Monthly Archives: June 2015
Summer Soulless in China
I wish I didn’t know this exists. But, it does.
I wish it didn’t keep me up at night. But, it has.
I wish I could protect all animals from this horrible fate. But, I can’t.
Despite amassing millions of signatures globally for a petition to the President of the People’s Republic of China to ban it, the Yulin Dogmeat Festival to celebrate the summer solstice happened again yesterday, or whenever the fuck China’s time zone rang in June 21st.
Oh, it is happening right now? As I write this? No wonder I am in a shitty mood. I thought it was the dark, rainy weather in Chicago today.
I know, we are all part of the food chain. I am fully aware of that, and even defended the right of Asian countries to open slaughter houses for dogs. We shouldn’t think it is wrong just because we identify the animal as Fido. Pigs can be pets, and some may consider a cow or chicken as one. Yet, we consume them on a grand scale. I argued this years ago when I was a vegan, no less.
What makes the Yulin Dogmeat Festival different?
If a subculture of China considers eating dog meat an appropriate way to celebrate the start of summer, then so be it. It is a puzzling choice considering how often dogs are portrayed—usually in a positive way—in Chinese mythology. I thought they would be revered, not consumed. But, I will set that aside. As long as the animal is respected and fully used, i.e., little to no waste, then there should be no real issue here.
Unfortunately, that is not the case. In order to accumulate the 10,000 dogs demanded for this festival, many are stolen off the streets, from backyards, and even from private homes. Dogs are shipped to restaurants in this small town still wearing the collars their humans put on them to declare ownership of and ostensibly, to protect them.
Cultural relativism be damned, those dogs are stolen “property” (as they are considered) and thus, illegally acquired. It should automatically put an end to this event. It does not. Apparently, the Yulin government turns a blind eye to this, even though many of China’s own citizens are against it, as well.
It does not stop there. The dogs are not only slaughtered, they are treated horribly. Not only are they crammed in cages or stuffed to bursting in nets, they are tortured to death because . . . wait for it . . . it is determined to make the meat taste better.
I would not have believed it, much less known about this horror, if it weren’t for Ricky Gervais. I like his Facebook page not only because he is one of my favorite comedians and a fellow atheist, he is also a huge animal lover. I look forward to seeing a post from him in my newsfeed of an adorable animal picture or video. It makes me smile.
With such good I must take the bad. He posts his outrage over hunters smiling with their fresh kills. It makes my blood boil as well, but I get some solace out of seeing so many people gather to share in his disgust. When I see that, I know there is light. There is hope for this world.
With tremendous reluctance, Gervais posted a few pictures in his campaign to raise awareness about this practice. I just cannot unsee them. One dog is lowered with large, metal tongs into a vat of boiling water; another dog is bound and muzzled with wire while a flamethrower is applied to his lower body; a cat is trying to climb a fence in terror. Yes, cats are on the menu. Perhaps as an appetizer?
In addition, many are skinned alive because, again, the meat is more flavorful and tender. Imagine if that were done to you. Believe it, the animals feel it just as acutely. The difference is that they have no idea why they are being treated so cruelly. Is ignorance bliss?
When animals are tortured, chemicals are released, including adrenaline. Perhaps that is the flavor these sub-humans crave. Apparently, topping meat from animals slaughtered humanely with a special adrenal sauce is not enough. They must suffer for the pleasure of the superior animal.
Ricky Gervais deserves many kudos for being so outspoken about animal rights. This campaign is much stronger and more likely to eventually succeed because of his global influence. It was not enough to stop it this year, but maybe it will work to put an end to it next year.
For anyone who thinks atheists are evil and taking away religious freedoms, think of all the animals whose freedoms are not even considered for a second. Then, look who is brave enough to expose himself to the ugly truth in order to use his celebrity to defend those without a voice. Until then, shut the hell up.
This is where my own conflict causes me additional unrest. What can I do? I can barely emotionally handle these awful truths. I wish I hadn’t seen those pictures, but how else can the point be driven home? There is merit to shock value, as it is sometimes needed to galvanize people into action. Yet, I am left with my hands in the air, not knowing what I could do.
I look at my sweet, adorable pitbull mix and my heart feels like it will burst with love. I’d do anything to protect him. I was already paranoid about his safety before I knew about the Yulin festival. Dog fighting is still a problem in the U.S., and often dogs are obtained illegally. What would I do if my baby was stolen and found out later he was turned into a fighting dog, his loving personality violently destroyed along with his body? What if he was used as bait? What could I do except let a piece of me die?
I look at the pictures, and fantasize about what I would do at the festival. If I saw that flamethrower in action, I’d knock the abuser’s knee out, pull the flamethrower out of his hand, and set fire to him. I would then leap upon his writhing body and gouge his eyes out. I am convinced that would be my impulse response in that situation. I hate that I can feel a darkness like that. It isn’t a part of me. I shouldn’t have room for such violent hatred with all the love I have to give. They did this to me, those horrible beasts.
I feel so helpless. What can I do but cry, be angry, lose sleep, or write in my blog? I am not Ricky Gervais. I will never have that power, nor the bravery to face what scares and horrifies me. I don’t care if I am being a sycophant, I am grateful for people like him who can walk the walk while people like me talk the talk.
Since I do not have the means to end animal suffering worldwide, I must focus on my own home.
I don’t have a flamethrower, but I have enough fire in my belly to rain Hell down upon you if you try to harm my baby.
Let Us Eat Cake
I spent most of my formative years defying my father. I was not a troublemaker, per se. I was a good student, honest, and never smoked or did drugs. No, that was not my form of rebellion.
I defied my father in the only way a do-gooder could—passive-aggressively.
I inherited his height, so I slouched. He gave me his temper, so I threw it back at him. No matter how solid I felt my argument was, he always won our verbal sparring matches. It frustrated me to no end. It triggered the irresistible urge towards defiance just so I could achieve some balance in my immature universe.
We both loved the color red, so I made that small concession in the father-daughter war. Color preference is not a choice, I figured. He never fought me for the red game pieces in Parcheesi, so he must not have adored the color as much as I did, anyway.
He was very organized and precise. How could I be anything but the opposite? From folding blankets a certain way to making Cocoa Wheats without lumps, I did none of it his way. I did not care to be micromanaged.
Then, there was cake.
“Never waste food. You can pick up the crumbs by pushing your fork on them,” he said while he demonstrated the technique. He proudly showed me the crumbs between the tines, and the resulting clean plate. “See?”
Yes, I did see. Still do, every time I eat cake.