Selling out the Scene: Northeast Ohio's Vegan Shift

We’ve reached a bizarre local milestone: a “vegan” business announcing plans to serve animal flesh. It hasn’t happened yet—but the fact that it’s been announced points to a disturbing trend.

If you serve animal products, you are not a vegan business. That should be obvious. But in a post-ethics world, where “vegan” and “plant-based” are treated as interchangeable, somehow that’s a controversial statement.

This is what happens when a morally-driven movement gets co-opted for mass consumption.

Veganism—once rooted in justice and nonviolence—gets diluted and exploited by corporations, influencers, and entrepreneurs seeking a quick buck. The grassroots movement, built by activists and sustained by community kitchens, is quietly pushed aside—or worse, pushed to the margins.

Then comes the inevitable crash. The money dries up, the market saturates, and the influencers jump ship. What’s left is a dying brand.

In Northeast Ohio, we're witnessing this firsthand. “Vegan” shops are rescinding on their values. “It’s happening everywhere,” they say, and they’re right. Plant-based restaurants in cities much bigger than Cleveland have been bringing the butcher in through the back door for years. “Vegan” spots show up in portfolios next to barbecue joints. You can see it in the rubble of the co-ops, bulldozed by Whole Foods. In vegan media, pushing fast food chain options and products tested on animals.

If you’re listening, you can hear it too. The “Convenience over Conviction” crew argue it’s accessibility, not ideals, that matter! Making vegan food more available can absolutely reduce harm to animals, to the planet, and to people. But so does supporting truly vegan businesses. Actual vegan-owned and operated shops contribute to all those outcomes too—without fueling the same industries profiting off exploitation. Of course, raising these points risks ruffling the wrong feathers—can’t have that, not with shareholders in the mix.

We used to have a real vegan community in Northeast Ohio. One built on protests and potlucks, boycotts and solidarity. We fed people with purpose. We weren’t chasing clout—we were pushing for change.

That’s the world Foodhisattva came up in. The community we shared in our early days—before folks moved to more progressive cities or fell to the market’s takeover—was defined by its veganism. We weren’t competition. We weren’t angling for buyouts. We were activists who scoffed at plant-based pandering, supported value-driven small businesses, and worked together.

I’ve never made a wage from Foodhisattva, but I’ve built genuine relationships—the kind that come from shared struggle, not corporate networking. The few vegan business owners who still share tips, resources, and genuine support? They keep our conscience-driven community alive. And I’ll tell you one thing: I know damn well they’ll never compromise their values—not for profit, not for fame, not for anything.

All small businesses are struggling, but authentically vegan businesses face unique challenges. With tighter margins, smaller customer bases, and a constant battle to preserve ethical integrity in a world with less of exactly that, the stakes are higher.

This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about clarity. We forgot who we are. Or worse—we were told to forget, and too many listened.

Veganism isn’t a diet. It’s not a trend. It’s a moral commitment: to nonviolence, to justice, and to a better world. It’s also a community.

So skip the “vegan nights” at the steak house and the celebrity forays into plant-based product placement. Instead, support your community. Those local vegan spots that cook with intention, care, and a commitment to the cause.

We’re still here!