AR Activists Fight For People Too

I often hear “Why are you so worried about animals? What about the human rights issues?” Being a vegan and animal-rights advocate and humanitarian are not mutually exclusive. One feeds into the other in multiple ways.

When I rail against the treatment of agricultural animals at factory farms and slaughterhouses, one thing seems to get swept under the rug: who is committing these atrocious behaviours? We are presented with these clandestine videos of horrific abuse perpetrated on these innocents, and we heave a collective cry of “Animal Abuse” and that is what we tend to focus on: the action of the abuse and the suffering of the non-human animal on the receiving end.

What about the person behind the steel-toed boots and heavy work gloves? Who is he/she? (I will continue on with this article using the pronoun “he” for simplicity’s sake) Why would anyone take a job like this? Are they really ok with this behaviour? Do they behave this way with their own pets or children? WHAT THE FUCK?

I was perusing Twitter this morning and saw a post by @agargmd stating the animal agriculture business is not a friend of minorities and migrant workers and the American diet supports the industries and politicians who continue to oppress these peoples.

BING! I had an Oprah Lightbulb Moment that flashed like stick lightning striking ground.

Of course! An industry of oppression uses the oppressed to fuel it.

The Guardian states: “Most farm work in America is performed by immigrants, most of whom are undocumented and therefore exploitable. The big agribusinesses that hire these immigrants will tell you that they need an unfettered supply of cheap foreign labor, because they cannot find Americans willing to do these jobs.”

Another quote: “According to a report compiled by Eric Ruark (pdf), the director of research at the Federation for American Immigration Reform (Fair), as of 2006, only 27% of workers hired by agribusinesses are American citizens, 21% are green card holders, around 1% are part of the guest worker program … and a whopping 51% are unauthorized immigrants.”

50 PER CENT are unauthorized immigrants! Holy fuck!

In Canada, upwards of 25,000 migrant workers are brought in legally to do work farmers need which citizens apparently won’t do; the exact number of undocumented migrants was estimated in 2004 as more than 36,000, doing a variety of jobs such as cleaning, nannying, labour and farm labour.

Ok so there is no shortage of illegals to hire for these less-than-desirable jobs in the agricultural industry. These people face working conditions which just barely meet industry standards in most cases, risking life and limb daily. In 2004 Tyson received a citation for an employee who inhaled hydrogen sulfide and was asphyxiated – did I read that right? A CITATION? For a death?

Between 2003-5, Maple Leaf Farms was issued 18 violations and fines for unsafe practices including hazardous machines and chemicals, and a number of other unsafe procedures.

Child labour is a thing too. 57 Guatemalen under-age workers were found at a kosher meatpacking plant in Iowa. What the ACTUAL fuck?

Clearly, this industry is death for everyone: humans and non-humans alike.

These migrant families work in this industry because even an unregulated salary is better than no salary at all. The farmers not only have these people by the pursestrings but also by the heartstrings, as they are working towards a better life for their family than they had in their home country. Unable to legally enter the country for various reasons, they resorted to illegal channels and are forced to take whatever job is available no matter how abhorrent and with no safety net of lawful protocol with which to protect themselves.

So here is one way Animal Rights meets Human Rights.

By policing these industries and advocating for animals, we are also assisting humans caught in this cycle of oppression and suppression. We are educating the public at large not only of the great inhumane treatment of innocent non-human animals, but also the inhumane treatment of men, women and children caught up in this life or death system which functions right under our noses, in our neighbourhoods, down our streets, in our backyards.

Yeah, right there.

And we are blind to it, because we prefer to look away from nastiness and pretend it isn’t happening. Because we see our “food” (read animal flesh) packaged up nice and cleanly in open freezers with little fake parsley garland at the edges and Enya playing on the overhead speakers. Get those rose-coloured glasses off, peeps, there is as much inhumanity being perpetrated in our own country as in those we castigate as barbaric and condemn to outer reaches of civilization.

We are animals too; Animal Rights includes us all.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

Tweet Tweet!

Peeps, I just created a Twitter account. Apparently, that’s where all the cool kids go to connect and get noticed in their fields and build their brand.

Since I am trying to build my followers, I thought that seemed like a good thing to do with my blog. If you are interested I’m @BadpuppyBlogs.

Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, are the basic three; the mirepoix of social media. Just like in a recipe, if you don’t have these three as the basis for your brand, you will not have the fundamental groundwork to be successful. So they say.

I’d had a Twitter account before, and I could never get on top of it. I was lost in all the @s and hashtags and everything moved so quickly, I simply couldn’t keep up with it. It seemed all everyone did was share sports stories or push their brand exclusively. It didn’t interest me, and sure as hell didn’t absorb me, so after a few months I just thought what the fuck, and deleted it.

But supposedly, the more social media platforms you join the better, and it seems EVERYBODY is tweeting crap all over the place. Twitter is proven to be a direct, speedy, and effective way to say your piece and get noticed – if you have the right followers and are following the right people. You see, if you have a list of Joe-Blow buddies on your Twitter, you are basically going to be spouting off your astute meanderings and witty repartee to the people you are already spouting off to on Facebook. They are going to get sick of you and unfollow you, turning your already meagre list of followers into a mere skeleton of non-involved, disinterested rabble.

So I read up on shit, peeps, did some studying of marketing in this online world, and I found a new word: ENGAGEMENT. Not the ring kind, (been there, done that, not all it’s cracked up to be) but the kind where you insert yourself into a tweet with an intelligent statement or humourous retort and trigger others’ response to you. In this way, you put yourself out there for followers to fall in love with your bon mot, then follow you and hopefully “retweet” you to all of their followers and so the movement continues. THAT is how you gain followers and gain popularity.

So I signed in and immediately followed a few significant-to-me organizations: some animal justice accounts, a couple of news accounts, and I started “engaging”.

Low and behold, I got one follower almost right away, someone I did not know, but their handle was very similar to mine. However, it turns out, they are the “first and largest collection of Gay Male Adult Erotica” so that’s something! As the night wore on, one of my comments was getting liked over and over again, (not by Gay-Erotica Guy) even retweeted. I actually had one person comment that what I said should be made into a T-shirt!

Come on, peeps, that’s fucking amazing! Me!! Coining a phrase for a T-shirt that goes viral on Twitter. And that was only my first day.

Screen shot of my notifications. Champ Titty Sprinkles’ comment was eloquent too, don’t you think?

I will reveal to you my Twitter-famous comment here: “Everything about #ford is offensive”.

That’s it. That’s all. But what a response! Thank god Ford is a dick or my comment might not have gone over the way it did; it might have simply been absorbed into the flux and flow of multiple tweets, into the black Twitter hole of anonymity, and my first experience on Twitter would not have been so exciting.

I’m hooked now, though, peeps.

I mean, I know it will take some time, but I’m really looking forward to interjecting my thoughts in places they wouldn’t otherwise get noticed. I mean how many people can brag they are being followed by the “first and largest collection of Gay Male Adult Erotica” @Badpuppy?

Pffff not too many, I should think.

 

Not Everyone Loves Marineland

This weekend marks a full year since I attended my very first animal rights protest. It was at the same place, Marineland Canada, in Niagara Falls.

I grew up in Niagara, so I am very familiar with Marineland. Our family attended way back when it was first opened and was called Marineland and Game Farm, and it was puny and didn’t have much oomphf. I recall even back then it seemed dirty to me, and chaotic, and I felt sorry for the animals. I was very young.

I attended the park a few times over the years with school trips, or visiting family; as I grew, so did the park. It expanded, added more rides, and acquired more animals including Orcas, seals, walruses, and dolphins. By this time I was older, more cognizant of my surroundings, but it still seemed dirty and chaotic and something else too: sad.

The animals were all sad. All. Of. Them. They had a sense of desperation about them when you viewed them, clamoring for more treats, knocking into you and each other in a frenzied attempt for attention and there was this little voice in my head that said “this is not normal.”

Nemo and Neptune NOT in their natural habitat

The marine mammals were just as sad. They put on a great show, with lots of leaping about and splashing, but something wasn’t right about it. It was an act. The seals cut through the water with speed, sleek and shiny; the dolphins danced on the pool waves, laughing in their merry way; the orcas intimidated us with their sheer size and razor sharp teeth. Everything seemed super fun and exciting. But it was fake.

I know now, and I knew it then, they were literally putting on the best act of their lives. Their very existence depended on it. And that’s all they could do, instinctively, every single day: exist. Because that’s all they knew how to do in this plexiglass environment with chlorinated water and invisible borders.

Someone took away their choice.

If they are hungry, they must wait until the almighty god of this organization deems it dinner time. There is no thrill of the hunt and chase for these animals, which is a part of their natural lives when they are in the wild. Food is just plopped in at a certain time, and they eat because not to is to die, and they still have a will to live.

Killer Whales NOT at Marineland or Seaworld. This is where they should be.

If they want to swim deep, surface, and cavort, as they would in the ocean, for miles and miles, with different scenery, they can’t. Their world is a round pool, with limited expanse and depth, infused with chemicals which are not natural to their normal eco-system.

Those mammals which are amphibious, like seals and walruses, are kept in cages when not in the pool. Cages with metal bars and concrete floors. Sound familiar? Yes, the same environment in which we keep the dregs of society who have been judged unworthy of freedom in a court of law and are being punished: jails. These animals were wild caught, they know what an alternate natural life is, and this is where they now live.

Photo credit: Hamilton Spectator. Walrus at Marineland Canada

And you know, I look back and I think we know so much more now about wildlife. I mean, back then, I could see how zoos and marine farms were a valuable educational tool and exciting entertainment. It reminds me of the Freak Shows of yore – no longer politically correct – but back then it was something different the “normies” could oogle. In the case of Marineland, the average person did not get a chance to see these unusual animals in real life; learning about them was hazardous in the wild; it was much easier to capture them, utilize them for viewing and entertainment to offset the cost of procuring them, and then study them as well. A twofer.

But we are better now. The technology we now have and world travel allows us to see and study these animals in their natural habitat, and the internet allows us to disseminate this information – in full colour! We don’t need to have these magnificent creatures caged and jailed anymore. But companies like Marineland and SeaWorld are still wild-capturing them and “training” them and putting them on display, forcing them to do tricks for food, keeping them enslaved by their dependency on us in this environment, taking away their free will and their health all for OUR ENTERTAINMENT.

It’s got to stop!

People don’t seem to realize that when humans dominate and subjugate wild creatures for their own ends, it’s showing a disrespect for life. And if humans can disrespect a life in this way, it’s only a hop, skip and a jump before other levels of life are oppressed and that oppression justified – like free speech or body autonomy. Humans are masters at objectifying things to benefit themselves, and sadly we also seem to have this desire to conquer anything we consider to be lesser than ourselves.

At some point we have to stop and consider all other life forms on this earth as equal to ourselves, in their own right. We are not better than the lowly bee; in fact we now know bees are fundamental to our existence. So why should we feel we are better than the mighty Orca and keep them imprisoned and indentured in small pools being stared at by flat pink faces smushed against the glass? Why do we feel it’s ok to keep bears in a cement pit with a few concrete caves and trickle of filthy water and throw marshmallows and peanuts at them so we can laugh at them trying to eat the sticky substance like little gods perched on our holier-than-thou thrones? Why do we feel we have the right to decide what a woman can do with her body if she gets impregnated and doesn’t want it? Oh wait – that’s another debate … BUT IS IT? Is it really?

So when I went to the Marineland Opening Day Demonstration, I was protesting not just against the enslaving of wild marine mammals and land animals, I was protesting our tyranny against all creatures, including US! I was protesting against segregation; I was protesting against discrimination; I was protesting against the “heartbeat bill”; I was protesting against nukes; I was protesting against wars; I was protesting against the ban on refugees; I was protesting against all the evil treatment humans perpetrate on all animals on this earth.

I was demonstrating FOR a new way of living where all creatures are embraced as equal and respected as life; where an individual has the right to choose it’s own path without fear of reprisals from others or government;  where no one has to live in fear of being bullied or dominated in the name of righteousness.

I was demonstrating FOR ALL OF US!

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.