The Village

I saw something yesterday which really upset me, peeps. I’ve seen it before and it upset me then too, so I decided today I would write about it.

I had to take my daughter to emerg yesterday (nothing serious, she was just growing a second head out of her knee a la Futurama’s “Ass Boyle” episode. (Look it up, it’s hilarious!)

Anyway, along with the typical flotsam of the emergency room on any given day (crying babies, limpers, moaners, starers etc.) was an elderly couple and their son. Their son was developmentally disabled. He looked to be in his 30s, whilst the parents looked in their late 70s, possibly even older.

They loved their son. And he loved them. There were constant playful fist bumps, smiles, pokes, and little teases between them all, and I thought how sweet the little family was. And then, as is usual for me, I started thinking. (Ugh. Not again!)

My thoughts turned to the sad and assured eventual death of those loving parents. What would happen to this young man? Where would he go? What would he do? Did the parents have a posthumous plan? Did they have a financial plan in place for him? Did they have a care facility set up for him? Or not? Would he have to face not only bereavement, losing the two people he has depended on all his life beyond all measure, but also loss of his only home and familiar daily routine?

Who would love him as these two people did?

Oh I can tell you, peeps, I almost started to cry. I started thinking of my late mother, and how much I missed her, and how empty my life now feels without her in it. If I, a somewhat “normal” person, one without the severe disability of this fellow, feels such loss, such pain, how much more horrible for this young man when he is forced to face this dispossession?

I, at least, am able to take care of myself. I can cook and clean, do my crafts and art. I have friends, family with which to communicate. I CAN communicate! This young man, you could tell, needed constant help and supervision. He was not independent. He was not high-functioning. He was clean, neat, fed and healthy because he had his mother and his father all the time.

But not forever.

Of course, I don’t know the whole story. He might have siblings. He might already be in a care facility and his parents were taking him to emerg for a health issue. I mean, I don’t really know. I was probably getting all upset over nothing.

But what if…

It really doesn’t bear thinking about…

But we better! Because there are many out there just the same, and if it takes a village to raise a child, then it takes that same village to care for those unable to care for themselves. They are a soul, a spirit in our world which deserves the same love, compassion, and support as any able bodied/minded person out there.

It’s our responsibility as a society to care for those unable to care for themselves, to speak for those unable to speak for themselves, and to do it as if they were our own children, our own family.

It’s going to be a few days before I clear my mind of this. My mind can be like flypaper, catching every bit of useless detritus floating by, but when it’s caught, it can’t shake loose easily. It sticks with me for a long time, as I muse and ruminate on it. (This is how my anxiety starts ratcheting up too, which is why I like being home alone, where none of this stuff can reach me). The more I get out, the more I see, the more I think and no good can come of that!

Yep, I’m going to have those people’s faces in my mind for a bit now…once again I say: But for the Grace of God….

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!” 

 

 

 

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.