricken they are. A second Labour figure talking to the government said: “You can’t do this in two years.”

The Labour official quoted earlier in this story said they feared the 10-year plan would be a let-down. “These big plans governments are always throwing forward to have a habit of turning out quite thin,” this person said. “At which point we all realize there was never a big plan all along.”

There are other plans to come, including an imminent plan to reform the welfare system by the former Labour Cabinet minister Alan Milburn, and a white paper in December that is due to set out a timetable, legislation and borders for plans to move more power outside Whitehall.

Devolution is one area where Burnham has moved quickly, pleasing many regional mayors. But some officials in the union movement fear that Burnham’s initial focus on devolution risks taking up bandwidth that could have been spent on other issues. A fifth government official added that they were worried all the conversations between different public bodies could crowd out the push for growth. They said: “I sit on Teams calls that are 30 people, all from different arms of the state. Sometimes I think — ‘You do know none of us are making this money?’”

‘Rubber hits the road’

Then there is the 2027 spending review. 

It will set out how the state allocates money across its arms for the next three to five years — turning these plans and the difficult trade-offs they require into reality.

The Treasury has previously confirmed it will set out the entire pathway to lift U.K. defense spending from 2.6% of GDP this year to 3.5% by 2035. It is also likely to address questions about Burnham’s pledge to create a state-funded national service for social care, funded by reducing the rise in the state pension.

There will be months of to-and-fro between Whitehall departments and a Treasury looking for cuts, efficiency savings or both to balance the books.

“The spending review is when the rubber hits the road,” said the fifth government official quoted above. “It’s already beginning. Departments are beginning to work out sacrificial lambs to offer up.”

Three people with knowledge of the conversations said Healey still hasn’t decided when in 2027 he wants to hold the spending review, though it is broadly expected no earlier than the summer. He has been privately musing with allies about the options.

Curtice said Healey’s options are essentially to hold a small fiscal event followed by a spending review next summer, or to hold a spending review with an annual budget simultaneously in fall 2027.

She added: “The big question we’ve posed for this budget — that we’re not necessarily expecting an answer to — is what is the spending total for the spending review that we know needs to come next year? Until we know the answer to that question, we don’t really know whether we can believe the path of tax and borrowing that is set out in the budget.”

Senior Conservatives argue the spending review will be so difficult that Burnham could call a snap election before it is due. He has insisted he will only force it in 2029.

Until then, much of the spending review work will fall to Reynolds. Her predecessor Darren Jones argued the existence of the 10-year plan and spending review meant it would be sensible for next week’s budget to be a little low-octane.

“The prime minister’s been clear that the 10-year plan is going to be the political strategy for the government,” Jones told POLITICO. “So I think it makes sense to do all of your public spending decisions after the publication of the 10-year plan. It would be odd if this October’s budget tried to deal with all the big trade-offs on defense, mayoral budgets, or more ownership of public utilities.

“So I think in many ways, actually the 10-year plan is more interesting this autumn in terms of the political strategy of the government. 

“And then 2027 will be the year in which ministers will have to start thinking about how to implement that strategy operationally, including in public spending decisions.”

Much of that will fall to Burnham himself.

Crowdsourcing

Rayner’s joke about “Andy Time” was not without cause.

Unlike Starmer, Burnham gets into the weeds of an issue even if it derails his schedule. The prime minister chews things over with colleagues so much that some have joked they could just remove his Downing Street desk, said the third government official quoted above. By contrast, Starmer used to retreat to No. 10’s first-floor study to read away from the hubbub.

Burnham’s approach can lead to Downing Street making decisions late in the day. One former No. 10 official said: “A Prime Minister needs to do 80 things in a day and if that goes to 60, then you end up massively behind.”

The flipside is that ministers and officials know what their leader actually wants from them — even if they are left to work out the detail.

“It’s like we’ve woken up from a political coma,” one backbench MP enthused. “I know what the prime minister thinks,” added the third government official quoted above.

Aides used to complain that Starmer, by contrast, tried to be efficient but would end meetings without setting a clear political direction. “Keir was always a stickler for time, even if the issue wasn’t resolved,” as one former colleague put it.

Kemi Badenoch, the Conservative leader, suggested this week that Burnham was failing to flesh out the detail behind his vision. “Talking about it is not making a decision,” she said of social care reform at prime minister’s questions. Burnham was visibly frustrated—insisting he was making the long-term decisions other politicians duck.

And for the prime minister’s allies and most of his MPs, the vibes remain good. The No. 10 environment is more relaxed and open. Junior ministers, in meetings over bacon sandwiches, feel they can share their views and be heard.

“There’s definitely still a buzz,” said the person who talks regularly to Downing Street, who was quoted earlier in this story. “But you don’t want to spend too much time buzzing while Rome burns. There’s a reality check that I feel is going to come imminently.”

Patrick Baker, Sascha O’Sullivan, Esther Webber and Emilio Casalicchio contributed reporting.

If egg prices surge this winter, one of the main drivers will likely be H5N1, or bird flu.

Since 2022, it’s decimated the US poultry industry, resulting in the deaths of over 160 million egg-laying hens.  

And when there are fewer hens, there are fewer eggs, which leads to shortages and price hikes. This happened in early 2023 when avian flu was circulating: Egg prices increased by 65 percent compared to a few months prior, and in 2025, it happened again, reaching a national average of more than $6 per dozen. (There’s also some evidence, per a Justice Department investigation, that suggests major egg companies may have colluded to raise prices, too.)

We have the tools to slow the spread of highly pathogenic avian influenza (HPAI) without such high mortality, though; the United States has several effective bird flu vaccines, and egg (and turkey) producers want to use them on their birds.

Last year, it seemed like they soon might be able to. In early 2025, the Trump administration announced that it would begin formulating a plan for potential vaccination by engaging with trade partners, state veterinarians, farmers, and other stakeholders. But according to reporting in Politico last week, that plan is now stalled. Why? Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and his anti-vaccine agenda appear partly to blame.

US Department of Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins “pulled back on an internal USDA strategy for vaccinating poultry and egg-laying hens,” according to Politico, because she was “concerned about whether it would clash with [RFK Jr.’s] anti-vaccine views.” The pause, according to the story, “went against the counsel of expert agency staff.”

The USDA didn’t respond to detailed questions for this story. “USDA has been fully committed to providing the most robust response to battling HPAI,” a spokesperson wrote over email. 

Kennedy oversees the Food and Drug Administration, which has some jurisdiction over what happens on farms, though the USDA manages disease outbreaks. But he and his “Make America Healthy Again” movement apparently have enough political influence to sway how the agriculture department manages this multiyear outbreak — the largest in US history. It is risky for the birds, and consumers, and could mean that we’re going to continue to fight this devastating disease without perhaps the most effective tool to slow it down. 

Why we don’t vaccinate poultry birds

Just as influenza circulates in humans, H5N1 is also largely seasonal; around this time of year as ducks and geese migrate south for the winter, they shed the virus near farms. And once it infects one bird in a packed poultry barn, it quickly tears through the flock. 

When birds die from the bird flu, it’s an excruciating death. However, most birds don’t die from the disease itself but rather from efforts to stop its spread. Per federal regulations, as soon as H5N1 is detected in a barn, poultry producers must cull every bird, and that culling is brutal. The predominant method entails producers sealing off the vents, which causes temperatures to rise and slowly subject the birds to death via heatstroke.

Many turkey and egg producers do want to vaccinate their birds (tens of millions of turkeys have also died due to H5N1 and resulting culling since 2022), and there are several vaccines that the USDA has deemed safe and effective. But the agency won’t allow egg and turkey producers to use them because doing so could hurt the chicken meat industry.

Chickens raised for meat, known as broiler chickens, are much less likely to become infected with the virus, and the US industry exports 13.9 percent of what it produces, valued at $6.2 billion last year. And as I wrote last year:

Most of the countries that import American chicken meat would pause those imports if any farmed birds in the US are vaccinated, even if no chickens raised for meat are vaccinated. The reason behind these blanket bans stems from importing countries’ concerns around the so-called “DIVA” problem, which is short for “differentiating infected from vaccinated animals.” It represents the challenge of identifying whether a poultry bird is infected with bird flu or simply has avian influenza antibodies from vaccination.

In other words, the chicken meat industry has little to gain from vaccination and a lot to lose. It’s also bigger and more politically powerful than the turkey and egg sectors (two of the largest chicken meat companies — Pilgrim’s Pride and Mountaire — happen to be major Trump donors). 

Experts say that these trade problems can be solved by increasing disease surveillance and testing. In 2023, French duck farmers began vaccinating birds against H5N1. The US and Canada restricted imports for over a year, but partially lifted the restrictions after they were assured they didn’t pose a biosecurity risk. 

Now, on top of resistance from the chicken meat industry, there’s Kennedy’s anti-vaccine influence. 

I asked Carol Cardona, a professor at the University of Minnesota’s College of Veterinary Medicine and a proponent of vaccinating poultry birds, what she made of the Trump administration’s about-face on its vaccine plan.

She quoted the historian John Barry: “When you mix politics and science, you get politics.”

The US is losing the war on bird flu, and vaccines could help

Given the chicken meat industry’s outsized influence on the vaccination debate, Kennedy’s position may not exert the largest push here. But it certainly hasn’t helped speed the rollout of vaccines, adding one more barrier to what many poultry veterinarians and infectious disease experts say is common sense. 

HHS didn’t respond to a list of questions for this story about Kennedy’s opposition to vaccinating poultry birds. “Decisions about vaccine development and deployment must be guided by rigorous science, including evidence of safety, effectiveness against circulating strains, and the implications for animal and human health,” a spokesperson wrote, though didn’t outline any concerns over safety or effectiveness and didn’t respond to follow-up questions.

“With migratory bird season here, our goals and policy have not changed: detecting, controlling, and containing HPAI in consultation with partners across the country continues each day,” a USDA spokesperson wrote to Vox. 

The control and containment largely amounts to culling birds when H5N1 is detected on farms, and paying farms to improve their biosecurity by compensating them for things like repairs, rodent control, handwashing stations, and wild bird repellents. 

But according to Cardona, this just isn’t working. “When biosecurity breaks over and over and over again, you have to say to yourself, there’s something wrong with the system,” Cardona told me. She said a vaccination plan should focus on the most valuable and vulnerable species — egg-laying hens and turkeys used for breeding — and in the northern half of the US, where infection rates are much higher. 

With vaccination, Cardona said, “we reduce the amount of virus in the environment, and so by doing that, we reduce the number of other species that get infected. We simply reduce, reduce, reduce.”

Vaccination wouldn’t be cheap, and it could affect chicken meat exports. But chicken meat producers are “not the only stakeholders,” Cardona said, adding that regulators ought to look at the full damage that the bird flu has wrought.

There’s the rise in cost to consumers who buy eggs, and the billions of taxpayer dollars spent to compensate farmers for the culled birds. Then there’s the human toll: 72 people in the US have contracted the virus since 2024, and nearly all were poultry and dairy workers; two died. (While the odds remain low, many scientists also fear bird flu could spark the next human pandemic.) 

For decades, bird flu mostly just infected birds. But the toll on wildlife since 2021 has been immense, including mass die-offs of sea lions in Peru and seal pups on Antarctic islands. In 2024, the virus was first detected in dairy cattle and has now affected nearly 1,200 herds; one study of an Ohio dairy found that each infected cow cost the farmer about $950 in lost profits. 

Finally, there’s the moral cost of slowly, painfully killing hundreds of millions of egg-laying hens and turkeys.

But as Cardona pointed out, bird flu, like politics, is seasonal. The Biden administration, arguably, slow-walked vaccine development and deployment until the Trump administration inherited the issue. 

If egg prices do rise this winter, it likely won’t happen until well after midterms, meaning neither party will pay much of a political price for higher food costs. The costs of bird flu, instead, will be paid by consumers, vulnerable farmworkers, and most of all, the birds themselves.

As Europe plans its response to the neurological disease burden, a fundamental measurement gap is being overlooked — and the cost of ignoring it is being felt.

A briefing requested earlier this year by the European Parliament’s Committee on Public Health (SANT) put it plainly: neurological diseases are one of Europe’s most urgent and rapidly expanding health, social and economic challenges. Published in February 2026, it calls for a coordinated European plan linking prevention, early diagnosis, research and innovation.¹ But before Europe considers what that plan should look like, a foundational question demands attention: are we measuring the right things?

Multiple sclerosis (MS), a chronic, progressive disease of the central nervous system that disrupts communication between the brain and the body, offers a revealing case study. Consider a woman in her mid-30s, working, raising a family, managing what her neurologist calls “stable” MS. She has not slept properly in years, her memory has been slipping and she is cutting her hours at work. Her last clinical note reads: “No change.” On paper, she is stable, but in reality she is anything but.

Her story is not unusual. According to research commissioned by Sanofi^*, the gap between what health systems measure and what people with MS experience may be costing individuals, families and economies more than we realize.³

The stakes for Europe

Over 3 million people globally live with MS and Europe has the highest prevalence, at 133 per 100,000 people.^2,3 The condition strikes primarily during prime working years, meaning hundreds of thousands of people are navigating a progressive, unpredictable disease at precisely the point when inadequate support is felt most acutely.³

That support begins with measurement. And right now, the tools used to assess MS in clinical practice do not fully capture what people with the disease experience.³

The consequences extend far beyond the clinic: 82 percent of people with severe MS rely on unpaid family caregiving, yet this burden rarely appears in standard health data or policy design.³ When the full impact of disease is not measured, health systems can underestimate need, delay support, and overlook the wider effects on work, welfare and family life.³

The measurement gap

The Expanded Disability Status Scale (EDSS), the primary tool used to measure MS disability, was developed in 1983 to assess walking ability. We now know that MS affects far more than mobility. Fatigue affects 94 percent of people with MS, while 75 percent report cognitive difficulties, but both are absent in the EDSS assessment.³ In a field where clinical consensus is rare, seven in ten neurologists agree: a more comprehensive approach is needed.³

Growing recognition of smouldering neuroinflammation has made the need for new methods of quantifying MS progression increasingly urgent. This slow, chronic disease activity can persist even when a patient appears clinically stable, with effects that are subtle, cumulative and easy to miss until significant damage has already occurred.⁴

This is why Sanofi initiated the development of the Smouldering Associated Worsening (SAW) Index⁺. The SAW Index Study — led by an international steering committee of leading MS clinicians, researchers and patient advocates — is due to complete in 2027. Based on hundreds of hours of in-depth qualitative research with people with MS, the goal of the SAW Index is to provide neurologists with a comprehensive measurement framework that bridges the gap between lived experience and what clinical tools are currently able to detect.

According to the European Multiple Sclerosis Platform, people with MS experience an average of 14 symptoms within the first five years of diagnosis, with fatigue, sensory problems, sleep disturbances, cognitive impairment and balance problems among the most common.⁵ These are precisely the experiences the SAW Index is designed to surface, replacing static labels like “moderately affected” with measurement metrics grounded in the experience and words of people with MS.

The cost of this gap

These aspects of MS can be challenging to quantify and are associated with substantial societal and economic burdens. Lifetime productivity loss per person with MS ranges from €394,000 in France to €668,000 in Germany.³ The cost profile shifts significantly as the disease progresses: in mild MS, direct healthcare costs dominate; in severe MS, indirect costs become the primary driver.³ Indeed, lost wages, absenteeism, early retirement, disability payments and the growing burden on unpaid carers outweigh medical costs in many countries, placing growing long-term pressure on social insurance and disability systems.³

Early identification of progression could change that trajectory, extending years of employment, preserving household income, and reducing long-term dependence on disability and social benefits.^3,6 That is a cost-avoidance opportunity current measurement frameworks are missing.

Progress in motion

There is no single fix, but there is momentum.

MS care has advanced significantly in recent decades: diagnosis is happening earlier, treatment options have expanded and the focus is shifting from relapse control alone to slowing long-term disability progression.⁷ Furthermore, there is growing recognition of the importance of cognition, mental health, rehabilitation and the day-to-day realities that shape whether people living with MS can remain independent and active.⁸

The challenge now is to ensure policy keeps pace with that progress, and better measurement is part of the answer. If Europe wants health spending to deliver lasting value, it should see these improvements not as costs to be managed, but as investments in independence, participation, productivity and more sustainable health systems.

Time to act

The European Parliament’s SANT Committee has called for a fully funded European neurological health plan — one with the scale and ambition of Europe’s Beating Cancer Plan, aligning health, research and societal action in a unified framework.¹ MS offers a clear and immediate test case for what that ambition looks like in practice.

But ambitious plans require accurate data. If Europe is serious about a coordinated response to neurological disease, getting measurement right is not a secondary concern; it is the foundation on which everything else depends.

The people living with MS across the continent cannot wait for the tools that measure their disease to catch up with the science that understands it. Neither should policymakers.

^*Research commissioned by Sanofi. All editorial control retained by Economist Impact.
⁺Sanofi initiated and funds the SAW Index Study.

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References

1. European Parliament. Strengthening Brain Health: Policy Recommendations to Tackle the Rising Burden of Neurological Diseases. Available at: https://www.europarl.europa.eu/telastatic/cmsdata/302850/Briefing_Strengthening%20Brain%20Health_EN.pdf. Accessed: September 2026
2. MS International Federation. MS Atlas. Available at: https://atlasofms.org/map/global/epidemiology/number-of-people-with-ms. Accessed: September 2026
3. Economist Impact. Measuring what matters: Bridging the gap between disability impact and economic burden in multiple sclerosis. Available at: https://impact.economist.com/health-society/measuring-what-matters. Accessed: September 2026
4. Scalfari, A, et al. (2024) Smouldering-Associated Worsening in Multiple Sclerosis: An International Consensus Statement on Definition, Biology, Clinical Implications, and Future Directions. Ann Neurol 2024;00:1. DOI: 10.1002/ana.27034.
5. European Multiple Sclerosis Platform. (n.d.). Impact of multiple sclerosis symptoms (IMSS) [Fact sheet]. Accessed: October 2026
6. Cicely Dudley, Victoria Donnaloja and Karen Steadman. A guide for Health Care Professionals to have Conversations on Work with People with Multiple Sclerosis. Available at: https://emsp.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Ready-for-Work-Employment-Guide.pdf. Accessed: September 2026
7. Montague T, Drummond J, Ng K, Parratt J. Advancements in multiple sclerosis. Intern Med J. 2025 Jun;55(6):895-904. DOI: 10.1111/imj.70023.
8. Giovannoni G, et al. MS care: integrating advanced therapies and holistic management. Front Neurol. 2024 Jan 30;14:1286122. doi: 10.3389/fneur.2023    

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Disclaimer

POLITICAL ADVERTISEMENT

• The sponsor is Sanofi.
• The political advertisement is linked to driving action in how neurological disease is measured in the EU (using MS as a case study) and driving action around the briefing requested by the SANT committee aimed at strengthening brain health (Policy Recommendations to Tackle the Rising Burden of Neurological Diseases).

More information here.

In November, voters in Washington, DC, and Denver will cast their ballots to decide whether their cities’ restaurants and grocery stores can continue to sell one of the world’s more controversial foods: foie gras.

French for “fatty liver,” foie gras is made by briefly force-feeding ducks a corn slurry two to three times daily with a metal tube during the final two to three weeks of their lives. It can make their livers balloon to roughly six to 10 times their natural size.

The farming practice gives the liver its signature rich, buttery taste that made it a French delicacy centuries ago and ever since, a prized menu item at upscale restaurants, particularly in Europe, the United States, and East Asia. But the apparent cruelty of force-feeding ducks has also long made it the target of those concerned with animal welfare.

While forcing a lot of food through a metal tube into ducks’ throats may not look great, foie gras companies and high-end chefs contend that it doesn’t hurt the animals because — among other reasons — ducks’ unique physiology enables them to eat fish and other animals whole, and that they naturally gorge before migrations. (More on these arguments later).

Whenever the issue is up for a vote, it touches off fierce debates over animal welfare and fine dining. While foie gras production does harm animals, producers and chefs maintain the dish is unfairly singled out when there are arguably worse practices in animal agriculture, including many that impact a far greater number of animals. Banning a product largely consumed by the 1 percent might make some voters feel good, while ignoring the animal cruelty embedded in the production of vastly more common products, like chicken and eggs.

But to animal rights advocates, a potential ban in DC — which has more foie gras-serving restaurants than almost anywhere else in the US — represents a unique opportunity to hasten the end of what spokesperson Natalie Fulton of Pro-Animal DC, the group behind the DC ballot measure, calls a “uniquely cruel” practice.

What the science says about force-feeding ducks

Foie gras producers often argue that ducks can handle force-feeding just fine because of their long, flexible necks that allow them to swallow fish whole — spines and all — and that they’ve evolved to stuff themselves before seasonal migrations. Producers also commonly say that they have no gag reflex. 

But these claims, according to research, don’t mean that force-feeding is painless. They also leave out a lot of the other problems in foie gras production. Last month, a veterinarian at Ghent University in Belgium and a team of animal welfare research consultants published a literature review in the journal Animals looking at how foie gras farming affects ducks. 

For one, there’s a big difference between ducks swallowing fish and having a rigid metal tube inserted into their throat dozens of times. A duck’s throat and beak area are particularly sensitive, and repeated insertion can cause tissue damage and irritation and inflammation in their esophagus, according to the newly published research, which was funded by the Flemish government. And while wild waterfowl might gorge before migrations, the resulting liver enlargement in the wild doesn’t come anywhere near what it does on foie gras farms. 

Beyond the arguments as to whether ducks can be humanely force-fed, there are plenty of other welfare concerns in foie gras production. Eating so much makes the ducks overweight, which makes it harder for them to move around. Liver enlargement increases their internal heat production, which can make ducks pant more, and an enlarged liver can put pressure on their air sacs, also making it harder to breathe. 

“The available evidence indicates that force-feeding creates substantial risks of welfare compromise through repeated restraint and tube insertion, possible injuries to the upper digestive tract, progressive liver enlargement, altered hepatic [liver] function, increased metabolic heat load, and impaired mobility,” the researchers concluded.

Ducks raised for foie gras aren’t given access to water — like a pond or bathing trough — which in nature they use to clean themselves and forage. And the overwhelming majority of those reared in the US even lack access to the outdoors. 

Despite some of the documented welfare concerns in foie gras farming, Jordan Ginor — a director at Hudson Valley Farms in upstate New York — told me that they’ve got “really good, clean, smiley, healthy ducks.” The company is one of the two main commercial foie gras producers in the US and raises hundreds of thousands of ducks for foie gras annually.

Ginor also said that the aforementioned literature review focuses on European foie gras production, where birds are typically force-fed larger meals, twice daily, over two weeks. But at Hudson Valleys Farms, he said, the process is slower: smaller meals, thrice daily, over three weeks. “The slow process, with significantly less food per meal, lessens any possibility of stress or negative impacts,” he said. (Though one could argue that more insertions over a longer period is worse for the ducks.)

Earlier this year, a photojournalist who took a public tour of Hudson Valley Farms documented — during the force-feeding phase — ducks confined in small pens with no bedding. In one part of the video, the ducks gather in the corner of the pen, seemingly in a fruitless attempt to escape force-feeding.

When I asked Ginor for a response to the video, he was dismissive of the investigations into his company. “We’re proud of what we do,” he said. “Anyone’s welcome to go in and see.” (To its credit, the company provides free public tours, which is highly unusual for large-scale meat producers.)

In previous investigations of the company, animal advocates alleged they documented ducks injured, lame, bloodied, heavily panting, overcrowded in large barns, and confined in small cages prior to slaughter. 

The other main commercial US farm, La Belle Farm, also in upstate New York, did not respond to an interview request for this story. La Belle has received far less attention than Hudson Valley Farms, though a 2019 news story found that its housing and practices are similar to those of its counterpart.

Why single out foie gras?

Support for a foie gras ban neared 80 percent in a small 2023 poll of Washington, DC, residents, with similar support in a 2026 Denver poll. 

“We’ve tried to diversify, given everything that’s been going on” with foie gras bans over the last 20-odd years, Ginor told me. But foie gras is still the core of Hudson Valley Farms’ business.

Ginor said his operation is more humane than a lot of other poultry farms, so why single out foie gras? “As soon as we start comparing how things work at other farms, we look much more favorably,” he told me.

He may have a point, though it’d be difficult to crunch the moral math and determine whether foie gras is much worse — or perhaps even not as bad — as the factory farming of America’s chickens, egg-laying hens, and turkeys. Around half of US egg-laying hens live in tiny cages, while turkeys and chickens raised for meat have been bred to grow so big and fast that they have difficulty walking. And they all outnumber foie gras ducks by many orders of magnitude. 

I asked Fulton of Pro-Animal DC about singling out foie gras over other issues. “Just because some things are also bad doesn’t mean that foie gras production is good,” she told me. (Pro-Animal Future, its umbrella group, is also behind the Denver ballot measure.)

Much of the issue boils down to what’s politically possible. While there’s been some progress, it’s proven difficult and expensive for animal advocates to reform poultry farming in state legislatures. Foie gras, on the other hand, is sort of a low-hanging fruit; there isn’t a large lobby group behind the US industry, and since it’s a luxury product, most consumers won’t miss it. 

And Denver and DC are just the latest in a string of fights over foie gras. Its sale has been banned in California, along with Portland, Oregon; Pittsburgh, and New York City, whose ban has been held up in court in recent years. Over the summer, Brazil banned the sale and production of foie gras, too, and around 20 other countries — mostly in Europe — prohibit its production. (Chicago’s 2006 ban was overturned two years later.)

“We have no money to fight the story,” Ginor said. “People want to attack the 1 percent luxury food.”

Bart Hutchins, head chef at Butterworth’s in Washington, DC, told me he doesn’t want his town to ban what he considers a “great culinary tradition.”

“It is a miracle that we discovered this and that we cultivated it and that we can eat it,” he told me. For his part, Hutchins would rather see animal rights activists work to improve farming conditions for animals farmed on a much larger scale, like chickens and pigs, rather than ban one niche ingredient.

But he may soon have to take foie gras off his menu. Pro-Animal Future is especially confident about DC voters’ support for the ban, which would be a blow to the small US foie gras industry. But another incremental step in advancing animal welfare — and the issue in the minds of more voters.

Hi readers! Shayla Love here, science journalist and longtime fan of Your Mileage May Vary. I’m honored to be subbing for Sigal Samuel while she’s out on parental leave. I’m diving into your questions as a way to help understand human nature and our choices through multiple lenses: philosophical, psychological, and beyond. Please send in any emotional, body/brain, sociological, perceptual, or other kind of life quandaries you might have.

My child, age 9, has decided she’s vegan. Neither of her parents are even vegetarian — we’re “free range chicken/grass fed beef” types. She has learned about veganism from friends at school, and seems to have come to her position more or less on her own. I want to encourage her ethical choices, but her mother and I agree that children should be introduced to new foods and flavors at this age. She has no allergies or intolerances that we know of. I worry that making accommodations for her dietary restriction may lead to a lifetime of picky eating, even if hers is a reasonable and ethical approach. She seems to be uncomfortable when her mother or I cook meat for meals we share, even if we make her another option. What should I do to support my daughter?

Dear Hold the Beef, 

When I was around your daughter’s age, I went to Hawaii with my parents. One night, we ate dinner on the beach, and we watched as a pig was dug up from an underground steam oven. I was horrified to see its face and nose; most of the meat I had eaten so far in my life didn’t resemble the animal it came from. A few years later, I became a vegetarian, and then in my 20s, a vegan. 

I share this story to reveal my slight bias in answering your question, but also my understanding of the ethical awakening your daughter might be experiencing. As you figure out how to talk to your child about what she decides to eat, we can at least table discussing the pros and cons of veganism itself. Instead, you should think about what amount of autonomy your child should have, and whether the moral decision-making she wants to engage in matches with her current stage of development. 

People don’t turn 18 and then suddenly start engaging morally with the world. As we grow up, we try to understand right and wrong in fits and spurts. Lawrence Kohlberg, a 20th-century American psychologist, is best known for attempting to track a person’s moral development throughout their life. 

Kohlberg presented people with hypothetical dilemmas in order to come up with six moral stages. In one example, he asked people of different ages about a dying woman who could be cured by a drug that was cheap to make, but that a manufacturer was charging an exorbitant fee for. The woman’s husband ends up stealing the drug. Is that right or wrong?

Kohlberg observed that in answering questions like this, young children have what he called a “preconventional morality”: Their notions of right and wrong are dictated by what their parents think, and the avoidance of punishment when breaking those rules. For instance, the main reason not to throw your dinner on the ground or hit your brother was to avoid consequences from parents, not a feeling that there’s something wrong about that action. 

Kohlberg thought this stage lasted until around age 9, and in the next period, children began to understand that there isn’t just one correct action, but that people could have different moral ideas based on their social context. To sum up the rest of the stages quickly, each one progresses to encompass more views — like the moral agreements necessary to make a society function — and more complexity — like the realization that a seemingly immoral action can ultimately be moral, like stealing medicine for one’s wife. 

It’s useful to pinpoint where your daughter finds herself on Kohlberg’s timeline. It sounds like she’s in the shift from the first stage and into the later ones. What you’ve decided — that it’s okay to eat meat if it’s free-range or grass-fed — is no longer sufficient for your daughter in terms of guiding her own actions. That can be a jarring moment for a parent, but at least, according to Kohlberg, it’s a sign of maturation. Your child should, at this age, start to consider her friends, as well as the experiences she’s had without you, when making an ethical choice. 

But I’m her parent, you may protest. That doesn’t necessarily mean that your job is to exclusively provide black-and-white directives. 

Alison Gopnik, a psychologist and philosopher at the University of California Berkeley, has written about the unique perspective and personhood of children (including babies). In her book The Gardener and the Carpenter, she questions how people have come to define the act of parenting as having specific goals in mind for their children. This approach is like being a carpenter, she writes, who follows instructions to assemble a predetermined piece of furniture. She argues that parenting is more like gardening: You cultivate the soil and the environment and realize that you could produce any number of different flowers, fruits, or vegetables. Growth is the point, not a by-the-book final product. 

I see Gopnik in alignment with Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the 18th-century philosopher whose novel Émile, or On Education surprised its readers by advocating for a freer and child-centered approach to teaching. Émile, a young wealthy boy, is tutored — in high contrast to the expectations of the day — without strict rules. Rousseau thought you couldn’t make a child turn into an adult any faster, and it was foolish to try. He also thought that children had to learn by having their own experiences out in the world, and learning from those, rather than just overly didactic lessons. 

As your daughter dips her toe into the morality of eating meat, Rousseau would also remind you not to expect her to have the most mature ideas about veganism or her meal plan. She is still young, and may just have come across an idea that feels ethically important to her. Your role as her parent is to help her develop her nuanced morality, a process Kohlberg suggests will continue, and not steer her towards one way of eating over another. Be Gopnik’s dietary gardener, not carpenter. 

Of course, parents do have rights over their children, and an obligation to keep them safe. When we’re young, we’re not always equipped to make the right choice (some would argue this continues into adulthood, too). If your daughter decided to take up smoking cigarettes, for instance, you would step in because her choice would negatively affect her health. As her parent, you should still guide her to build healthy habits. 

You say you’re worried about your daughter becoming too picky, or not being exposed to enough foods if she becomes a vegan. But rather than push back on the choice itself, you can explain what else her choice entails. You can do so in an age-appropriate way. Talk about the nutrients that she might be missing out on if she stops eating meat, dairy, and eggs, and find books or videos about what foods might be a good substitute. 

For me, becoming vegan actually exposed me to all kinds of foods that I might not have eaten otherwise: from Asian and Indian cuisines that are very veggie-friendly to many other protein- and iron-rich plant-based foods. You could collaborate with your daughter to cook vegan meals for the whole family; no challenge sparks a budding home cook more than making delectable tofu. 

I should add that I’m no longer a vegan. I learned a lot from committing to a diet that wasn’t always convenient or tasty, in support of my values. Then, after more than a decade, I incorporated eggs and fish back into my diet. It’s likely that your daughter will continue to change the choices she makes as she tries to align her actions with her maturing moral views about the world. 

Whether or not she eats grass-fed beef with you in her teens, you should be glad that she seems to care about what impact she’s having in the world. It means you’re raising a person whose ethics are developing strongly, even as what’s on your dinner plate may change while she figures it all out.  

Bonus: What I’m reading

• Speaking of tofu, I revisited an essay that George Stiffman (a self-proclaimed “tofu guy”) wrote for Asterisk Magazine about how soybean curds are prepared in China. Warning: This article will make you hungry! He dives into all the creative culinary preparations of tofu that are tragically absent in the West. 
• Several years ago, I bought a plant-based cooking book especially for children, The Vegan Cookbook for Kids: Easy Plant-Based Recipes for Young Chefs. It was a present for a non-vegan family, but the kid in question was interested in learning how to cook, and when kids cook vegan, parents don’t have to worry about them handling raw meat! Looking over these snacks and meals again, I see several tasty things that I wouldn’t mind making for myself, even as a non-vegan, and non-child. 
• When I was a vegan in New York City in the 2010s, I wasn’t constrained to sad tofu and sprout sandwiches. It seemed like every week a brand-new vegan restaurant opened up, covering every cuisine, and with star chefs at the helm. But lately, all my favorite vegan restaurants have been closing. Turns out I’m not imagining it, as Vox’s Marina Bolotnikova wrote in her article: “Where did all the vegan restaurants go?” She investigates why these establishments have become rarer, and what we’ll miss out on if they completely disappear. 

This story is part of a series supported by Animal Charity Evaluators, which received a grant from EarthShare.

When I was a kid, my family would occasionally go fishing on small row boats on the lakes of Montgomery County, Maryland. The point wasn’t to catch fish to eat — we always released them — but rather to spend time together in nature. And for a while, I looked back on those times fondly. But as I’ve learned more about fish and their apparent capacity to feel pain, I now wonder: Was I just stabbing a bunch of fish in the mouth and throwing them back in the water, injured and vulnerable?

Ted Kerasote, a nature writer and lifelong hunter and angler, asked himself some version of this question decades ago after fighting to reel in a silver salmon in Alaska — the last he ever released. He still occasionally catches trout for dinner, but said that his decision to stop catch and release fishing that day in Alaska came down to looking at the situation critically: “Seeing this fish struggle for its life, for what end? I wasn’t going to eat it. Catch and release regulations were in place there. And so it was simply for my pleasure to fight this fish.”

Each year, tens of millions of people take to America’s lakes, rivers, streams, and coastal waters to catch billions of fish. Many of these fish only exist because US governmental agencies put them there; each year, over 1 billion fish are bred in hatcheries and stocked in water bodies primarily for anglers. And although firm estimates are hard to come by, it’s clear that the majority of fish caught are not kept for dinner, but tossed back in. Many fishing grounds actually require fish to be released (more on that later). 

While anglers report being primarily motivated to get on the water to commune with nature, spend time with friends and family, and relax, the whole endeavor is anything but pleasant for the fishes themselves. After the steel hook pierces their oral tissue — and sometimes their eyes, gills, or esophagus — they’re often yanked around to the point of exhaustion before being reeled in. Then they’re exposed to air while the hook is removed from their body (and sometimes also for a photo opportunity), before the angler puts them back into the water. There, the fish reenters an often-treacherous ecosystem while fatigued and injured. Sometimes, the hook can’t even be removed and likely remains in their mouths for hours or days.

Estimates on what percent of released fish die vary widely. One 2005 literature review landed the average at 18 percent, while a 2026 review put it at 11 percent. But these are by no means definitive, as they each pooled together data from dozens of studies with different methodologies and time observed after catch and release, which limits our understanding of fishes’ survival from these encounters. 

A different 2026 study, though also imperfect, took a more cleanly experimental approach. Researchers line-caught 489 Chinook salmon and then placed them in holding tanks for observation. Eight percent died within two hours of hooking, and about 25 percent died within 10 days. It’s reasonable to assume that the mortality rate would be higher if the fish were placed back into their local waters, with predators and other natural threats lurking.

Even when fish are caught by scientists like in this case, the operation is by no means surgical. In the Chinook study, 90 percent of the fish experienced moderate to severe fin damage, around 45 percent had moderate to severe hook wounds, and 8 percent suffered severe eye damage.

“No fish is better off because we’ve caught it,” Steven Cooke, a biologist and fisheries scientist at Carleton University in Canada — and an avid angler himself — told me. “It is impossible to catch a fish without causing, one, some level of injury, and two, physiological disturbance.” 

In other words, recreational catch and release fishing injures billions of animals (a vast number of whom were bred for this fate) and condemns many of them to a premature death, and likely a more unpleasant one than if they had simply been killed humanely immediately after catch. Which means that what is often portrayed as a peaceful — even benevolent — pastime is, in another light, a more torturous activity. Especially if you think fish might experience pain. 

What does a fish feel? 

For much of recent history, it’s been thought that fish — far from us on the evolutionary tree, living in ecosystems largely foreign to us — don’t feel pain. But in the early 2000s, a group of scientists in the United Kingdom began to conduct experiments on fish that slowly undermined this belief.

A seminal study, published in 2003, found that fish have nociceptors — sensory neurons that identify and respond to threatening stimuli, like predators or, well, metal hooks jabbed in their mouths. But it wasn’t necessarily evidence that fish feel pain in a similar sense to how we and other animals might; for that, a scientist would need to demonstrate that fish are not just reflexively reacting to noxious stimuli but also that their brains perceive it as pain.

Since then, researchers have poked and prodded fish to see if something more is going on than mere threat avoidance. They have, for example, injected acid and bee venom into the lips of rainbow trout, whose respiration rates nearly doubled and who proceeded to rub their lips against rocks or the tank walls — seemingly in an attempt to soothe the injury. 

In another experiment, scientists trained fish to feed in a certain part of their tank, and then subjected them to electric shocks in that area. The fish were less likely to seek out food as the shock intensity increased. 

But Cooke, the angler and fisheries scientist, isn’t convinced. He wants fellow anglers to treat fish better insofar as he wants fish to reproduce, grow, and have a good life, but says he’s a “fish pain skeptic.” 

“The evidence base around fish pain is meager and generally low quality, extremely biased, and unable to tell us whether or not fish have the capacity to feel pain or not,” Cooke told me. (Cooke, for his part, says he is biased too, and has received funding from pro-fishing interests.) 

The core of the skeptics’ argument boils down to the idea that fishes’ brains don’t possess the necessary equipment to experience pain — namely, the neocortex, which plays a major role in our and other mammals’ processing of pain.

Culum Brown, a professor and fish welfare researcher at Macquarie University in Australia, vehemently disagrees. “All [the information] we have to date suggests the behavioral, physiological, and psychological responses [in fish] mimic humans,” Brown told me. “Whatever way you look at it there are far more similarities than differences, which is not surprising given how important pain perception is from an evolutionary standpoint.” (Brown, I should note, has received some funding from animal welfare and ocean protection foundations.)

We know that various species of fish can use tools, recognize themselves in a mirror, build artistic nests, form complex social relationships, distinguish between human faces, and maintain long-term memories, among other abilities. Is it such a stretch, then, to extend them the capacity for pain?

Ultimately, as my colleague Marina Bolotnikova has written, the fish pain debate is partly a scientific one and partly a philosophical one. “The question remains unsettled because pain is a subjective feeling that science cannot prove definitively,” she wrote. One must be conscious to feel pain, and consciousness remains a mystery. With this uncertainty, we can continue to act as if they don’t feel pain, or we could give them the benefit of the doubt. 

Georgia Mason, a behavioral biologist at the University of Guelph in Canada, is, like Cooke, not quite convinced fish feel pain. But she argues that we ought to take a precautionary approach and act as if fish can experience pain until proven otherwise. 

With that in mind, should we be fishing for fun at all? 

Reducing harm in sportfishing — and rethinking it altogether

For his part, even as a fish pain skeptic and angler, Cooke is keen to reduce harm to fish. And the most important way to do that, he says, is to keep fish wet. He’s even on the board of a nonprofit called Keep Fish Wet.   

Why? “Most fish do not do well when exposed to air,” Cooke said. Their gills collapse and/or stick together, making it hard for them to get the oxygen they need.

“A fish should always be dripping wet,” and only out of the water for 10 seconds or less (the average time anglers kept fish in the air, in one study, was 29 seconds). The group Cooke works with also suggests anglers minimize handling time. And Cooke said fish will experience more stress if they’re caught in warm waters, as it holds less of the oxygen they need. 

Brown had a lot more to say. Anglers should avoid “playing” with the fish and bring them in as quickly as possible; use barbless hooks, which makes for an easier release; and when deepsea fishing, bring the fish up slowly to prevent barotrauma. And for those who kill, rather than release the fish they catch, do so quickly, rather than letting fish slowly suffocate or bleed out.

As Kerasote, the nature writer and hunter and angler, pointed out, catch and release as a widespread hobby is a relatively new phenomenon. Only in recent decades have state wildlife agencies made it a rule in many water bodies, in an effort to prevent fish depletion so as to ensure there is enough for wildlife to eat — and also so that there are always plenty of fish for anglers to catch. 

Before this, Kerasote said, “you went out there, you caught your limit and you were done.” But with catch and release, “there was no limit anymore, and that’s what became embedded in the fishing culture.”

To account for this shift, Kerasote wants to see states limit access to fishing in the same way that they hold lotteries to hunt certain mammals, like elk and Bighorn sheep.

Some fish scientists question the practice of catch and release altogether. While addressing an audience full of anglers at a conference, zoologist Eugene K. Balon bravely — or perhaps foolishly — shared a provocative thought experiment to prove his point. 

Imagine there is a recreational activity called “sportbirding,” Balon proposed, in which participants take fishing rods, put earthworms on the hooks, and cast them out into the forest. Then they wait until a bird — a Robin, in his example — falls for the bait and bites down on the hook.

“The shrieking and flopping bird is proudly wheeled toward the hide, the hook removed and the bird drowned in the water,” Balon said to the crowd (the water, in this case, is a parallel to fish exposed to air). “Would any one of you support such recreational activity? How does it differ from the sportfishing you support?”

“Sportbirding” would surely be considered barbaric to many — even many anglers, I imagine — and yet sportfishing enjoys widespread social acceptance, perhaps because of the persisting belief among many that fish don’t experience pain. 

Recreational fishing also has far-ranging impacts on species beyond its direct targets. For example, a study of over 2,500 pelicans taken into wildlife rehabilitation centers in Florida near the longest fishing pier in the world found that more than half of the birds had been injured by fishing hooks and lines — the leading cause of injury. Stocking nonnative fish to local water bodies can also upset natural food chains and ecosystems. And some of the live baitfish used by anglers spread disease to wild fish populations. 

There is also the issue of these “bait” animals themselves. Billions and billions of smaller fish — like minnows and shiners — are reared and sold each year in the US only to themselves be stabbed through with a fishing barb and intentionally kept alive and thrashing to entice a larger fish to chomp down on them. This is an additional, yet largely hidden, layer of suffering in the recreational fishing industry.

“I think fishing is worse than hunting,” Brown told me. “At least you know what you are targeting when hunting. And hunters pride themselves on a clean kill. It is a very different ethic,” than fishing, he said. That’s evident particularly in the world of competitive sportfishing, where marathon “fights” to reel in enormous fish are glorified.

For Cooke, many survey respondents, and even for me years ago, fishing is often about spending time with family outdoors, away from technology, while marveling at fish. But couldn’t that all be more or less achieved by taking a hike in the woods, snorkeling, boating, scuba diving, catching fish in nets, or even “hookless” fishing, which is practiced by a tiny contingent of anglers?

Not necessarily. Anglers, he said, are also motivated by the “thrill of the chase.” The uncertainty of what type of fish they will catch, and whether they catch any fish at all, keeps drawing anglers back to the water. Cooke said plenty of people who fish might also be driven by the “human domination of nature.”

Humans, like all creatures, are hardwired for survival. And for the vast majority of our history, that entailed catching and killing fish for sustenance. But now, most fishing is done for fun, or for those other pursuits: relaxation, thrills, the domination of nature. But the fun comes with an enormous moral cost that most anglers, it appears, would rather not confront. Because as our understanding of fish and their capacities evolves, our ideas about fishing might need to evolve, too.

My favorite restaurant, here in Madison, Wisconsin, closed this week. 

It was not my favorite because it had the greatest food I’d ever had, nor the most memorable ambiance. But I loved the Mad Rabbit Cafe because it had become my anchor in the neighborhood — it felt like home to me and a core group of friends as surely as the century-old houses lining the surrounding city blocks. Most importantly, it was entirely vegan — a rarity in this city, which, despite its ultra-progressive politics, embraces Wisconsin’s identity as “America’s Dairyland.” It was a refuge where my most closely held values found expression.

That closure is part of a national trend. US plant-based restaurants appear to be going through a contraction, amid the tumultuous aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic and, perhaps, an anti-plant-based cultural vibe shift.

VegNews magazine reported that data from HappyCow, an app that lists vegan and vegetarian restaurants, finds the number of vegan restaurants in three of the country’s top destinations for vegan dining — New York City, Los Angeles, and Portland, Oregon — decreased by between 21 and 25 percent from 2022 to late 2024. Those cities alone make up a significant share of America’s vegan restaurants. Then, in 2025 and 2026, some of the country’s most renowned, long-running plant-based restaurants also announced that they’d shut down: Modern Love and Candle in New York City, the Vegan Joint in LA, Millennium in Oakland, a more than three-decade-old institution (though it later reopened as a leaner operation), among many others. 

According to a Vegan Society report, in October 2025, HappyCow (which is like Yelp but for plant-based dining) listed 1,717 all-vegan restaurants in the US. As of this writing, HappyCow lists 1,509.

Madison has never had anything like the vegan riches of New York or San Francisco, but even we are having our own vegan recession. When Mad Rabbit opened in early 2024, the city had four fully vegan restaurants; now, depending on how you count, one or two remain (and even the one that’s unambiguously vegan is a food-court-style stall). I visited Mad Rabbit at its last Sunday brunch, where it served what many people have described as the best tofu scramble they’ve ever had, and a crowd-pleasing rotation of crepe specials (this month, it was mango lassi). It’s a culinary niche that, once gone, is hard to replace in a mid-tier city like this one. 

Mad Rabbit’s owner, Nate Anger, told me the business hadn’t been in particularly bad financial shape; it was profitable for each of the three years in which it operated, but not profitable enough to justify the punishing time commitment required to run it. Managing it had taken over his life, as it’s wont to do for many people in the food service industry. “I live here. I spend far more time here than anywhere else,” he told me in a recent interview at the restaurant. “I’ve missed my kids’ baseball game and tournaments and school band recitals.” I looked around at the oddball, DIY space he’d conjured — walls covered in houndstooth print, an Alice in Wonderland-like vortex, and art of rabbits in mischievous-looking moods, one brandishing a pair of large knives (the sort of room you wouldn’t want to encounter while stoned). 

The animal rights movement has two very different emotional registers: the grief and terror of looking squarely at factory farming, and the joy of discovering how much creativity, abundance, and pleasure can exist outside it. All-vegan restaurants represent perhaps the fullest embodiment of that second feeling — like “a little heaven,” as Krupa Panchal, co-owner of Bombay Food Junkies, a vegan Indian spot in suburban St. Louis, put it to me. 

Even as vegan businesses struggle to survive, plant-based options at non-vegan restaurants have become far more mainstream than they were a decade or two ago. Set against the stagnating (if not declining) share of Americans who identify as vegan or vegetarian, that raises difficult and even paradoxical questions for the animal movement.

For that reason, the mass die-off of plant-based restaurants has been much dissected and lamented in the vegan community. As I faced losing my own — a possibility I’d always feared and tried to forestall by supporting it as much as possible — the problem became much more visceral for me. I found myself thinking about why it mattered to me so much: What is lost when these places disappear, and what does that tell us about whether the plant-based movement can grow and endure?

What vegan restaurants are for

The vegan restaurant predates the word “vegan” itself — and so, apparently, do questions about whether they can be financially viable. More than a century ago, French anarchist Georges Butaud co-founded the Foyer Végétalien in Paris, writing in a 1923 letter that he was unsure whether it would attract a sufficient “clientèle végétalienne” to sustain itself. Why start such a business at all, when the audience for plant-based food is so vanishingly small? “I already have some positive results. A few people have become vegan since we opened,” Butaud wrote. The restaurant “is a school where we reciprocally teach one another…I have believed in the usefulness of creating it, and I will be happy if, over the months to come, the number of vegans increases.” 

Many vegan restaurant proprietors today still share that ambition — to be good enough to help the movement grow. 

Long before it became routine to find plant-based options on normie restaurant menus (iceberg lettuce leaves don’t count), plant-based restaurants compensated for vegans’ exclusion from mainstream cuisine. But they have also aimed to provide proof of concept of the diverse, surprising possibilities of plant-based food for a larger audience, showing that plant-based food need not be confined to marginalia. 

Today, of course, restaurants are far more central to our daily lives than they were in Butaud’s time. Americans consume about a third of their calories and the majority of their food budgets outside the home, and food-serving businesses are perhaps our most important third spaces. Meanwhile, the problems associated with animal agriculture and overconsumption of animal products grow unabated in America and around the world. The US alone slaughters 10 billion land animals for meat every year, the overwhelming share of them raised in appalling conditions, and those farmed for milk and eggs endure no better. Reciting these grim facts tends not to be a very fruitful path toward making friends or convincing people that veganism can be a positive and enjoyable lifestyle. Plant-based restaurants, on the other hand, make veganism feel less like a prohibition than an invitation; hospitality rather than horror. 

Anyone who has ever gone vegan knows what it’s like to incessantly be asked the well-meaning but bewildering question: “What do you eat?” (And, I get it! It’s confusing for those of us who grew up viewing food free of animal products as side salad or overcooked green beans.) Plant-based businesses have long been laboratories for answering it, developing techniques that draw richness and variety from ingredients not often treated as the main event in Western cuisines.

The more than 50-year-old Moosewood Restaurant (although mostly vegetarian, not fully vegan) was an early conduit between restaurant experimentation and home cooking, its recipes spreading far beyond Ithaca, New York, through its enormously popular cookbooks. Soul Vegetarian in Atlanta, opened in 1979, developed a plant-based soul food repertoire that helped cut a path for dozens of other vegan soul restaurants across the US; the Chicago Diner, in the city long identified with stockyards and slaughterhouses, helped popularize plant-based versions of American diner and deli staples. And chef Miyoko Schinner, at her erstwhile San Francisco restaurant Now & Zen, experimented with plant-based cheeses long before launching Miyoko’s Creamery, one of the most acclaimed and influential vegan dairy companies of the past decade. 

The 21st century in particular has seen a flowering of vegan restaurants serving every palate and national cuisine, in every possible aesthetic — punk, hippie, psychedelic, fussy and upscale. They still expand my mind today, showing that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to discover all the ways we can eat without the exploitation of animals.

The longtime Grasshopper restaurant in Boston, whose pan-Asian fare draws partly from Vietnamese Buddhist temple cuisine, makes mock meats that are worlds away from the rubbery substitutes that many Americans associate with the category (it closed its beloved, homey restaurant space in 2024, later reopening a stall inside a food court). Mad Rabbit changed even this longtime vegan’s idea of what tofu could be. Chicago-based Penelope’s Vegan Taqueria makes, as far as I’m concerned, the most exceptional Mexican food — vegan or not — this side of the Rio Grande. V-Grits, a Southern comfort spot in Louisville, Kentucky (RIP, 2024), provided evidence that some of America’s most exciting plant-based food could be found far from the big coastal cities best known for it. 

So why are so many of these places shuttering now? 

The vegan restaurant death spiral? 

Theories abound about the great dying of vegan restaurants.

Some of the casualties, it must be said, just weren’t very good in the first place. The raw vegan boom of the 2000s and 2010s, for example, produced numerous establishments built around that especially unforgiving constraint — no cooking. The result was often less-than-thrilling food (which isn’t to say it’s never good!), all in service of a restriction with scant evidence of health benefits to support it. Lots of these restaurants have closed in the 2020s, reflecting diminishing demand for that particular variant of vegan food. 

But the 2010s weren’t merely a golden age for zucchini noodles and date-walnut brownies — vegan restaurants of all stripes were multiplying, as was interest in the new generation of plant-based meats (Beyond and Impossible). It really did appear, for a minute there, that the future might be plant-based, vindicating decades of animal advocates’ work to push veganism into the mainstream. 

“I felt like veganism had really hit a big stride” in that period, Anger, the Mad Rabbit founder, said. Everyone was streaming documentaries advocating for plant-based diets — Forks Over Knives, Cowspiracy, What the Health, among others. Some polls suggested the share of Americans who called themselves vegan was growing. Anger said his market research led him to believe that the overall trend line for veganism would continue going up, even a little. Instead, “it just rolled right back over.” His restaurant had a core customer base of committed vegans, but its heavy reliance on regulars also showed how limited its reach was; stagnating interest in veganism may have been putting a ceiling on its growth. Keith Uruski, owner of Nooch, a vegan restaurant in Windsor, Ontario, open since 2018, told me that the business had thrived in its first few years, but has since slowed considerably, and he hasn’t paid himself in three years.  

In the years leading up to the pandemic, the assumption that the audience for vegan food would keep growing shaped much bigger bets than Mad Rabbit. Vegan chain restaurants including Veggie Grill, Native Foods, and Planta had pursued aggressive growth plans in the 2010s and early 2020s but eventually retrenched, closing locations and abandoning the scale they’d once envisioned. (Again, some of this may be merit-based rather than evidence of a broad rejection of veganism — YMMV, but I found Veggie Grill, at least last time I had it pre-Covid, to be mid.) “Most dedicated vegan chains are now in kind of a managed decline,” Lizzy Bartlett, senior director of menu research and insights at Technomic, a food service industry research firm, told me.  

The cultural winds have certainly shifted. The Make America Healthy Again (MAHA) movement has probably contributed to a thermostatic swing away from “unnatural”-seeming diets and simulacra of traditional foods, like plant-based meat and milk. I also think society has deep carnist antibodies that activate whenever meat-eating faces heightened moral scrutiny. In the last few years, that’s taken the form of a protein obsession that has hijacked the minds of otherwise rational people, convincing them tofu and beans lack sufficient protein to build muscle.

But perhaps my favorite explanation was articulated by Financial Times journalist Henry Mance last year: “The decline in idealism,” reflected in the reelection of Donald Trump — the triumph of our collective id.  

There’s a risk of reading too much into all this, however. Many restaurants, vegan or not, suffered during Covid and from prolonged inflation in food and energy prices. This year, consumers are spending less at restaurants because of elevated fuel prices due to the war in Iran. Panchal, of Bombay Food Junkies, said that her sales have been down in 2025 and 2026 compared to the years prior, but she doesn’t believe vegan restaurants have been faring worse than non-vegan ones. Some vegan businesses have recently closed in St. Louis for personal reasons rather than failing in the market, she told me.

This is part of the natural life cycle of independent restaurants — many disappear within a few years, and even highly successful ones eventually run their course. US cities had many vegan restaurants open in the 2000s and 2010s, so we might now be seeing a wave of closures that reflects the aging of that cohort. 

Preliminary results shared with Vox from a 2026 survey of the global vegan restaurant industry, by the nonprofit Vegan Hospitality, also complicate the idea that plant-based restaurants are being killed off because of waning demand for vegan food. In responses from about 59 vegan restaurants (a self-selected group, to be sure), mostly in the US and Mexico, roughly four in five said they’d still choose to be fully vegan if they were opening today. Of 13 businesses that were closing or had been sold, six said that being vegan actually helped them, and four said it made no meaningful difference.

And there’s some tension between the “death of veganism” hypothesis and what may be one of the biggest forces now disadvantaging dedicated vegan restaurants: the widespread adoption of plant-based options on omnivorous restaurant menus. That it’s now easier to be vegan at mainstream establishments is “unquestionable,” Anger said. He viewed Mad Rabbit’s competitors as not just fully plant-based businesses, but any restaurant that offers “more than two or three” vegan options; it was located just a block away from one of Madison’s best-regarded restaurants, a Laotian place with several very good plant-based offerings.

Likewise, Michael Fifelski, general manager of Red Sushi in downtown Madison, which has a solid list of vegan options, told me, “Our vegetarian and vegan rolls actually are quite popular” — a foundational part of the menu. There can be a real advantage to simply letting vegan food blend in — Amanda Byrd, the manager of Everly, an eclectic, globally inspired restaurant in Madison, told me that its top dish, a butternut squash and forbidden rice curry, is incidentally plant-based. In many cases, “if you de-emphasize the vegan statement, but the dish happens to be vegan,” it will sell better, Claire Conaghan of the food industry research firm Datassential said.

Though nothing compares, for me, to the feeling of total alignment that comes with dining at an all-vegan restaurant, there is also something affirming about seeing plant-based food finally taken seriously by the wider culture — and vegan dishes surviving on their own merits alongside everything else on the menu.

Do vegan restaurants still matter?

In a world where you can find a satisfying vegan entrée at Chipotle or Taco Bell or your local brewpub, are fully vegan restaurants still needed? What purpose do they serve?

The most fundamental problem beneath the downturn in vegan businesses is simply that the vegan population does not seem to be growing much at all. Polling on the question is messy and often inconsistent, but according to Gallup’s 2026 survey, 2 percent of Americans call themselves vegan, the same figure as in 2012, when the firm first started asking the question. If expanding the number of people who abstain from animal products remains an important goal (a point debated within the animal movement, though I think dietary change still matters a great deal), then which is more likely to move that objective forward: vegan restaurants, or an abundance of vegan options at omnivorous ones? Which does more to increase the number of plant-based meals consumed rather than animal-based ones and generate excitement about vegan food?  

I put those questions to Seth Ariel Green, a research scientist at Stanford’s Humane and Sustainable Food Lab, who writes the Substack “Regression to the Meat.” He’s one of the most intellectually honest researchers anywhere on meat reduction. His answer, via email, is that we don’t really know: “I have no idea how to weigh the pros and cons of, when I’m choosing between meals, 1) signaling to the world that vegan businesses are viable or 2) signaling to a particular business that their vegan options are viable. That’s a hard problem!” (It might be “a microeconomic structural equation modeling paper waiting to be written,” he added.)

Reducing prevailing levels of meat consumption even a tiny bit, much less convincing people to become vegan, is really, maddeningly hard, as Green has written. One frequently cited obstacle to growing the animal rights movement — its “central unsolved problem,” as one movement leader recently put it — is that it lacks much in the way of an in-person social world and sense of community. Vegan restaurants alone can’t fix that, of course, but they are among the few physical institutions the movement has. At their best, they provide a space where a private dietary choice can be reinforced by a shared sense of identity — a place to run into someone you already know or meet someone new, at a speaker event or social mixer. These spontaneous, embodied connections made Mad Rabbit such a warm presence in my life, and its final days all the more melancholy.

That function may be especially useful when plant-based restaurants are rooted in traditions people already belong to — cultural, religious, or otherwise — and help them view veganism as continuous with an identity they already have rather than as something alien to it. As Green has suggested, “let’s tap into pre-existing identities, explain how plant-based diets are consistent with them, and then take folks somewhere to enjoy convenient, delicious plant-based food together.” 

On the other hand, plant-based options at omnivorous establishments matter for almost the opposite reason. People often struggle to stay vegan because eating differently isolates them from non-vegan friends and family; restaurants that can accommodate mixed-diet social groups help remove that social penalty. These options also need a customer base — if no one orders them, they’re unlikely to remain on menus. 

I’m enough of a weirdo that I try to almost exclusively support plant-based restaurants whenever I eat out. I desperately want them to survive, and at the end of the day, no one is more invested in advancing the craft of plant-based cooking than vegan restaurants themselves.

Not everyone needs to be like me — in a world where almost all people still eat animal products, a healthy ecosystem needs both places built entirely around veganism and those where plant-based food is woven into broader food culture. It needs, most of all, excellent vegan food, wherever it might be found. And now that veganism has made at least a small breach into mainstream dining, vegan restaurants still offer something their meat-serving counterparts cannot. They’re like miniature utopias where the normal order of things is inverted and, for the length of a meal, we can see what a future without animal exploitation would look like. 

This story was originally published in The Highlight. To get access to member-exclusive stories like this every month, become a Vox Member today.

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Four beluga whales have died in a month at one of America’s top-rated aquariums — a tragic development and, arguably, a reason to revisit the ethics of zoos. (More on that in just a minute.)

The latest cetacean casualty, a 26-year-old female named Osiris, died at Chicago’s Shedd Aquarium yesterday. She follows 34-year-old Beethoven, a longtime resident of the aquarium, as well as 20-year-old Rain and 23-year-old Peekachu, who died in late August and early September.   

Osiris, Rain and Peekachu were all part of the Marineland diaspora: a group of four dolphins and 30 beluga whales that rescuers have worked to relocate since the 2024 closure of a scandal-plagued theme park in Niagara Falls, Canada. This summer, the animals were successfully transferred to aquariums and marine parks in the US and Spain. That was a frankly incredible undertaking involving padded shipping containers, a police-escorted convoy and a chartered plane. 

But in some regards, the international flight wasn’t even the hardest part of the whales’ journeys. Some of the animals have struggled to thrive in their new environments — even when those environments are state-of-the-art, like Shedd. 

In a blog post announcing Osiris’s death, the aquarium noted that its rescued whales had been under 24-hour supervision and receiving intensive, specialized care. The aquarium is still investigating the cause of death for all four whales. 

Go a little deeper

Believe me when I tell you that it gives me no pleasure to write the following paragraphs. I really love aquariums. In fact, as a kid, I grew up visiting the now-shuttered and much-maligned Marineland. 

But incidents like these back-to-back deaths should prompt us all to ask ourselves who aquariums and zoos are actually for. And the answer, I regret to tell you, is frequently not “the animals” — though zoos and aquariums have, since the mid-20th century, marketed themselves as both tourist attractions and important players in wildlife education and conservation.  

As my colleague Kenny Torrella writes, these institutions and their defenders argue they protect animals in three ways: first, by raising money for wildlife conservation projects; second, by helping to reintroduce vulnerable species back into the wild; and third, by inspiring visitors to take an interest in the environment. The Shedd Aquarium’s motto, for instance, is “For Love of Waterkind.” 

It’s worth scrutinizing those purported virtues, however — even when prestigious and reputable institutions like Shedd are making them. On one hand, there is merit to the claim that zoos and aquariums fundraise for wildlife conservation: In 2022, the latest year for which data is available, one group of accredited zoos and aquariums spent more than a quarter of a billion dollars on habitat projects. 

The evidence is thinner on the other points, though. It’s incredibly rare for aquariums and zoos to reintroduce endangered species back into the wild — that’s very difficult to do. And surveys of zoo and aquarium visitors show that merely seeing a wild animal in a tourist setting doesn’t generally galvanize people on matters of welfare or stewardship. Living in captivity in that tourist setting, however, can be stressful (or worse) for the animals themselves. 

But what would a humane alternative look like? Even if zoos and aquariums stopped catching animals in the wild, that would still leave many thousands who are injured, orphaned, born in captivity, or otherwise accustomed to human care. 

When it comes to whales, one nonprofit advocacy organization is already working on an alternative: a 110-acre coastal sanctuary for “retired” whales. That project, however, is still a long way from completion. And in the meantime, it’s up to consumers to decide whether the stated benefits of zoos and aquariums outweigh the potential harms to the animals they exhibit.

One link for later

➨ Beware the trap of “moral perfection.” We should all endeavor to live lives that embody our values, sure. But if you never board a plane because you care about the climate, or you never take your kid to zoos because you read the arguments above, then you might end up with a smaller, less-lived life. And that’s no good, either. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that there have been “revolutionary” advancements in Alzheimer’s treatments in just the past five years? Two new drugs both markedly slow the progress of dementia.
• Today’s trivia: Geography time! What country is bordered by Chad to the east and Mali to the west? Hint: It is the second-largest landlocked African nation. (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday we asked you for the classic Broadway star who first sang hits, including “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” That would be Ethel Merman, whom one biographer dubbed “the most successful musical comedy performer of her generation.” 

Two years ago, Marineland of Canada — a theme park in Niagara Falls that trained beluga whales, dolphins, and other animals to perform acrobatic tricks for entertainment — closed its doors. The decision came after years of financial turmoil, along with journalistic investigations, whistleblower accounts, and government inspections that revealed animal neglect and suffering at the park. Since 2019, 19 beluga whales and one killer whale have died at Marineland.

The closure was a win for animal welfare, but where would its animals go? Marineland’s surviving menagerie included, among other species, four dolphins and 30 beluga whales.

Given that beluga whales and dolphins are highly social animals that live in pods and swim long distances in the wild, animal welfare groups didn’t want to see them transferred to other parks like Marineland, or conventional aquariums, where the exceptionally smart and active animals would continue to suffer in captivity. Instead, they called for some of the 30 belugas to be rehomed to a proposed — though not yet built — 110-acre coastal sanctuary in Nova Scotia, Canada.

That didn’t happen. Instead, this summer, the four dolphins and two of the beluga whales went to an aquarium in Spain, while the other belugas were transferred to two SeaWorld locations — theme parks that are similar to Marineland — and two famous US aquariums: Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta, which received two, and Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, which received 10.

And just as Shedd’s belugas should’ve been adjusting to their new environment, things took a turn for the worse. Over the course of eight days from late August to early September, Peekachu and Rain — two belugas who arrived at Shedd Aquarium in mid-August — and another beluga whale named Beethoven, who had been at Shedd for decades, died.

The three animals’ cause of death at Shedd Aquarium remains unknown as the aquarium awaits necropsy results. 

While the three deaths in quick succession have put a spotlight on Shedd, they have also renewed scrutiny of a deeper problem with aquariums: their intensive confinement of wild animals, which runs throughout their history and goes beyond any one institution or animal.

The limitations of aquarium life

Shedd Aquarium is one of the US’s oldest and most prestigious aquariums, though this isn’t its first beluga whale controversy.

Its first two belugas were taken from the wild — an estuary in Canada — in 1991. The next year, they got four more from the wild and soon after, two of them died from cardiovascular collapse after receiving an anti-parasitic drug. 

“These whales died to serve a tourist attraction,” a spokesperson for the International Wildlife Coalition said at the time. “It’s horrific.”

Since then, Shedd hasn’t directly sourced any beluga whales from the wild, though it’s recorded 15 beluga births in captivity. But whether taken from the wild or born in captivity, some scientists and animal advocates argue the inherent limitations of aquarium life are inhumane. One of the most outspoken among them is neuroscientist Lori Marino, an expert in marine mammal behavior and intelligence and president of the Whale Sanctuary Project, which is building the proposed Nova Scotia sanctuary.

In the wild, beluga whales have far-ranging seasonal migrations, live in complex social groups, hunt for food, and raise juveniles. But Marino says that captive belugas — whether at a park like Marineland or a storied aquarium like Shedd — are in small, artificial, and unchanging environments that deny them the ability to engage in many of their natural behaviors.

“The level of boredom that they experience is really unbelievable,” Marino told Vox. “For an animal like that, with a brain like that, that’s torture.”

A Shedd spokesperson told me that research it participated in — along with other zoological institutions — found that ensuring that animal enclosures are dynamic, well managed, contain enrichment activities, and facilitate strong socialization do more to predict good welfare than the volume of space they’re allotted.

However, such artificial environments can lead to serious welfare problems. It’s not uncommon for marine mammals — and other animals in zoos and aquariums — to display “stereotypic” behavior, or repetitive motions that are indicators of stress. They might endlessly swim in circles or other patterns, continually regurgitate and reingest food, repetitively move their heads, or grate their teeth on hard surfaces. Critics call it “zoochosis.” Some researchers believe captivity may induce depressive-like states in some animals. 

Zoos and aquariums tend to downplay the harms of captivity and, instead, position themselves as stewards of the animals at their facilities and protectors of their counterparts in the wild. Some animal advocates, including Marino, often argue this is largely a facade to justify the continued captivity of the animals. 

Are aquariums for animals, or us?

Known as “the Fish House,” the first modern aquarium opened in 1853 at the London Zoo. At the time, zoos and aquariums were pitched to the public as pure entertainment — places for city dwellers to see exotic animals from far away lands up close. 

But as the modern environmental and animal welfare movements matured in the middle of the 20th century, they began to question the practice of putting wild-caught animals on display in enclosures that amounted to a minuscule fraction of their range in nature. By the 1970s, in response to the criticisms, some aquariums and zoos began to pivot from marketing themselves as entertainment venues to being invested in the conservation of wildlife.

Zoos and aquariums posit that if we’re to protect wild animals in, well, the wild, it makes sense that helping the public gain an affinity for them in a not-so-wild setting is an important part of the equation. Chicago’s Shedd Aquarium, for example, describes  its mission as “sparking compassion, curiosity and conservation for the aquatic animal world.” 

Aquariums and zoos often say they achieve these goals by raising a lot of money for conservation projects, helping to reintroduce vulnerable species back into the wild, and inspiring visitors to get involved in conservation.

There is some merit to the first claim. In 2022, the 238 zoos and aquariums accredited by the Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) — of which Shedd is a member — spent $252 million on projects to protect and preserve wildlife habitats. It’s a lot of money, though it amounts to about 5 percent of what AZA members had spent on operations and construction. 

The evidence is even thinner on aquariums’ and zoos’ claims around helping to reintroduce endangered species back into the wild, as it’s an incredibly difficult and rare feat, and on motivating attendees to become conservation advocates. 

Some surveys of zoo-goers have found that zoo attendance can modestly improve their conservation knowledge and behavior. But despite some 700 million annual visits, far fewer visitors volunteer or donate to protect animals in the wild.

Despite the heavy conservation messaging, animal advocates argue that entertainment is still the priority for most zoological institutions. According to the AZA, 80 percent of the animals in its member aquariums are taken from the wild, which seems to be in direct conflict with protecting animals in the wild. Shedd Aquarium declined an interview request for this story, and when I asked a spokesperson what percent of its 32,000 animals were taken from the wild, they wouldn’t say. 

“Acquiring animals from the wild is not contrary to conservation goals as long as species are acquired in an ethical and sustainable manner,” an AZA spokesperson said over email. “These are thought-out and strategic actions with sustainability in mind.” However, AZA didn’t define how to ethically and sustainably take animals from the wild. 

And Shedd — like many other aquariums — encourages guests to pay for “encounter” experiences with beluga whales and other wild, non-domesticated species, like penguins, sea lions, and otters, at up to $205 a pop. These often involve the guests having a few minutes to pet the animals and take photographs with them. (The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has temporarily prohibited Shedd and other facilities from using the rehomed belugas in encounter programs.)

A Shedd spokesperson told me the criticism of these encounter programs as inhumane and unethical is “unfounded and indeed contradictory,” citing a study about dolphins that it participated in. The study, however, wasn’t designed to measure how encounter programs affect dolphin welfare, but rather looked at how dolphins use their habitat, with encounter programs as one variable among many. A 2021 literature review on encounter programs found that most research on them lacked rigor and that “the justification for using [encounter programs] within zoos remains questionable.”

As for the belugas at Shedd, Marino told me she hopes that they survive, but says this moment should lead to more honest conversations about the ethics of aquariums.

Institutions like Shedd “are supposed to be the best,” Marino said. “But people need to understand that it’s the best of something that doesn’t work. … It’s not a question of who’s accredited, who’s not. It’s about keeping these animals in tanks for entertainment. That’s the proposition that has to be probed, that has to be questioned. And that’s the one thing they don’t want to do.”

Shedd, for its part, doesn’t seem ready to probe the proposition quite yet. A spokesperson told Vox that it hasn’t ruled out breeding the animals it received from Marineland, which could mean another generation of long-lived belugas in captivity.