Anahí Gabriela González

Anahí Gabriela González is a scholar-activist specializing in critical animal studies, transfeminism, posthumanism, and crip theory. She holds a PhD in Philosophy jointly awarded by Université Paris 8 and Universidad Nacional de San Martín (Argentina) and is currently an Assistant Researcher at CONICET and Full Professor of Ethics and Philosophical Anthropology at the Universidad Nacional de San Juan. In 2013, she co-founded both the Revista Latinoamericana de Estudios Críticos Animales and the Instituto Latinoamericano de Estudios Críticos Animales, key platforms for critical thought and activism in Latin America. González is the author, with Iván Ávila, of Glosario de resistencia animal(ista) (2022) and editor of Anima Animalia: el animalismo o el coraje de devenir otro (2018) and Es tiempo de coexistir: Perspectivas, debates y otras provocaciones en torno a los animales no humanos (2017). Through writing, teaching, and collective interventions, she approaches research as a political act and philosophy as a practice of resistance and hospitality. In this interview, González reflects on feminist veganism as a critical, decolonial, and intersectional practice that confronts speciesist, heteropatriarchal, colonial, cisnormative, and ableist legacies. She advocates for the notion of “plural veganisms” rooted in fragility, interdependence, and radical hospitality.

1.    What led you to focus on intersections of gender and species?

My interest in the intersections of gender and species emerged from a deep unease with how the category of the Human has historically functioned as a technology of power, deciding which lives matter and which remain outside the frames of recognition. For me, veganism came first—not as a fully rationalized ethical choice, but as an existential jolt. I felt, viscerally, that the Human was neither neutral nor universal, but an exclusionary boundary enforced through omissions, adjustments, and violence. That exposure before the animal gaze—as Derrida called it—was not only a philosophical revelation but also a confrontation with the machinery of systemic violence against other animals. And through recognizing the multiple layers of my own subordination—gendered, classed, disabled, neurodivergent, geographically peripheral—I began to question my privileges as well.

One detail I cannot leave aside: in the 1990s, when I was a child, my mother put me on a vegan diet. It didn’t last long, but the gesture mattered deeply in a country where meat-eating saturates national identity. In the early 1970s, on the eve of the dictatorship, she had been a leftist militant and a vegetarian—both rare at the time. She raised me alone, with no support networks. And yet when, as a teenager, I returned to veganism, she stood by me despite the backlash it provoked. Over the years, she wove her own networks of care. From her, I learned courage, defiance, and the truth that survival depends on alliances exceeding blood, family, and social norms. Today, retired, she cares for and is cared for by several cats and dogs; in that quiet, persistent, everyday care lives a form of radical activism.

This is why I cannot—and will not—separate my vegan and antispeciesist commitments from this embodied, communal history. Far from being only wounds, these experiences became terrains of affirmation. The question of the animal, though marked by pain and despair before systemic violence, is also for me a site of political joy: a way of thinking and feeling existence as a shared space of animal vulnerability, an embodied affirmation for all of us cast outside the category of the Human.

Over time, I realized that dominant forms of veganism often carried a consumerist and identitarian logic, the “Vegan” figure presented as morally superior, defined by product choices. That logic never sat well with me. But rather than turning away, the discomfort became a theoretical impulse: together with comrades, I began to speak of veganisms in the plural, intertwined with other struggles against oppression.

Feminism was another radical interruption. In my final year as a philosophy undergraduate, it made my skin tremble—a skin woven from wounds, memories, accumulated anger. I understood then that thinking happens only in affective networks, in visceral writing. It was in that context that gender and species began to intertwine irreversibly. Critical theories—queer theory, Black and decolonial feminisms, biopolitical studies—helped me see humanity itself as a historical construction, a colonial and normative fiction. Yet even these currents, for all their clarity in dismantling the humanist project, often expanded its margins without questioning its core. Rarely did they turn toward those cast as the ultimate outside of the universal subject: other animals. When animality appeared at all, it was as metaphor for human exclusion rather than as life that matters in its own right.

Critical Animal Studies and antispeciesism marked a decisive turn. I came to understand that the figure of the Human was historically constructed in opposition to the Animal, and that both categories are colonial, normative, political fictions. The problem, therefore, is not simply to include animals within a preexisting ethical framework, but to displace the human/animal dichotomy and dismantle the apparatus producing sacrificial bodies.

Carol Adams was key here: her analysis of the links between sexism and speciesism, the objectification of both animal and feminized bodies, made clear that one hierarchy cannot be undone without dismantling the other. Derrida helped me understand the human/animal limit as a dispositif of power rather than an ontological given. Queer and trans theories revealed how the borders of the human have always been drawn alongside the borders of gender. Whatever defies the man/woman binary—queer, trans, nonbinary lives—has also been expelled from the realm of the fully human.

I came to see veganism, feminism, and queer struggles as deeply entangled. To challenge the human/animal divide requires challenging the man/woman divide as well: gender and species are mutually reinforcing technologies of power. We cannot resist one without resisting the other.

This was the turning point that led me to focus my work and activism on articulating feminism and antispeciesism. I write—as Nietzsche put it—with blood, from the cracks that pain and animality carve into the human order. Because animality is a political site from which the exclusion of multiple bodies—deemed inadequate, inferior, sacrificial—has been constructed. Women (cis and trans), racialized people, Indigenous communities, queer dissidents, disabled people, and nonhuman animals have all historically been placed on this “animal” side of the world, outside the full domain of the human.

Understanding this led me to explore how animalization operates as a technique of power structuring coloniality, cisheteropatriarchy, and ableism. At the same time, I began to think of animality not only as a site of exclusion but also as a space of opening: a territory from which to imagine ethical and political commitments capable of overflowing modern hierarchies and creating other forms of community.

What defines animality, precisely, is its capacity to interrupt species norms, to disorder humanist taxonomies, to fracture the borders deciding which lives are worthy of grief, care, and continuity. From there, I can say that the commitment to an antispeciesist feminism—also crip, situated, decolonial, and queer—is, above all, a politics of alliances: an ethics of hospitality toward forms of life emerging among the ruins of anthropocentrism, demanding that we imagine common worlds through fragility, interdependence, and disobedience to the human norm.

2.    Historically, what do you think were the biggest barriers to vegan feminist activism?

The obstacles have been both external and internal to the movement itself. On one hand, vegan feminism has historically been delegitimized in both feminist and antispeciesist spaces. Within the history of feminism, we find moments of stronger and weaker engagement with the question of the animal. In the late nineteenth century, in England and the United States, many suffragists and feminists became involved in the antivivisection movement, linking the violence against animals with the oppression of women, children, and other marginalized bodies. Yet in the twentieth century, dominant feminist currents tended to relegate the animal question to the margins, consolidating a political subject conceived exclusively in human terms. Nevertheless, key contributions emerged from figures such as Carol J. Adams, Josephine Donovan, and Greta Gaard, who drew connections between sexism and speciesism from vegan feminist and ecofeminist perspectives, even though these approaches did not fully displace the anthropocentrism of mainstream feminisms.

On the other hand, within the antispeciesist movement itself, vegan feminism was often minimized or pushed aside. Heterocispatriarchal logics persisted, erasing the affective, intellectual, and activist labor of women and queer people—often under the assumption that bringing feminism into the discussion distracted from the “central agenda” of animal liberation. Such positions depoliticized antispeciesist struggles, stripping them of structural critique and severing them from broader fights against oppression. Ableist norms were also reproduced, assuming a healthy, productive, functional body as the default for activism. By failing to adequately interrogate the relations of domination historically imposed upon marginalized communities and bodies, hegemonic antispeciesism not only silenced the voices of political minorities but also failed to forge meaningful alliances with other social movements, such as feminist and LGBTIQ+ struggles.

Specifically, within vegan feminism, these obstacles deepen when certain strands of antispeciesist feminism adopt a binary view of gender, focusing mainly on the oppression of human and animal “females.” While such perspectives have been crucial in revealing links between sexism and speciesism, they have often tended to universalize the experience of cis women, excluding trans women, nonbinary people, dissident masculinities, and queer bodies. Moreover, they have not fully addressed the intersections of race, class, territory, and disability that also shape our relations with other animals.

Faced with these limits, various voices and collectives have emphasized the need for an antispeciesist feminism capable of expanding its critical and intersectional reach. In Argentina, for example, the interventions of groups such as Feminismo Antiespecista Interseccional (FAI), Resistencia Antiespecista (Buenos Aires), the Red Transfeminista Antiespecista San Juan, Tortilleras por la Extinción, the Animalismos Transfeministas Decoloniales collective —organized around the LECA journal—, the Asamblea Antiespecista Plurinacional Argentina, and Lo animal es Político have been fundamental. Across Latin America, key contributions have also come from Valentina Trujillo, Analú Laferal, María Belén Ballardo, Martina Davidson, Berenice Vargas, Micaela Anzoátegui, Lu Carrera, Fer Guaglianone, Mar Revolta, Lidia Guerra, Daniela Rosendo, Antonella Calle, Juan José Ponce, and Iván Darío Ávila Gaitán, among others. These spaces and authors have helped build a situated, plural, and disobedient form of thought and activism that centers shared precarity and alliances.

Another persistent theoretical challenge emerges from the fact that feminist thought has tended to treat gender as an exclusively human phenomenon. Yet if we understand gender as a system of categorization, discipline, and meaning inscribed upon bodies, then we can also recognize that nonhuman animals are sexed and gendered through processes of exploitation. The meat, dairy, and egg industries not only classify bodies by sex—selecting, for example, those produced and managed as “females” for reproduction and milk production, or as “males” for fattening and slaughter—but also gender them through cultural and advertising devices that assign roles, attributes, and gendered stereotypes. Cows are represented as docile mothers; bulls, as emblems of virile strength—images steeped in anthropocentric imaginaries.

Indeed, we can say that to sex a body is already to gender it, insofar as the assignment of sex always occurs within a system of power that produces bodies as useful, desirable, or disposable according to their functionality. Zootechnics does not merely classify bodies: it manufactures and shapes them according to a multispecies gender regime that organizes the production, consumption, and representation of life itself. This analysis allows us to move beyond the anthropocentrism of gender theory and to recognize how gender violence is also inflicted upon animal bodies—gestated, intervened upon, manipulated, and killed under profoundly gendered, productivity-driven criteria.

Finally, in the Argentine context, vegan feminism not only challenges anthropocentric strands of feminism but also confronts the naturalization of deeply rooted national cultural rituals tied to livestock production and meat consumption. The Argentine nation was built upon an agro-livestock project serving capitalist accumulation, and meat—especially the asado—became intertwined with national identity, masculinity, and working-class food culture. Within this context, veganism is often dismissed as a petty bourgeois concern, disconnected from social struggles and centered on individual consumption. This perception creates major obstacles to forging alliances with other movements, even within feminist mobilizations themselves, where selling choripanes (grilled chorizo sandwiches, a working-class staple of Argentine street food) is commonplace as a symbol of affordable, communal food, while vegan practices are frequently perceived as elitist or out of touch with reality.

Given this panorama, vegan feminisms face multiple challenges: on the one hand, to critique the hegemonic, commodified, and normative model of veganism; on the other, to promote vegan practices that are attentive to subaltern positions, situated, anticolonial, and capable of forming alliances with other resistances against the modern-colonial machinery. The task, in other words, is not simply to “add” the animal question to existing agendas but to reconfigure the very field of politics itself. Yet these obstacles have also been sources of strength: they have given rise to situated, anticolonial, and trans vegan feminisms that today reclaim animality as a site of alliance, insurrection, and hospitality. The power of vegan feminism lies in its capacity to unsettle, to overflow boundaries, and to create common worlds from fragility, care, and disobedience. Indeed, many Latin American activists—especially trans, disabled, Black, Indigenous, and sudaka voices—have begun to speak of veganisms in the plural, conceiving veganism as a situated, insubordinate practice intertwined with other territories of struggle.

3.    What do you think are the major obstacles facing animal liberation today?

The central obstacle is structural: the modern–colonial–capitalist regime that organizes life hierarchically. This regime produces and reproduces a world in which some lives—human lives—are valued, protected, and legitimized, while others—nonhuman and “less-than-human” lives—are rendered disposable, exploitable, and sacrificial. The normative ideal of Man—white, cis, able-bodied, property-owning, from the Global North—was historically constructed in opposition to animality, and this very dichotomy still operates as a technology of power, legitimizing systemic violence against both nonhuman animals and animalized human bodies. From this perspective, animal liberation cannot be reduced to a purely moral or individual task, nor to the abolition of specific practices. It requires dismantling the anthropocentric, racist, ableist, patriarchal, and capitalist logics themselves. Ultimately, it means questioning the very core of the category of the human.

As Iván Darío Ávila Gaitán argues, speciesism is not merely a form of discrimination; it is a global techno-bio-physical-social order that systematically produces animal domination through knowledge, technologies, dispositifs, and concrete practices. This order does not merely exploit animal bodies; it subordinates and subjects them, manufacturing functionalized existences such as “dairy” cows or “laying” hens—lives marked by harm that persists even outside sites of direct exploitation. Animal domination, in other words, does not end when exploitation ceases; its effects remain inscribed on bodies. Liberation, then, cannot be imagined as an abstract or universal ideal. It must be situated within specific relations and practices, where freedom is not defined by autonomy or self-sufficiency but by embodied relationality.

Capitalism—particularly in its neoliberal, extractivist form—represents another major obstacle. It turns all life, human and nonhuman alike, into raw material for accumulation. It produces animal bodies as commodities, but it also renders racialized, feminized, and disabled human bodies equally disposable for exploitation. Moreover, contemporary capitalism turns ecological crisis into opportunity: the “happy-hen” myth and so-called “organic meat” emerge as premium products promising physical and moral superiority, yet they remain inscribed within a biopolitical logic of consumer perfectionism, marketing a healthy, ethical, and elevated self. In this way, capitalism manufactures both new transhuman subjects and new functionalized animals without dismantling the hierarchies that sustain these relations.

The co-optation of veganism by the market poses yet another critical obstacle. Veganism has been reframed as a moral identity tied to “correct” consumption, centered on individual purity, ethical merit, and the ideal of a healthy, young, productive body. This shift neutralizes its political force, reducing animal liberation to a neoliberal ethics of consumption and displacing the focus from power relations to personal responsibility. The result is a normative, Eurocentric, ableist veganism severed from struggles for social and ecological justice.

Against this backdrop, we need veganisms that are situated, insurgent, anti-colonial, transfeminist, crip, Black, Indigenous, working-class, and anticapitalist—veganisms that refuse to become new moral identities and instead emerge as embodied forms of resistance. These insurgent veganisms reject purity and autonomy, embracing interdependence, fragility, and multispecies alliances. Their strength lies in linking anti-speciesist struggles with broader movements for justice and imagining livable worlds beyond the regime of sacrifice.

Another obstacle lies in the assumption that liberation is a unilateral act carried out by human subjects upon animal bodies. Animal liberation entails the irruption of other forms of life—it exceeds us, undoes us, displaces the very figure of “we.” To liberate is to dismantle the human/animal border, to let fixed forms of identity erode. What worlds might emerge once we cease to recognize ourselves in the image of Man and allow other relations, other affects, other becoming to traverse us? Liberation is not salvation; it is an act of embodied political imagination, sprouting from the wound, from where life continues to pulse. It is not about longing for futures designed by a human subject, but about embracing the multiple forces already haunting the present—those fractal, disobedient worlds breaking through at the margins, here and now.

4.    As an activist, what campaigns or movement achievements have you contributed to?

My trajectory in the anti-speciesist movement cannot be separated from my theoretical, editorial, and pedagogical work. For me, the university is a site of political intervention: this is why I teach animal ethics and critical animal studies, challenging from within the hegemonic forms of knowledge production that have historically excluded the question of the animal. Research, teaching, writing, and activism are all part of the same commitment: to dismantle the speciesist apparatus and contribute to creating more livable worlds for all, including nonhuman animals. Living with a chronic illness along with veganism, my relationships with nonhuman animals, and the act of writing itself, I have woven a politics that overflows the boundaries between theory, activism, and everyday life.

My engagement with Critical Animal Studies began early and shaped both my undergraduate and doctoral theses. In 2013, a decisive encounter with activists and scholars from across Latin America led to the creation of the Revista Latinoamericana de Estudios Críticos Animale (RELECA) and the Instituto Latinoamericano de Estudios Críticos Animaless (ILECA): collective, self-managed projects with no funding, sustained instead by political and affective alliances. Since then, RELECA has published twenty issues, organized conferences, reading groups, training workshops, and translations, becoming a key node for articulating activism and situated thought around animality, decoloniality, transfeminisms, and crip studies. From this same impulse emerged the collective Animalismos transfeministas decoloniales, which brought together activists from Ecuador, Colombia, Brazil, Argentina, and beyond.

More recently, together with other collectives and researchers, we have been building the Red Iberoamericana de Estudios Críticos Animales (RIECA), a new space for academic, activist, and community collaboration. From anti-speciesist, transfeminist, decolonial, and anti-ableist perspectives, RIECA seeks to develop projects such as podcasts, editorial initiatives, courses and diplomas, popular education programs, artistic practices, collaborations with sanctuaries, and political outreach.

At the local level, I participated in the Red Transfeminista Antiespecista San Juan (2017–2019), from which we organized street interventions, graphic campaigns, workshops, and activities in feminist marches and community gatherings.

I have published numerous articles and book chapters exploring the intersections of animality, disability, transfeminism, decoloniality, and posthumanism from a Latin American perspective. Among them are Devenir animal, devenir crip: una política situada de los cuerpos que tiemblan, Los devenires del veganismo (with Iván Ávila and Imanol López), La cuestión de los animales en la filosofía de Judith Butler; as well as Políticas feministas de la animalidad: decolonialidad, discapacidad y antiespecismo, Alianzas salvajes: Hacia un animalismo decolonial, transfeminista y anticapacitista (with Martina Davidson), Interrupciones furiosas. Una aproximación a los transfeminismos antiespecistas y posthumanistas en Argentina and El transfeminismo no es un humanismo: cruces entre animalidad y género (with Belén Ballardo). Moreover, I contributed the chapter Furious and Ferocious Forms: A Cartography of Antispeciesist and Posthumanist Transfeminisms from the Global South to The Routledge Companion to Gender and Animals (2023), edited by Chloë Taylor.

In addition to academic publications, I write zines as political and pedagogical tools and, together with Iván Ávila, co-authored the book Glosario de resistencia animal(ista), a situated intervention for engaging with key concepts in critical animal thought.

I also live with and care for nonhuman animals in situations of vulnerability, especially cats. This is not a formal or systematic practice but one of affective ties woven through the everyday, in the margins, in unexpected encounters. I prefer not to call it “rescue,” since that term often carries a logic of vertical salvation that I reject. For me, these relationships are forms of hospitality, of mutual care, of insubordination against the speciesist order that decides who lives and who dies. In these minimal gestures—feeding, healing, sheltering, sustaining—resides the ethics I strive to think and practice: an ethics of trembling, of shared fragility, of disobedience to the human norm.

5.    What do you see as important for achieving animal liberation?

Achieving animal liberation involves far more than abolishing specific practices of exploitation. It is a political, affective, and material process that demands dismantling speciesism as a global regime for producing bodies and worlds. This regime not only commodifies nonhuman animals but also dictates which lives matter, which bodies are deemed viable, and which territories can be sacrificed—all according to logics of utility, productivity, and ownership.

A crucial first step is recognizing the agency, languages, and ways of life of nonhuman animals. They are not passive victims or mere objects of compassion but beings with capacities for action, creation, and resistance. They do not simply endure domination—they contest it, elude it, interrupt it. Animals inhabit the world meaningfully, actively shaping relationships, territories, and senses of place, even though this participation has been systematically denied or rendered invisible.

Animal agency does not always take forms legible within human frameworks. It often expresses itself through affects, gestures, refusals, escapes, or alternative modes of relating that unsettle the norms imposed by the speciesist regime. This vital, animal force is already reshaping the world, even if zooanthroponormativity prevents us from perceiving it by confining animal life within fixed, hierarchical categories. From an anti-speciesist and decolonial perspective, this agency does not need to be justified in human terms. Rather, it demands that we transform our own conditions of perception—opening ourselves ethically to other forms of presence, action, and affect.

In this sense, it is urgent to foster anti-speciesist knowledge and techniques, both inside and outside academia. We need veterinarians, animal scientists, biologists, ethologists, lawyers, and health professionals who challenge the speciesist logics shaping their disciplines and redirect their expertise toward interspecies care and repair. We also need anthropologists, philosophers, sociologists, and artists who can perceive animal cultures, practices of meaning, and forms of sociality. Yet such understandings cannot emerge solely from institutions: in shelters, sanctuaries, and grassroots spaces, multispecies epistemologies and practices of care are already being forged, challenging hegemonic criteria of knowledge itself.

Animal sanctuaries, for instance, are not only places of rescue or resistance; they are affirmative territories where new forms of multispecies sociality, affection, and justice take shape. In these spaces, damaged bodies—sick, disabled—find hospitality; relationships emerge marked by slowness, singularity, and non-instrumental care. Here, the norms of species—and of ability, productivity, and profitability—are collectively resisted and decentered through practices of care and interdependence. Liberation, in this sense, is not merely the absence of domination but the active presence of reciprocal care—a situated practice that displaces the logic of disposability, sacrifice, and functionality while affirming vulnerability as a condition for shared life.

At the same time, we cannot think about animal liberation without confronting the weight of capitalist industry and legal frameworks. Building a non-speciesist world requires intervening in the economy and in legislation, forging alliances and tensions with political and social sectors, and drawing on the experiences of other movements that, in hostile contexts, have managed to challenge dominant narratives, claim resources, and secure rights through collective struggle.

This also requires acknowledging that speciesism cannot be separated from coloniality. For centuries, colonization not only expropriated territories and peoples but also produced and hierarchized life itself, instituting an ontological divide between “the human” and “the animal” as a technology of domination. Animality was ascribed to Indigenous, enslaved, feminized, disabled, and racialized peoples to justify their subjugation, while nonhuman animals were domesticated, exploited, and racialized—reduced to labor, food, or commodity. Zootechnics itself emerged alongside colonial expansion, shaping animal bodies to meet the demands of capital accumulation.

Contemporary extractivism continues and updates this colonial logic, turning human and nonhuman life into raw material. Industrial animal agriculture, agribusiness, mega-mining, and biotechnologies are today’s colonial machines, imposing death, harm, and disability on already vulnerable bodies. Intersecting alliances are therefore essential: animal liberation cannot be imagined in isolation but must be articulated with Indigenous, peasant, environmental, decolonial, feminist, and anti-ableist struggles.

We must also recognize that the economic and political actors sustaining speciesism operate on a transnational scale, through networks linking capital, law, technology, and discourse. The project for Chinese mega–pig farms in Argentina, for example, illustrates how animal extractivism responds not only to local interests but to a global meat geopolitics in which the Global South becomes a sacrificial zone serving markets in the Global North and emerging powers.

For this reason, animal liberation also requires building transnational networks of resistance and political action—capable of contesting these spaces, influencing multilateral institutions, and forging alliances with social and ecological movements across borders. Yet institutional politics alone will not suffice: we also need new sensibilities and affective bonds that disrupt indifference, normalized violence, and species hierarchies. Feminist currents have long been key here, reclaiming care, empathy, embodiment, and affect as political dimensions in their own right.

In sum, achieving animal liberation requires dismantling the speciesist regime on every level—economic, legal, epistemic, affective, and social. It calls for weaving multispecies resistances, producing disobedient forms of knowledge, inhabiting animal worlds, and committing to new modes of shared existence—where what matters in our relations is not productivity but the capacity to connect, to affect, and to be accompanied. Animal liberation also demands imagining futures already pulsing at the margins of the present: in gestures of care, in animal gazes, in the fragile bonds sustained among wounded bodies that resist together.

6.    What does vegan feminism mean to you?

For me, vegan feminisms are ethical, political, and epistemic perspectives that critically weave together struggles against gender, species, race, class, disability, and colonial oppression, proposing intersectional and situated horizons from which to imagine more just, solidaristic, and livable ways of life. There is no single vegan or antispeciesist feminism but rather multiple, insurgent feminisms emerging from different territories, histories, and embodied experiences. These feminisms refuse disciplinary and activist borders while radically critiquing the hierarchies underpinning the modern idea of humanity.

From this perspective, vegan feminisms call for a commitment to and responsibility toward nonhuman animals, recognizing them not only as victims of oppression but as political subjects whose lives and possibilities are shaped by the cisheteropatriarchal, colonial, capitalist, and ableist orders. Understood not as a diet or identity but as movements and practices aimed at dismantling the speciesist order, vegan feminisms also confront the violences enacted on bodies cast outside the ideal of humanity: feminized, racialized, trans, queer, disabled. For those of us who inhabit these feminisms, they are not separate from our own struggles for emancipation but rather extensions of them. We recognize that the same norms of humanity that pathologize and discipline our bodies also legitimize animal sacrifice and the systemic violence imposed on all who fall outside the human mandate.

Vegan feminisms emerge from everyday experiences, networks of care, and practices that unsettle normative ideals of autonomy, productivity, and bodily normalcy, affirming instead interdependence, vulnerability, and the radical diversity of bodies and communities. Their commitment is both critical and utopian: they denounce the historical violences that mark our lives while opening the possibility of worlds where justice, reciprocity, and affect replace exploitation and hierarchy as the organizing principles of collective life.

They call forth other ways of being-with-others, of sharing vulnerabilities, where solidarity and mutual care become collective forces of resistance and renewal. From here arises the need to inhabit animality as a shared zone of embodied disobedience. To embrace animality is to reject the false promise of belonging to a Humanity that has always excluded us, while opening the door to inhabiting fragility and interdependence as insurgent forces for imagining worlds that are more hospitable, more just, and more livable.

Together with Martina Davidson, I call these wild alliances: ties forged in fragility and interdependence that, rather than seeking inclusion into the category of the Human, turn vulnerability itself into a disobedient force for imagining worlds that are more hospitable, more just, and more livable.

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