Four performances, four outreach/protests. Our numbers ranged from three at one show to as many as 10 at another. The Carson & Barnes circus arrived in Missoula, MT for shows on July 9th and 10th, and no show went without activists.
You might know C&B from the eye-witness account of one ex-employee. Or perhaps from the widely-circulated, much-condemned elephant training video (“Make ’em scream!”). The footage includes a sadistic training session, caged bears neurotically pacing and bobbing, and an elephant getting her hair burned off with a blow torch. Apparently this was filmed before the waxing craze.One can only surmise that their hair, which is supposed to grow on their bodies, somehow interferes with the performance. Perhaps it’s just too scratchy for the pretty circus lady who clambers up on Jumbo! The C&B Elephant Care page (page removed and replaced with this) says hair is “often…removed with clippers; this helps to prevent parasites from growing on their skin.” Wild elephants, who don’t shave, wax, clip, or torch, wallow in mud and dirt to protect their skin.
They feel mosquitoes landing but love the blowtorch? You’ll find a more authoritative view of elephant skin at the Elephant Information Repository. Their skin, it states, is “… not particularly thick, except over the back and sides where it can be 2-3 cm thick.” Not being much of a metrics wiz, I had to grab a ruler and check that out: 2 cm is a little under an inch; 3 cm is a little over. But that’s just on the back and sides. Where you see the prods and bullhooks in use, the skin is much thinner and subject to pain and injury.
But let’s return to the idea that “they seem to love” the blowtorch. As we stood with our advocacy signs outside the entrance gate prior to the 5 p.m. show, a carload of attendees from the 2 p.m. spectacle left the fairgrounds. The driver, a young woman, rolled down her window to tell us, “The animals seemed truly happy!” Funny how our species has a propensity to justify–based on nothing (on what seems to be)–what we want to believe, to the point of delusion. The zoo animals seem so happy–they don’t have any worries! Bet you’ve heard that one, too.
One woman dismissively flicked her cigarette ash toward us as she drove in; one man told us to “grow up” (we spanned three generations!), and another angrily asked, “Don’t you have anything better to do?” “No…don’t you?!?”
Many looked straight ahead without acknowledging our presence. Others read the signs, then showed an annoyed or amused and sometimes bemused face. All but one group went in. I wonder if, when the animal acts were rolled out, the slightest bit of doubt crept in to deliver small jabs and prods at their conscience. Let’s hope so.
But did we make a difference? Yes! One family, kids in tow, turned around at the gate upon learning that the circus featured exploited animals. They just couldn’t support that. “We’ll find something else to do,” they said. “Maybe we’ll go to a movie.”
Here’s a hearty thank you to those parents for the lesson in compassion and justice they taught their children that day. And here’s another for anyone who has ever held a sign, written a letter, or spoken up in peaceful protest of the oppression and exploitation of another–of any species. “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter,” said Dr. King.
Animals’ lives–their suffering and exploitation–are among the “things that matter.”
This post originally appeared at animal law blog Animal Blawg, where comments are accepted.
They’re eating me out of house and home! Idioms, as you know, are shorthand codes for more complex ideas. As I read Lisa Kemmerer’s latest offering, “Eating Earth: Environmental Ethics & Dietary Choice,” I kept returning to that idiomatic gluttonous guest or the self-centered roommate who mindlessly consumes such a vast quantity of our household resources that we’re headed for ruin.
Now consider what happens when that gluttonous dweller is Homo sapiens and the “house and home” is our planet. That’s the premise in “Eating Earth,” a readable, thoroughly-referenced book “written both for environmentalists and animal activists, explor(ing) vital common ground between these two social justice movements–dietary choice” (from the book’s jacket).
You might recall that Kemmerer is also the author of “Sister Species: Women, animals, and social justice” (2011; I reviewed it here), an examination of the interplay between sexism and speciesism. Now she zooms out to take in our entire human species, the nonhuman animals we exploit, and how that exploitation is literally consuming our home. She ends on an upbeat note; you’ll have to read through this review to learn how amore–Italian for love–is the last word on dietary choice.
And choice–this point is emphasized–is what it’s about: This is a book for those who have a choice. Poverty and isolation are examples of two limiting factors that can leave consumers with little or no choice in what they eat; people living with these constraints “cannot reasonably be held morally accountable in the same way as those who…choose to be either an omnivore or a vegan” (3). While animal rights is certainly given its due, the focus here is on the environment vis-a-vis what we eat: “(I)f you care about the health of this planet or the future of humanity, and if you have access to a variety of affordable food alternatives, this book is for you” (4). Is she talking to you?
The book’s simple three-part structure features sections on farming, fishing, and hunting. Footnotes are kept to a minimum. Each of the three sections ends with a list of sources cited. Pages of text are generously broken-up with illustrations, charts, and PowerPoint-type summary slides. All of this makes what could otherwise be a mind-numbing reading experience compelling, accessible, and easily-digested.
Circles of Compassion: Connecting issues of justice – click
It’s all here. If you’ve been an engaged animal activist/environmentalist for any time at all, you’ll have encountered much (but not all) of this before–but probably never presented so comprehensively and in so useable a format.
“Cheap meat, dairy, and eggs are an illusion,” the section begins, and here’s why. Greenhouse gas emissions, water depletion, and growing perfectly edible grains only to cycle them through animals (where most of the food value is wasted–80-90% of protein; 90-96% of calories; 100% of carbs and fiber (10)). Pollution, ocean dead-zones, deforestation. Rainforest destruction: by eating animals, “we are chewing anteaters, armadillos, jaguars–and plants and animals we have not yet noticed–into oblivion” (30). Public lands ranching: its impacts on land, water, and native species. And if we think we can take solace in “sustainable,” “grass-fed,” “organic,” or “local” animal products, we can think again! Environmentalists exhort us to take shorter showers, water less lawn, switch light bulbs, and drive gas misers, all the while ignoring the resource-guzzling, pollution-spewing elephant in the room (or cattle in the feedlot)–the animal-based dietary choice that’s literally destroying our planet.
A FISHY BUSINESS
While mercury in fish might present a substantial concern, fish are still touted as a healthy alternative to other meats. But like other “food animals,” fish are sentient and feel pain in ways similar to humans. They “interact socially, learn, and remember what they learn” (56). But industrialized fishing doesn’t care, and this section of the book–probably where I learned the most–is filled with the horror of the hook and the net. The big picture is this: The world’s oceans are in a state of silent collapse thanks to overfishing:
Bycatch is the word forthose unfortunate, unintended victims (birds, turtles, mammals, other sea life) caught up in the indiscriminate nets and hooks–and shrimp nets are the worst offenders, with up to 14 pounds of bycatch for every pound of shrimp! But here’s when the reality of industrial overfishing really struck home: I recently saw a horrifying video of industrial squid fishing (squid are conscious cephalopods), and because I had read “Eating Earth,” I immediately recognized the multi-hooked, vertical droplines that were mechanically hauling the suffering beings from their ocean home (at the 5:30 mark). Aquaculture is not a sustainable answer (the woes of fish factory farms are laid out)–the answer lies with us. “We must choose between plodding sea turtles and wheeling albatross, colorful coral reefs and undulating kelp–or fish for dinner” (83).
If hunting seems like an odd bedfellow for the gargantuan excesses of industrial farming and fishing, I’d have to agree. And when you consider how relatively few people hunt, it seems odder still. But here’s the author’s rationale: “When faced with the ecological horrors of animal agriculture, some look to hunting…as the environmentally friendly way to put meat on the table” (90). She methodically deconstructs the myths surrounding hunting: as practiced today, it’s neither traditional nor economical; it’s not fair; it’s not natural; it doesn’t help animals by managing them, and so on.
I know many wildlife advocates who bemoan the state of conservation as practiced by the state and federal governments today (I am one)–the manipulation of “game animal” numbers and environments for hunters, the commercialization of fur-bearing animals through trapping, and the extermination of predators for the benefit of hunters and ranchers, for three examples. Kemmerer starts at the beginning: “U.S. wildlife conservation–preserving and protecting ‘big game’ for sport hunters–was born when hunters realized that their ‘game’ would be up if they did not protect wildlife from their own guns” (130). This history starts with Roosevelt, Pinchot, and Leopold, and travels from the Pittman-Robertson Act to the subsidizing of wildlife manipulation by all taxpayers for the roughly five per cent of the population that hunts.
There’s more–the hunting of animals in wildlife “refuges,” animal wounding, the taxpayer-funded slaughter by Wildlife Services, public land safety–but it comes down to this: The perverted form of conservation practiced today alters ecological balance for hunter interests, and U.S. citizens are ignorant of it–at best–and deceived, at worst. Like modern farming and fishing practices, conservation-for-hunting is not ecologically sound. “On what legitimate grounds,” Kemmerer asks, “would any informed, sincere environmentalist support hunting or align with hunter interests” (134)?
Where does “amore” fit into all this? It’s a mnemonic device for the big picture regarding ethics and dietary choice–the critical reasons for moving toward a vegan diet. A is for the suffering Animals; M stands for the Medical reasons for rejecting an omnivorous diet; O is for Oppressed humans (people starve while animals eat grain); R is for Religion, which, around the world, encourages respect and compassion; and E is for the Environment and our Earth. Diet is a matter of ethics for those with a choice, and eating animals is a choice that’s eating the earth.
During the same time period that I was reading this book, I was also dipping in and out of Thich Nhat Hanh’s 1999 book, “The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching.” I was amazed to find a quote that so closely sounded the same warning at the heart of “Eating Earth”: