A Summer Night in the City

I currently live in the ‘burbs, but once upon a time, I lived in the big city: Toronto. I really love it in Toronto. For someone who hates big crowds, this is an anomaly, but then I have never pretended to be anything other than myself: weird.

I actually love the diversity in people and in shops. Where else can you get vegan pizza sitting next to Ali’s Grocery and Cigarettes next to Hong’s Gift Shop next to Satan’s Eye Tattoos next to Mme. Dupont’s Ballet for Girls? I mean, come on, peeps.

So my forays into the city now are pretty special – and fun. Usually I go to see my girl, Moon, but this time, I went with my friend, Joanne, and her daughter, Tatiana. We had a fun day planned, including having some lunch out and a walking tour of Mount Pleasant Cemetery, (fucking blisters ahhhh) a landmark 200 acres in the heart of Toronto. Joanne also wanted to bring along some food and water to spend some time helping out the “homeless” downtown. Beyond giving some change, an occasional Timmie’s card or bag of dogfood (for the dogs) I haven’t really had much contact with the disenfranchised folks of the street.

not my photo

It was an eye-opener, peeps.

I kind of took a back seat to the whole thing, letting Joanne take the lead in approaching “likely looking” people (and let me tell you, the likely looking people may not be what you think they are). I handed out the pies and smiled a lot, cause, you know, anxious and shit. They were wonderful: friendly, happy to see us, grateful for the food and water. It felt good.

That was the day time.

We still had food left after our tour and decided to go back to the Yonge Street area where there seemed quite a few street people congregating after dark. Of course, in Toronto, it’s not really dark, it’s lit up like a carnival, but it was night and a whole different type of street person was taking up the prime spots.

Cue doomsday music crescendo.

Gone were the chubby little Romanian ladies in babushkas with their little signs; in their place were addicts, gun shot victims, hookers and alcoholics, with dealers and cops peppered in and around them.

I mean, I’ve been downtown at night before. I knew these people were there. But this was the first time I actually spoke to and interacted with any of them.

At first I was nervous. The scene before me was like something out of a TV show. Not Brooklyn 99, I can assure you. These people were no “Doug Judys”. The scene was more like Law & Order or even Mad Max: City Nights. (That could be a thing, peeps! Screen play anyone??)

So we went about and among them, handing out pies and Joanne’s homemade healthy date and nut balls, filling up water bottles, and chatting about them: their life, their situation, their feelings.

Yes, many were drunk or stoned. There were a couple of sex workers, a gun shot victim (shot in the ankle, hand and leg… not sure how that happened).

There were some smooth looking, man-bun wearing, slim square-toed shoe-sporting city slickers hopping in and out among them all, dealing drugs, under the watchful eye of a uniformed policeman. I guess the amounts were not enough to warrant a reaction or maybe it was understood this was home turf for these people, and what goes on at home is private. I don’t know. It seemed very weird to me, but I realize this was not the black and white world we live in, where we always have a comfy bed, good food, and wifi. This was a world of shadows, greys and blacks, cold cement, grit-riddled food, and rats. (Yes I saw a few, running behind where the action was).

I gotta say, though, I was impressed. I’ve known Joanne a very long time; I have always known her to be a kind person, who is truly interested in people. She is one of the few people I know who actually listen whens someone rambles on about stuff, she questions them and shows honest interest in them and what they have to say. ,

So we met a murderer (a real live one!) and his girlfriend, both Natives, and felt our hearts break as the fellow talked about his grown daughter with tears in his eyes (he was charged with murder after he defended his daughter from being raped); we learned the woman had a college certificate. They were not stupid, useless or bad. They were drinking alcohol disguised as koolaid in their water bottles, so I assume the drinking contributed to their situation. They had 2 large bags full of all their worldly possessions, and their “home” was a doorway big enough for the both of them, the sidewalk around them strewn with shards of glass and litter.

And around us, people in Armani and Ralph Lauren went about their business, bypassing the street people in their translucent houses.

We spent a couple of hours in all, sharing food, talking, laughing and even crying with these folks. They are people, just like us. They have children, just like us. They have feelings, just like us. They don’t want to be out on the street, but there is nowhere else for them to go.

On the streets it’s fairly warm, there are always bodies to cram up against for warmth; there’s food (not what we call food, but they get by), they have friends, colleagues, like-minded folks who “get” them, not look down on them; they have their addictions supplied, same as us. They have eyes to see – and they see much more than we give them credit for; they understand the reality of their world and what “we” think of it, but it’s their world, they own it, and they don’t own much else.

Now I am not a religious person, but all I kept thinking as I walked those city streets on this summer night was “but for the grace of god, go I….”

And that’s really the truth, peeps.

 

From Compassion to Compassion Fatigue

We’ve all heard of Battle Fatigue, now more commonly known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and now considered not limited to veterans of war only, but today I heard a new term: Compassion Fatigue.

Since I’m pretty much always exhausted, I decided to research this and see if I could add it to my list of neuroses.

Sure enough, I believe I can!

a Polar Bear, not in its natural habitat.

Similarly to PTSD, one might develop Compassion Fatigue by continued and prolonged exposure to suffering, loss of life, and emotional upheaval. Typically, it was seen mostly in care workers such as: physicians, nurses, emergency workers, and social workers. However, with the prevalence of more home care required for our elderly or disabled citizens, with the lack of appropriate in-patient hospitals for mental health cases, and with the need for more and more volunteer trauma workers, society is now seeing more and more Compassion Fatigue in the average person.

But, I learned, it is also now being seen in the front lines of animal rescue and anti-animal cruelty!

And it makes total sense, peeps!

When you care, when your heart is so big and so full of compassion for others (whether humans or non-humans) it’s traumatizing to constantly see the abuse and cruelty bestowed upon them. It’s painful to know it’s never ending, that the day after one animal is saved, there is another to take its place, and another, and another, and another, ad infinitum. It results in one’s physical and mental deterioration over time. And that makes for a very fatigued person. Exhausted in every aspect of one’s being, which can also lead to actual physical illnesses due to a compromised immune system.

These are your “free-range chickens” (just means they are not kept in cages)

So here are some symptoms of Compassion Fatigue:

• Feeling overwhelmed, hopeless, helpless or powerless when hearing of others’ suffering
• Feelings of anger, irritability, sadness and anxiety
• Feeling detached from our surroundings or from our physical or emotional experience
• Feeling emotionally, psychologically or physically exhausted, burnt out or numb
• Physical symptoms such as nausea, dizziness, headaches
• Reduced empathy
• Feeling hypersensitive or insensitive to stories we hear
• Limited tolerance for stress
• Self-isolation and withdrawal
• Relationship conflict
• Feeling less efficient or productive at work
• Reduced pleasure in activities we used to enjoy
• Difficulty sleeping and nightmares
• Difficulty concentrating, focusing or making decisions
• Self-medicating and increase in substance use.

Taken individually or in small cluster groups, someone might not realize they are dealing with this illness. I mean, one might attribute it simply to overwork or not enough sleep. We’ve all had those times, it doesn’t mean it’s a trauma fatigue. But when one is working in a caregiving capacity, perhaps these feelings should be given more in depth scrutiny – just in case.

Animal advocates and rescuers deal on the daily, not just with sick and maimed animals which is bad enough, but also with the non-compassionate mindset of the “great unwashed masses” who do not ascribe to more humane considerations. We are exposed, on the daily, to people who simply don’t care that male baby chicks are ground alive because there is no use for them; that sheep are punched and pummeled to subdue them when they are shaved for their wool; when pigs are kicked, punched and poked with sharp instruments to herd them into the gas chambers prior to slaughter; that chickens are kept in small crates with multiple other hens, no room to move as they grow into over-sized, hormone ridden adults for our plates.

This is how your ham and bacon is raised. 

Those of us enlightened in the ways of factory farms and wild animals in captivity deal with not only the animals’ treatment but the attitudes of others who choose to ignore the facts so they can enjoy their rare steak at a bbq. We are insulted, demeaned, ridiculed, and laughed at for our beliefs by many of these folks in our life. We are unfriended on social media because people just don’t want to know the truth. (Yes many people are sickened by the images, and rightly so, but they choose to look away and continue living in the same way despite knowing the truth. This is called Cognitive Dissonance) Some peoples’ own family members treat them horribly at family gatherings, just because they eat differently.

But we stand our ground. No matter how tired we are, how saddened by the violent images we see, how exhausted by the demonstrations and vigils at slaughterhouses. We keep going because it’s for the animals. It’s for life. It’s for all our lives.

But next time you feel all annoyed and judgy about someone choosing not to eat meat at a bbq or asking for soy milk at a coffee shop, remember, these are the same people who fight for the better treatment of your dogs and cats, animals we ALL accept as pets and as family members. Maybe think about the stress and upset they take on in a day for the betterment of all living beings in the world – including humans. Maybe put the judgment hat away and be glad someone is fighting for those who can’t speak for themselves.

 

 

 

 

National Animal Rights Day March

It’s my one year “veggie-versary”! Yayyyy me! One year ago August 25 (my daughter’s birthday) I made a commitment to eat plant-based for compassionate and health reasons, and I have loved every minute of it. A whole new world opened up for me!

The world of animal activism.  

I did a lot of research while transitioning from vegetarian to vegan and it only took a few weeks for me to have one of those electric shock moments when I realized the horrific images of animals being slaughtered and abused was the same meat in the stores. That same meat that looks so innocuous and inert was, only days earlier, a living, breathing, sentient creature. An animal capable of feeling love, happiness, sadness, and pain. Like…..holy shit like my dog! My pet! My family! Even my freakin’ betta fish have soul, as I watch them cavort playfully, stalk predatorily, and interact with me for food.

All those years I ate meat, I was eating another living being. The connection was made and it was an abomination. I had been a pseudo-cannibal. Gross. And even worse, cruel.

I typically haven’t a cruel bone in my body; I cried at the Ugly Duckling cartoon, ffs – AS AN ADULT! So this truth hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, with a couple of boulders thrown in just because.

But what could I do about it?

I became an activist. It started with Facebook: sharing posts about compassion, plant-based eating, and even the dreaded animal abuse articles (not many of those, as I’d rather teach and share with good news and positive energies to show a better way than clobber my friends, whom I love, with blood and guts). Then I joined some groups, Toronto Pig Save,  and I went to some vigils  

I spoke with Earthling Ed and James Aspey at one of these vigils, and was inspired by their messages. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Well not true: I wanted to be a writer, but there’s no money in that unless you produce a best seller, so in terms of a career, a vocation, a calling, I never really had a goal.

Until now.

At age 58, I am an animal activist and a blogger/writer. There’s no money in that either, but I don’t care now. My kids are grown up; I’m not interested in the rat race of commercialism; I don’t want a lot of stuff, just the necessities. So this is the perfect vocation for me!

So on my veggie-versary, I attended the National Animal Rights March in Toronto, Ontario. I attended with new friends I met on Facebook who were also travelling alone. We met up on the subway and marched along with a thousand other vegans and compassionate people, including children. 

It was an amazing event. It was powerful, gut wrenching, and emotional but so energizing at the same time. There was drumming, an organic pounding I felt deep in my being which gave me strength from somewhere inside; chanting which kept us focussed on why we were there and I knew what I was doing was right and good, as did we all. 

I was inspired by families, parents and children alike, wearing t-shirts and walking with their signs, holding hands in solidarity. Their strength was in their convictions that they are contributing to changing the world and making it better for all living beings. The children may actually see that transpire, although sadly, those of our age may not. 

People on the sidelines waved to us, cheered with us, filmed us, or ignored us. Far more connected with us than didn’t. I could see it in their faces as they stood quietly watching our procession; they read the signs, they looked at our faces, and I could see and feel their thoughts questioning reality. A seed was planted. It will sprout. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it is a strong seed, planted with love and compassion, watered with the tears of slaughtered animals and caring people, so it has no choice but to grow. That is life. That is reality.

I’m back home now, cloistered with my dog, my kittens and my four mean fish, my adventure is over. Hang on – no it’s not over! The abominations of animal slaughter, animal cruelty, factory farming, genetic modifications, animal testing are still taking place.

As the rally chant said: “We are unstoppable; Another world is possible!” 

 

 

 

#sorrynotsorry

Oops, I did it again! #sorrynotsorry

Thursday, I spent most of the day bearing witness to more victims of society’s food pyramid. In the morning, I was back at Fearman’s Pork providing water and succour to frightened, doomed baby pigs; and then we travelled to north Etobicoke, to demonstrate at a cattle slaughterhouse – and don’t kid yourself, they slaughtered for Halal beef and lamb there too. Despite a wonderful, fresh plant-based picnic in the park, catered by some of our group, the day itself was no picnic.

Me and Joanne before the arrest scare. #sorrynotsorry

It was my first time at a cow vigil; I didn’t really know what to expect. I understood we might not be able to offer water to the cows, and they might be frightened as much by our presence swarming the trailer as the journey itself. And of course, they would be assaulted by the same smell we were subjected to: the stench of blood, offal, bone, and death which permeated the block hundreds of yards before we actually reached the plant. It was a sickening, putrid smell, much like the garbage can on a hot day with maggots crawling all over, only worse because of the smell of drying blood under the hot sun. If I were still a meat-eater before this day, I would most certainly not be after. It was not clean. It was not hygienic. It was not healthy. Our MORGUES are more pleasant. Just sayin’.

the blood and offal sluice. it was really “offal” !

We were fortunate to be able to put a dab of peppermint essential oil under our noses; the cows, not so much. And the workers – how they were able to go from the disgusting work environment to a fast food truck across the road, then eat sitting right next to the blood sluice, I cannot even fathom.

the lunch table next to the blood sluice wall. yuck.

I tried to ask a worker if he liked working there (yes, I found myself accidentally peaking in a wire mesh window on the property to try to get a good photo – hey if they don’t want people looking in, they shouldn’t have a floor to ceiling opening in the side of their plant!) No one would talk to me, and then the police came threatening to charge those who had trespassed. I figured it was me, and I was actually going to be calling my parents for bail like I had jokingly threatened. (#sorrynotsorry) (I really don’t know how I endured six weeks in India without causing an international incident, but that is another post another day.) I’m just too curious for my own good. Don’t tell me I can’t or shouldn’t do something, ’cause that’s when I will do it, or die trying!

It was a horrible environment, and that was only outside the plant! We were able to peer into an opening right off the sidewalk (not trespassing) where the blood sluice was kept ready to dump drained blood and other bits into a bin, which would then most likely be sent to make dog food or maybe even hotdogs (#sorrynotsorry picture it!). Right next to the sluice was a picnic table for the employees to have their breaks outside in the sunshine….just so much ewwwww. 

The cows were packed into the same kind of trailer as the pigs, with vent holes so the really hot stinky air could breeze over them and ‘refresh’ them as they waited to die. They stood smashed up against each other, listless and sad. Now and then one or two would kick the side of the trailer in frustration and fear. They might not have known exactly what they were waiting for, but they sure as hell knew it wasn’t good.

For us humans, it was yet another example of the inhumanity we seem to have no problem subjecting others whom we deem lesser than us. Who makes that distinction? Apparently we, humans feel we have the right and the privilege to pass judgment on other species because we are “intelligent” beings. Definition of intelligent: clever, bright, brilliant, quick-witted, quick on the uptake, smart, canny, astute, intuitive, insightful, perceptive, perspicacious, discerning. Huh. Really. Doesn’t look that way to me.

The one bright spot on the day was visits from two vegan internationally renowned activists: Earthling Ed and James Aspey. Now THERE are some intelligent humans. They have both come across the world to spread their goals of compassion and health, for humans, animals and the earth. Ed is from England, and James, from Australia. Hyper links to more information on the two are included here. It was wonderful to meet them both and hear their message of hope for all living beings.

Joanne, Earthling Ed, and Me.

this might be your steak this week. He’s dead now.

The juxtaposition between speaking with them and hearing their encouraging stories and the plight of the pigs and cows in trailers not 10 feet away was mind-blowing. No one wants to die. No one wants to live in pain and terror. No one wants to be subjected to un-anaesthetised tail docking, dehorning, castration, perforation of stomach walls, automatic round-the-clock milking, skinning, plucking, beak cropping, baby removal and theft, cramped living quarters, no sunlight, feces covered bedding – no one I know, anyway. Would you?

So that’s why I’m #sorrynotsorry that I peaked in that window and pissed off some people. And I’m #sorrynotsorry that if you come to my house you will get a vegetarian meal – it will be delicious! but it will be plant-based. And I’m #sorrynotsorry if some of the things I say and post tweak your conscience and make you feel bad about eating meat. And I’m #sorrynotsorry if you get sick of listening to me post about these injustices to other living beings. And I’m #sorrynotsorry for all of this because maybe if each one teaches one, we won’t need to be #sorrynotsorry anymore.

Changing Lives – Especially Mine!

Last weekend, (May 19, 2018) I had the adventure of my life. I participated in the opening day demonstration against Marineland Canada, and I had an epiphany.

Marineland Canada is an aquarium-based theme park which includes orca shows, dolphins, seals, walruses and various land animals, such as bears, deer etc with some crazy rides thrown in to break the monotony of walking a curvy tarmac path between small, unadorned cages of sadly confined wild animals.

Although the pool is one of the largest for sea mammals, it is very small when compared to the vast waters of an orca’s natural home: the ocean.

Marineland Canada has one of the worst reputations in regards to animal mortality rates, living conditions, and treatment, with Seaworld even taking legal action against them after lending them an orca for breeding purposes which came back in ill health.

As a child, my family often took visiting relatives there as part of the sightseeing program, so I am no stranger to it. I visited it when it was very small and basically had a few sea mammals and some deer, to after they had grown as a theme park, housing numerous species of land animal and birds, to the ocean animals: orcas, dolphins, beluga whales, sea lions, and walruses. I haven’t been there for more than 30 years now, and I stopped referring visiting relatives there for just as long.

I hate Marineland.

I spent the day holding a sign, trying to educate the public about the plight of the ocean-dwelling animals housed in small spaces therein. As I did this and chatted with the like-minded protesters surrounding me, I found myself realizing our animals really don’t have a say in their own lives in this world of ours. They come into this world completely dependent on our whim, and often go out the same way.

Whether in the wild or domestic, they have zero control on where they live, what they eat, whether they get medical care when they are sick, whether they have babies or not, whether the home in which they start off is where they stay forever … or not.

They can’t complain when something is not right; they can’t write letters to the editor or the Prime Minister. They can’t save their money and move elsewhere if things are not to their liking. There isn’t a human resources department for them to lodge a complaint, or a union to stand up for them.

They can’t petition, rally their friends and like minds and demonstrate against indecencies perpetrated against them while protected by the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, like us. They have to trust the humans in their lives will do the right things by them, and they love them whether that is the case or not.

How do their needs get met then? How is change effected for those who can’t speak?

Us.

It is our responsibility to speak for those who can’t speak for themselves. We, as humans, have the virtue of compassion. It’s unique to us, and to us alone.

I hate the fact that these large, beautiful marine creatures are kept confined to what amounts to a fishbowl; I hate the fact walruses, which are typically social animals, are kept alone in cages when not in training; I hate the fact that the bears live in squalor in a cement pit with people tossing marshmallows or garbage in to see their reactions. I hated it as a child, and I hate it now even more.

The original whistleblower, Phil Demers, a one-time trainer and employee of the park, spearheaded the movement and has provided myriad documentation to the deplorable conditions of the animals, as have others.

I learned, this last weekend, that giving voice to our animals is a wonderful thing. All animals, including our domestic pets, depend on us to make the right choices for them, to allow them to fulfill their lives in healthy, compassionate, and happy environments.

Whether its a wild animal being kept in deplorable conditions in captivity, the domestic ‘food’ animals mercilessly abused and eventually killed, or disenfranchised pets who have been dumped, the job of helping these creatures and educating our fellow humans is no small feat. Many don’t want to listen, and many simply do not hear. And that is a very sad thing indeed, because surely in this world of plenty, in this world of education, humanity and political correctness, these lives can’t be overlooked.

On this day of protest, I was doing something which could make a difference to the plight of these wild animals held captive. Maybe our actions will contribute to educating the public about respect for nature and all living creatures – even if it just starts here. As humans, the supposed intelligent species, we have a responsibility to care for our world and all the creatures in it as humanely as possible. (if we don’t, then the meaning of the word ‘humane’ needs to change in the dictionary!)

I know some people believe we have a right to use this world as we see fit to further our needs. That these things were made available to us by ‘God’ or some omnipotent being for our use. I call bullshit!

Whatever your religious affiliation (and I could care less) we are one of many species inhabiting this planet with no more rights than any other, and far more responsibility to behave appropriately to the betterment of our world and all that resides in it.

And I was proud to say I acted on that this weekend, and will continue to act on it in future. I was part of something huge, magnificent, and positive, and I still feel the impact of those energies three days later! I ditched one destructive part of my life and embraced a life-affirming, constructive and powerful element which will benefit not just me but animals all over and maybe even the world at large.

That’s pretty momentous. yay me!

But more importantly – yay them!

Marineland Protest (L to R) Me, Joanne Scott, Bob Scott, Rebecca Reaume, Phil Demers, Jeff Reaume.