Earthlings Part I

I sat here, at my computer, for a good while, staring at the screen, the emptiness of the page staring up at me expectantly. I am at a complete loss for words. Since Tuesday, I have tried to fit the images we saw into some sort of context within my life, equate it to something I've seen before. In doing so, I am attempting to file away the experience of watching this film among other memories or experiences. I am trying to create distance between myself and what I saw. I am desperately trying to hide from it, pretend those images don't exits and have never existed. But the truth is, I've never seen anything like it before, and I can't get it out of my head. The thoughts make me physically, PHYSICALLY, nauseous. Anyway, I'll to do the best I can to express how this film made me feel. While writing my reactions down, there were four feelings that came forth in succession, at least that were definable, so I'll break this blog up into those four categories.

My initial, visceral reaction was horror. I have never before used this word in order to describe a feeling I myself  have had. But I was horrified. I cannot recall actually forming coherent thoughts throughout this stage. I just stared up at the screen, or down into my lap, eyes wide and full of, not terror, not fear, but horror. It was an unprecedented feeling, and as such I had no more idea of how to cope with the realization itself than I did with its catalyst. "CONTINUED FOOTAGE OF DOMESTIC PETS BEING GASSED, POISONED, SHOT, AND IN ONE CASE, THROWN INTO THE TRASH COMPACTOR OF A GARBAGE TRUCK." (Anthology 201) Thrown into the trash compactor of a garbage truck. At this point, my entire being literally refused to accept that what I was watching was real. It couldn't be. Even now I am floored. Rendered incoherent. I was horrified because of the shock I felt at the fact that anyone could be capable of this. Not only that, but that I was unknowingly a part of it. I tried to put myself in the place of these animals, of the dog, helpless, was thrown into the compactor. I have never experienced pain or terror of that magnitude in my life, not a fraction of it. I had no basis which to empathize because it was beyond my capacity to comprehend. The only connection I could draw was to the animals in cages. What it would feel like to be locked away forever with no idea what I'd done to deserve it. To deserve it? I'd be that dog continually pacing, the chicken that rubs it head raw against its cage. Not even a loss of freedom, but never having it in the first place. How could I truly connect and not go insane?

Next, violent rage. "Oh I missed, I missed you honey. But I'll get you again! . . . "I got you! Good boy!" (Anthology 202) Images of animals' throats being slit, and left to bleed out on a hanging hook, of an inverted cow breathing in its own blood as it dies, the "Kosher" way. I was possessed with a desire to watch carefully every move these men made, everything they did to every animal, and systematically pay them in kind, in precisely those ways. I wanted to hang these men from a hook and slit their throats, to beat them with hatchets or whip them repeatedly. I wanted to hurt, emasculate, and humiliate them all. One of the most affecting scenes was the man goading the elephant, flinging curses at him while forcing him to stand on his hind legs. "Hurt him. Don't touch him. Make him scream! If you're scared to hurt him, don't come in this room. . . You motherfucker. Get your motherfuckin' --- get up here!" (Anthology 219) Then we watched as one of the elephants finally attempted escape. To the onlookers, it seems a monster, defiant and angry. But if they had seen the eye of that elephant as it died from the countless bullets shot into it, they would've seen who the real monsters were. The "trainers", the participants, the onlookers, the humans. 

Then I was ashamed. I'm ashamed to be of the same species as those people, and also ashamed of the violence with which I responded. I instantly did everything I could to separate myself from them in my mind. I no longer even want to curse, because it would liken me to them somehow.  was disgusted by their stupid cruelty, but in the end I am no better. I wished for them to be hurt in kind, knew they deserved it, willed those men to get trampled by the elephant who broke free. I didn't know what I could do, but I wanted to do something, and violence seemed like a satisfying option. But it would do no good, except for maybe a transient, furious, adrenaline fueled, fierce, joy. But what would immediately follow? My own loss of freedom, and nothing better for the animals. 

These thoughts of "what can I do" led me them to a desperate and exhausted helplessness. If there was nothing I could do, then I didn't want to know. But what has been seen cannot be unseen, and if this was everyone's reaction, then nothing would ever change. But the abstention from meat is simply not, and never will be, enough. So what can I do? WHAT CAN I DO? I have do do something. I could make it a mission to tell people about all of this. But the only people open to hearing about these atrocities, have already made choices in opposition to it, are already receptive and knowledgeable. Most people know, but choose not to see, turn themselves away. How do you combat that?

This is what I'm left with. Exhaustion, helplessness, and dread for what is coming next.