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. 

Coetzee Part II

One of the first times I went camping as a young child, I went fishing with my father. we caught a few good-sized fish, and I heard my father say he was going to clean them when we got back to camp. I was around four years-old at the time, and had absolutely no idea what that meant. I just thought my dad was really cool for catching the fish. We got back to the campsite, and for a while I meandered around the cabin and the fire, playing with the dogs or roasting a marshmallow. Then I walked into the cabin, and saw exactly what "cleaning" the fish meant. I was completely horrified. Somehow, my four year-old brain had not connected eating the fish with the act of killing them. ". . . of course children all over the world consort quite naturally with animals. They don't see any dividing line. That is something they have to be taught, just as they have to be taught it is alright to kill and eat them." (Anthology 160)

caption says: "Moments of connection between children and animals"

What I find so interesting about this is that most people eat meat in this fashion. They never connect the idea of eating meat with the idea of being the one to kill it. My four-year old state of mind was not far off from any teenager that has never been hunting. Even more interestingly, this did not have much of an affect on my later meat consumption. I was horrified, yes, but I saw my father doing it, and at four-years old everything your father does is perfect (that being said, I would never condemn my father for cleaning a fish). Even that young, I possessed an astounding ability to ignore the cruelty or pain that I did not wish to see. This is not necessarily something that ever changes, unless we will it to. And even then, in regard to animals, most would never extend the same compassion toward a pig that they would to another human. This is evolutionary: caring more for the "in" species than for the "out". It's how we've survived. Furthermore, most people believe, when pressed, that "dying is, for an animal, just something that happens, something against which there may be a revolt of the organism but not a revolt of the soul. . . the old-fashioned way of saying this is that animals do not have immortal souls." (Anthology 161) In short, people have always eaten meat, and probably always will. I don't intend to sound callused, but that's the simple truth, and not necessarily the problem. The problem is the disconnect between what we see at our table and recognizing how it got there. There are many words one could use to describe the meat industry, but none could argue, if knowledgeable, that it is unnecessarily cruel.

How do we alleviate this problem? A few people have given answers, whether improbable, theoretical, or optimistic. But in response to Black bear's most eloquent thoughts, I would say don't give up hope just yet. What we would be asking requires a change of heart in a majority of the population, yes, but this has been done before. What people need is patience, the right situation, and most of all, to be educated. 

When Upton Sinclair wrote the Jungle, on the horrors of the Chicago meat-packing industry, he inspired a wave of legislation for better treatment of animals and meat in slaughter houses. The people reacted so uproariously because they suddenly became aware of what they were eating, how it was getting to their tables. The novel made each individual who read it personally involved, because they all felt personally victimized. They were not asked to sign a petition, nor yelled at by some self-righteous activist whom looked down on them. Someone gave them the information, and they responded. True, it was more about them than the animals, but does it really matter in the end? Of course it would be preferable it it were about animals, and for some it will be, but not all. Put this information out there in a way that it is impossible to ignore. Show them what's being done and what they are putting into their bodies, and they'll respond. A selfish reaction that happens collectively can do much more good than intended.  Will people ever stop eating meat? Probably not. But the idea that we could alter the way people view meat consumption--the type of meat we find it acceptable to eat--  and thereby greatly reduce cruelty in the industry? Not so far out of reach.

Coetzee Part I

Although I've always inherently understood the logic behind the decision to eat meat or abstain from it, until now I've never heard the arguments presented to me in plain English. Thus far the writer has presented two opposing lifestyles, laid out argumentation for both sides, and allowed you your own opinions. This is to me why Elizabeth is so far characterized as so disagreeable a character. The author isn't allowing you to side with a specific character, and thus presents their opposing views as objectively as possible. Although I love animals, I have ever been a meat eater, until now never forced to confront the implications of valuing my own or specific animals' lives over others'. I lived with a "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it came to knowing how the meat provided me arrived at the table. Hearing the author attribute this same subconsciously purposeful ignorance to those whom allowed Nazi death camps to operate near them was a jarring comparison. "It marked those citizens. . . who had committed evil actions, but also those who, for whatever reason, were in ignorance of those actions." (Anthology 139) This does seem a bit of an overstep, and obviously made the audience defensive. But the object of the analogy was not to insult, but to raise a specific question. what inherently makes the killing of a fellow human abhorrent, and the death of animals commonplace? What, if anything, makes their lives worth so much less than ours, that which legitimately sets them beneath us?

The answer that was given and then debated was reason. The narrator's wife, Norma, responds to Elizabeth's insistence that reason is not what sets us apart from animals-- as reason is a human created way of grasping the universe and cannot be projected onto a being that cannot agree or understand-- with a certain amount of derision. "There is no position outside of reason where you can stand and lecture about reason and pass judgement on reason." (Anthology 153) Norma seems also to believe that "You cannot, in the abstract, distinguish between an animal mind and a machine stimulating an animal mind." (Anthology 152) While all of this is interesting, any conclusion one could draw is secondary to its application: whether they can reason or not, does proving that you are "above" another being make it acceptable to slaughter them in droves? Thats the real question to be answered, the real question Elizabeth is asking. Superiority should not automatically lend itself to total domination, much less to consumption of the other species. Humans do not eat animals because they feel it is morally correct or obligatory (okay some do, but those would be the more conservative or super-religious of individuals.) We eat meat because it is natural, at times necessary, and because we can. While that may be true, it is distinctly unnatural to treat them as we do, or slaughter with no apparent respect for life. This is why I struggle with eating meat in today's world.  It's cruelty. Whether an animal can reason or not, it most certainly can feel. To be frank, if I killed myself what I ate, doing so as humanely as possible, I would have no trouble. We are omnivorous animals, evolutionarily designed to ingest meat, just as a lion or a wolf is. I would never force an animal to eat only vegetables, as it would be unhealthy for many of them. But the manner of treatment makes all the difference. Compassion, that ever present word, should be in everything we do. The native Americans used to praise the animals they killed, a sign of respect and equality, and never wasted a bit. Yet we no longer live in this world, and instead stand by as animals are tortured unnecessarily for our benefit. It's time we stopped ignoring it.

Marney

Marney

Have a young family and are looking for a first family pet, or an addition to a growing animal family? Then Marney is the perfect pup for you! Marney is no longer quite a puppy, but she loves playing and meeting new friends. She is very affectionate, yet quite calm and gentle, great for young children or as a first dog. She is very quiet, takes direction well, and lives to be scratched behind the ears! Marney is also very accustomed to having lots of canine company, so no worrying about introducing her to dogs or other animals. She is a medium build dog, with a small frame, light brown, short fur, and a black muzzle. Marney is quite friendly and as such has no trouble going up to strangers and, if allowed, hopping onto their knees with her front paws and raising her head, in askance of a good scratching. This happened to be my first experience with her and I was extremely surprised by her apparent trust and comfort around new people. Marney's story prior to her stay at SARA is mostly unknown, but the dogs that end up there are usually neglected or mistreated. As such, her personality amazed me, and while she may have been hurt or unhappy before, she doesn't show it. All Marney needs now is a good home, people who will appreciate her gentle, kind and loving nature, and can give her the attention she deserves. You'll immediately be charmed by her genuine wish for companionship and play. She really is the ideal dog for young children new owners to get acclimated to animals, and will teach you what unconditional love really means.

Pets and the Sympathetic Imagination

“The question is not, "Can they reason?" nor, "Can they talk?" but "Can they suffer?” --Jeremy Bentham, The Principles of Morals and Legislation

I'll admit, I had a difficult time with these readings. As I've grown older, I've felt that the more compassionate or empathetic aspects of my personality have faded away due to the cruelty of everyday life. I'm sure this is true for most people: it gets to you after a while. Life in all its facets can be difficult to face, and it simply becomes easier to numb yourself to the suffering we see every day than to acknowledge it.  That's why I think it is so easy for some of us to ignore the mistreatment of animals, specifically the animals that we eat. However, the suffering that people seem to find it the hardest to ignore, is their pets'. Anyone will know what you're referring to when you quote those gut-wrenching commercial. "Hi, I'm Sarah  Mclachlan. Will you be an Angel for an animal in need?" We see one of these, we all scramble for the remote, trying desperately to change the channel before seeing clips of dogs that have been severely injured or maimed. 

All that being said, I found that delving into the mind of an animal, hearing them say to someone "I love you", was equally difficult to stomach. "Alone without you beside me. Come back soon. I still love you." (Anthology, 59) Well, if the purpose here was to fill my eyes with tears, it was effective. Those parts of us that over time we've learned to shove downward, to never let see the light of day because reality is too painful for us to contemplate, resurrect themselves with full force. We may not even realize how deeply we'd buried those most innately compassionate parts of human nature until we're forced to confront them. Ordinarily, empathy is something most people save for a select few. Until this class, I was the same. It's still a gut reaction for me to ignore the suffering I can't alleviate, something I must consciously make myself aware of. Yet when it comes to pets, especially dogs, I'm powerless. "Only a dog, you'd say, missing the mark by a hair-- a dog, yes, indeed, but only? I think not." (Anthology, 70) It struck me next that this is the importance of the sympathetic imagination. It is empathy encapsulated. Seeing through the lens of an animal, one whom is suffering, allows us to connect in a way that might be artificial but feels utterly organic. We are literally suffering with a non-human being. Not only does this experience accomplish the desired goal of mobilizing people to help, it aids in "widening out circle of compassion", as we talk about so often. These poems force you to confront the pain of an innocent being face-to-face. And once you're there with pets, it's one small step to all living beings. I've found myself, over time, unable to ignore things like this any longer. It's difficult and gradual, because removing the veil makes me uncomfortable, and changing my lifestyle accordingly would uproot some of the most basic aspects of my perspective and character. But I've come to the conclusion that experiencing the suffering of a dog is not so different from what it would be like for cattle or chicken, those dietary staples. Anyway, emotional self-exploration aside, when I write the sympathetically imagined portion of P3, there will now be new purpose and fervor behind the words. It's possibly the most important, meaning most affecting, piece of that puzzle. I hope I can do Marney justice. 

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves Part III

Today, I spent much of my time over at my girlfriend's apartment. About six months ago, she got a puppy, one whom her family's dog had birthed, that she named Daisy. Although she is not really my dog, I spend a lot of time with Daisy: helped train and care for her, and as such like to pretend she's equally mine. I'd always been surrounded by pets growing up, but when we got them I was too young to really assist in their development, so this was an entirely new experience. Although I adore our dogs at home, being a key player in the process- a parent rather than a sibling- led to a vastly different dynamic. I love Daisy. Not in any sort of exaggerated "she's so cute OH-MY-GOD I LOVE HER" kind of way. The connection that I feel toward her I would equate to what I feel for a family member. We have a distinct relationship, and quite honestly I spoil her rotten. So anyway, back to today. I'd been playing with her for a while, a game of fetch that in reality was more like tug-of-war. She'd had enough, and instead of bounding back with the toy laid down and did a puppy army crawl back toward me. I laid down on the carpet, and she crawled up on my chest, licked my face a few times, and promptly fell asleep. This had become a sort of ritual with us. The contentment and security she seems to feel with me is incredibly fulfilling. It may all seem very hyperbolic, but if I never were to have children, the companionship and trust between Daisy and I is about as close as one can come to that type of relationship. She is as much family as any human relation or close friend.

I also recognize that while she may rely on us for food, shelter, and protection, I'd be hard pressed to say that she gets more out of the relationship than I. At the very least it is mutually beneficial. But what if Daisy didn't necessarily need me to survive? Would my ownership of her still be ethical? The answer to this question can quickly become muddled and hard to discern. "But Mr. Hayes said that the significant, the critical finding of their study. . . was this: that language was the only way in which Viki differed much from a normal human child." (Fowler 288) If Fern had been left in the wild, or with her own kind, she never would have needed the care of humans, could've been totally self-sufficient. But in adopting Fern, Rosemary's family created a need in her for them. This to me is despicable. One should never take on the responsibility of raising an animal if they do not intend to do so for the duration of that animal's life. What's more, due to Fern's intelligence and the way in which she was raised, the situation is more correlated with the giving away of one's own child. Only the lowest and most empty of human beings do this for selfish reasons.  A more ethical decision would have been either to keep Fern as a family member for her life, or to never have adopted her at all.

The more basic question that this situation raises is, what right do humans have to own other beings at all? Rosemary's brother Lowell believed the answer to that question was, none. He recognized that every being has a will for freedom and the desire to control their own lives. "Lowell's life has been the direct result of his very best qualities, our very best qualities-- empathy, compassion, loyalty, and love." (Fowler 307) He was willing to break the law, and sacrifice his own freedom, for theirs. Although on paper we do own Daisy, I do not believe she feels as though she has no free will, nor do I believe this is the case. But how can an animal in a cage, the bars a visible barrier to the world, not feel trapped? "These six chimps are cared for in the best way possible, and yet their lives are not enviable. . . They need more surprise in their lives." (Fowler 310) Treating an animal "well" (relative to previous treatment at least) is very different than making decisions that are in their best interest. It is only human arrogance that presumes the ownership of another being is better for the animal than it would've been without us. There is no easy answer to these questions, but one simple fact remains: no one wants to be put in a cage.

Best and Worst Jan. 19-25

The first couple of weeks back from break haven't been great for me. Doubts, indecision, confusion, frustration, stress, have all plagued me in equal measure. What am I doing? Am I making the right decisions? I'm never going to be successful. What the hell do I want to do with my life? Is that really what you want, or just the way to a bigger pay check? I envy those people who never seem to worry about the future, and yet everything still seems to fall into place for them. They're smart, they know what they want now, and it leads to what they want in the future. Maybe this is just my jealous perception.

Anyway, all of these doubts manifested themselves in the last week in the form of Broccoli Project auditions. I only went to one night of auditions, changed my mind immediately after about the show I wanted to audition, but only read once for that show. As a result, I didn't get cast, which I expected but still came as a blow. I was humiliated. Who was I if I can't even do this; this thing that now was such a huge part of my self image? I was also ashamed of these feelings. You weren't right for any of the parts, now get over it and find a different use of your time. I decided to dive into Texas 4000, something I was extremely excited about doing. The problem was, there wasn't much to do there yet. If there's anything I abhor, it's feeling stagnant and unproductive. I even debated adding another class. All this fixation and distress made me realize that I didn't know who I was when not extremely busy, I didn't want to find out; the very thought was terrifying. I prayed about it, tried to let it go and settle in to an unpleasantly easy semester.

My best came in a very unexpected way. A few days after all of this, I got an email from a cast member from last semester asking if I wanted to audition for Foot in the Door's production of Agamemnon. Yes. Yes I did. So now I'm playing Agamemnon and the Watchmen. I'm honestly a little embarrassed at how relieved productivity made me feel. The director, Imogen, was very complimentary, and this was a much needed confidence boost after about a month of perceived inadequacy, and a lot of soul searching. It was just what I needed. I'm not a devoutly religious person in the Church-going "Power of Christ compels you" sense, but I am a Christian in my own way, and believe that someone looks out for us when we need help, call him God, or whomever/whatever you choose to believe in. (To me they're all the same, but I won't get into that here.) Once again I felt a modicum of security in my situation and in my self image.

Side Note: Another best for me this week was the visit to SARA. I'm sure this is true for a lot of us, which is why I wrote on something else. But I found it to be an inspiration and an awakening.