Can you imagine participating in a protest outside the White House and forcing the entire U.S. government to resign? Can you imagine a group of randomly chosen private citizens rewriting the U.S. c…
So about 5 years ago Iceland OVERTHREW ITS ENTIRE GOVERNMENT and REWROTE ITS CONSTITUTION but yeah, no media outlets have covered that…
I don’t think this user is following me, so I replied privately in case they didn’t return to my blog to read my reply, hence the screenshot. Posting for my faq tag.
Any form of militance is silly, although I don’t quite understand where you got the idea I was militant? I try my best to be as respectful and civil with others as possible. I have never been aggressive or violent and I sure as hell don’t hurt others for the sake of my cause. With that being said, I hope you don’t get the wrong idea about veganism, or myself, based off of disapproving vegans unwilling to listen and give factual information.
I have never heard of Peter Singer and I don’t much care for vegetarians or vegetarianism in general, but it is entirely true that animals cannot consent, at least not to us. They cannot consent to us because we are unable to communicate with them. The same way a baby or someone in a coma is unable to consent for the same reason. It’s simply lack of communication. Would you rape, murder and torture a baby and a coma patient simply because they didn’t have the ability to tell you they didn’t want to be raped, tortured or murdered? Come on. Non-human animals feel the same emotions humans do, so why is the term “rape” only human inclusive? I’m not talking about bestiality here. Having sex with animals is on an entirely different list of issues that we can talk about on a different day, but when I use the term “rape”, I use it because there is no other word to explain what non-human animals are forced to go through. In the dairy industry, the instrument they use to forcefully artificially inseminate their cows with is called a “rape rack”. That is what it is.
Dairy cows are put through an endless cycle of pregnancy. A dairy farmer shoves his entire arm inside of the dairy cow’s vagina to inject sperm and once she gives birth, the calf is immediately ripped from her. The mother cow will literally cry out in pain once her baby is taken from her. She is then hooked up to a milking machine to take the milk that is supposed to be for her calf. It rips into her udders and causes infection and pain. Pus and blood leak into the milk. She is then artificially inseminated again, repeating the process until she dies.
If the calf is male, they are generally taken from their mothers when they are less than 1 day old. Many are shipped off to barren, filthy feedlots to await slaughter. Others are kept in dark, tiny crates where they are kept almost completely immobilized so that their flesh stays tender. In order to make their flesh white, the calves are fed a liquid diet that is low in iron and has little nutritive value. This heinous treatment makes the calves ill, and they frequently suffer from anemia, diarrhea, and pneumonia.
If the calf is female, she awaits the same fate as her mother.
And let’s not even talk about the fact that animals in the fur industry are anally and genitally electrocuted.
Yes, legally animals aren’t people. We’re not giving animals the right to vote. We’re not going to legalize interspecies marriage. That’s not what this is about. Legality has nothing to do with the simple fact that animals deserve the basic right to their own fucking life. We do not need anything from animals for sustenance. Everything we take from them is entirely selfish and needless. And it is terrible.
Non-human animals can be raped. No, there are not any legal implications, but legal implications don’t decide an act. The fact is that just because you cannot communicate with someone and they don’t have any of the same interests or understandings of things as you do does not give you the right to treat them as a commodity.
Looking at animals like they are machines is outdated. If we all understand that animals use their eyes to see, ears to hear, noses to smell, mouths to eat, legs to walk, feathers to fly, fins to swim, genitalia to procreate, bowels to defecate, how is it difficult to understand that they use their brain to think, feel, be rational, be aware and be self-aware? Am I supposed to believe, that every body part of an animal functions just like it’s supposed to, except the brain?
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
One of the best pieces I have read on tumblr.
ART: Crystallized by Tokujin Yoshioka
When he was younger, Tokujin Yoshioka wanted to bring a cloud from the skies above down to earth. His current fascination with natural processes and organic structures go to show that this desire never went away.
"When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with.
The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.”
All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone.
And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.”