Suffering is Universal
June 11th, 2009 by Gary Hipworth and Christine D’Alessandro – American writer

Despite my best attempts to escape her incessant wails and John’s constant complaining, it seemed I could never get away from all the noise that provided a nagging backdrop to an otherwise delightful Sunday morning.

The sun had fulfilled its promise of warmth and light, the grain from the recent harvest had provided my breakfast, and, by all accounts, the day had all the makings of Spring perfection. But the noise! The noise was never ending.

At least in my mind, four days was more than enough time to accept the fact that her baby was gone. That’s not to say I am speaking with some sort of authority since I had yet to experience fatherhood for myself; but really, she knew her baby would have to be taken and in that knowledge, she had plenty of time to prepare herself for the anticipated heartache. This is how things are done. Nevertheless, her mourning transitioned from sorrowful wails to something that sounded like shrieks and it lasted all day long and into the night.

After his birth, and he was a runt of a thing by all accounts, she had been allowed exactly two days with him, which I thought was really considerate of John. During this time, I watched from a distance as she cuddled him, keeping him always close. Although he was meek and small, I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes were at once sad and soulful, as if he knew what lie ahead for him. When John finally came to take him on the second day, I shook my head in disapproval over her desperate attempts to keep him, her frantic pleas falling on deaf ears. I watched with confidence as the natural order of things remained in place. I also did my best to pretend that I was not at all bothered by the decision, or the reoccurring image of his large, melancholy eyes that I just couldn’t get out of my head.

But that was four days ago and she was still inconsolable. Everyone else had moved on from it, acknowledging that he had to be taken for the good of everyone. She, however, seemed determined not to let anyone forget the tragedy that we had all allowed to happen. So, as I reclined in the cool of the shade (the sun was already beginning to overheat me), I tried to think of anything other than her howls. Unfortunately, the slam of a car door meant the noise was just about to get a lot louder and any hope of a peaceful day for me was quickly diminishing. It was now John’s turn to moan in bewilderment, but for different reasons.

“Beat it, Rad,” he muttered to me, as he abruptly rose from his chair. I had earned the name Rad after John decided to adopt me as a pet, a decision that gave me both a sense of identity as well as a brighter future. The name was inspired by my love of always rooting around in the radish patch.
Apparently my other favorite pastime of sleeping on his feet wasn’t always the most convenient of places and John gave me a gentle push as he turned to deal with our visitor. Not wanting to miss anything, I also headed toward the front of the house to lend my support, however limited it may be. Absurdly short legs puts one at a significant disadvantage.

As the visitor’s sandals crunching along the driveway heralded his arrival, I watched John’s shoulders tense in anticipation of another confrontation. The visitor, his name was Samuel, was dressed exactly as he had been the week before and his hair remained untamed and long. John had suspected that he came from money and was trying to hide it. His clothes and hair may have been unkempt, but the smoothness of both his hands and voice suggested a good upbringing, as well as the fact that he’d probably never worked a hard day in his life. He carried with him a folder overflowing with papers scribbled with statistics, philosophy, and, gasp, alternative solutions. Before Samuel could even reach the front porch, however, John was waiting for him with his arms folded across his chest and his hat pulled down in that way that always meant he meant business.

“How are you, John?” Samuel said with a smile, extending his hand to John while still clutching the crammed folder in his other arm. John nodded his head slightly, but made no attempt to unfold his arms. Samuel’s smile fell along with his hand as his glance went from John to the path winding to the back of the house, where he no doubt heard her wails, muffled now but still audible. “I guess I am too late then?” he inferred with a tilt of his head, “You already sent him away?”

“I did,” was all John allowed, shifting a bit in his own discomfort.
 
“I see, well, I’d still like to talk with you some more. I know things got a little heated last week and I thought we could have another go of it now that we’ve both had some time to cool off,” Samuel’s gaze now remained fixed on John and his words were calm and confident. I couldn’t help but admire his courage; John could be an intimidating man, especially when his way of life was being challenged. I had yet to bolster enough courage to express my disappointment in John’s choice of breakfast, but here was Samuel, asking John to change almost everything.

“Well, like I told you before, I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say. This is my life, this is my farm, and there’s nothing you can bloody say that’s gonna change any of it. You’re wasting your time.”

“But can’t you at least consider-”

“No, I can’t!” John cut him off as his voiced rose in agitation. “You do-gooders are all alike. You come out here talking about the animals and how we’re all equal and how what I’m doing is so awful, but you don’t give a rat’s arse about the battling farmer. What about me? I’ve been doing this my whole life, and my father did it his whole life, and his father too. Are you really trying to tell me that we’re wrong?” John’s arms were now uncrossed as he took a step closer to Samuel. I leaned in too, struggling to hear better over the persistent buzzing of a fly I had no means to shoo away.

“Please don’t get upset, John, I just want to give you some statistics…”

“Statistics?” John spat in disgust. “It must be nice to spend all your time with your head in a book. I’d be happy to swan around pretending to be perfect on Daddy’s money if I could too. I bet you wipe your arse with bark.”

“Excuse me? I’m not ‘swanning’ anywhere, I’m just trying to get you to see a new way of doing things, the right way to do things and you’re just determined to change the subject and deny the truth.” Samuel’s face became flushed and he was losing his commitment to composure. John wouldn’t back down.

“I’m not doing anything illegal here, I’m just trying to make a living and all you care about is a stupid little bobby calf that I have no use for. You think I want to see him slaughtered?  This is a dairy farm, people drink milk and eat veal- there’s nothing more to it!” John’s face was red now, his agitation now bubbling into anger.

“That’s just it, John. I know you’re upset, but what I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to give up your livelihood just like you don’t have to send off the bobby calves. There are other ways to make money off your farm, more money than you’re making now. I just want you to consider some alternatives.” Samuel’s words recaptured their calm, and I was actually beginning to think that John may be listening. But then Samuel said something he never should have. “John, you can trust me.”

“Trust you?” John boomed, “Do you know how many bloody do-gooders I’ve had come knock on my door, wanting to talk, seeming innocent enough, and then using my own words against me? I mean, I had this guy come by a few months back and he looked just like you. He had his papers and his numbers and his promise that he wanted to help me and the animals. I explained to him that, to keep cows producing milk, we need to keep inseminating them. If it’s a bobby, they don’t produce milk, so we have to ship ‘em out. He then turns around and tells the media how I ship off baby cows to the slaughterhouse. He calls me a murderer and a…”

“John, John, that isn’t what I’m here for.” It was now Samuel’s turn to interrupt. “I don’t care about the media, and that’s a promise. I’m going to every farm around here and talking to each farmer individually. There are humane, profitable solutions and I’m sorry that someone else who may have the same vision as I do has such a misguided approach.”

“You’re all the same as far as I’m concerned. I can’t trust any one of you. Besides, if what I’m doing is so wrong, how come most everyone is still drinking milk and eating meat? If what you’re doing is right, then where’s the change?” Now John was on the offensive and it was Samuel’s turn to be challenged. “Christ, you’re the ones blowing up factories and trespassing on private property and stealing the farmer’s property in the middle of the night. You call that law abiding and humane?”

“The change will come from there too,” Samuel’s voice was very soft now, determined to avoid another road blocking confrontation, “but it will not happen overnight. With all that we now know about massive benefits to the environment, personal health, and obviously animals, consumers are starting to change. It may not be a complete flip, but if you walk down the aisle of any grocery store you’ll see how much the space for organic and vegetarian foods has grown. With all the studies linking the eating of red meat and dairy products to cancer and heart disease, people are more aware of what they’re putting in their bodies and that market is growing and you can be a part of it.” As Samuel’s words tumbled out, picking up in speed as his passion overtook his delivery, John looked off at something in the distance, though I couldn’t tell what it was. Samuel paused, as if to rethink his strategy before beginning again.

“Let me put it to you this way. When we look back on our forefather’s treatment of indigenous Australians in the 19th century, I think we would both agree that it was wrong, appalling in fact.” As Samuel spoke, John made no movement to show he was listening, but I knew he was. “Who’s to say that we won’t someday look back on all of this as horribly wrong as well? I mean, pigs are being jammed between rails so they cannot turn around to take care of their piglets, only feed them, while boars are castrated without anesthesia. It’s horrible!”

“I don’t want to hear nothing about that.”

“Neither does anyone! It’s easier to turn a blind eye to something wrong, then confront it and be forced to confront your own contribution to it. If we continue to choose ignorance over awareness, real change will never come.”

“If this is so horrible, why aren’t there laws against it? If what I’m doing is so appalling, then why do most people seem fine with it? I mean, we’re talking about animals, not humans.” John remained recalcitrant, though his tone was softer now too.
 
“There are laws against it, John. But there is one law for the person who keeps a pet and another one for the farmer who raises animals for human consumption. The factory farmer literally gets away with cruelty because they are allowed to. It is the biggest double standard and suggests the definition of cruelty lies with an animal’s environment, or its purpose. How this crazy situation has been allowed to happen is a sad lesson in the worst aspects of how a democracy works, with powerful lobby groups getting their way and the average consumer unaware or not caring enough to find out what is going on. I was bloody naïve to think that the law was supposed to be the same for each citizen, but it’s a joke when it comes to protecting animals. Don’t you agree that the law should treat everyone equally?”

“Talk to your Greenie politician mates if that’s your problem. Don’t come around here with your smart-arse ideas upsetting people all the time. Now I’ve got work to do…” 

“Come on, John, you’re smart enough to know that it’s only when people get upset about something that they might do something to change…” John’s ears reddened as Samuel was complete unaware of his offense.

“Oh, so now I’m not smart enough...” No one was smiling now, and the scorn on John’s face returned.

“That’s not what I meant,” Samuel responded as his face drained, realizing his progress had been lost.

“Oh, really? Then what in bloody hell did you mean?” John was unconsciously pushing up his sleeves, which was never a good sign. I started to think of how I could intervene, but my options were limited. Samuel, however, was not ready to back down either.

“I’ll tell you what I mean, mate. A society that allows these kind of double standards for animal cruelty to occur legally is one that is setting a bad example for everyone and we will all pay the price in the long run with an eroding lack of respect for the law in all aspects of our lives.” Samuel’s voice was now rising, the heat of the conversation finally taking its toll. “I’m talking about animals that feel pain and suffering just like you and me John, and they have no-one to defend them. Take a broiler chicken, for example. No, take 470 million of them, because that’s how many are slaughtered annually. These animals are born into a hatchery, never knowing the affection of their mother and only ever knowing the insanely overcrowded broiler factory from which they were literally thrown into from their crates. They exist in quarters so tight that they live in the equivalent space the size of an A4 piece of paper. They spend their days scratching and clawing over one another, without any means to roost or perch.” Samuel was practically shaking in his rage and showed no signs of stopping. “Furthermore, these chickens are forced to grow so unnaturally fast that their legs give way and break under their ballooning weight. If they’re “lucky” they live about fifty days. And what about the poor mother pigs! Sows spend most of their lives in metal stalls that are so small they can’t take a step forward or backwards!”

John just stared at Samuel, though I couldn’t tell if his disgust was for Samuel or the treatment of the chickens. As Samuel caught his breath, John seemed to be considering something before he responded.

“But they sure taste good,” John said with a sneer. Samuel took a moment to register the comment before lunging at John, who still stood a few steps above him on the porch. As their paws gripped each other in a fury, I braced myself for an outcome that would not be good for either side. In a second, both men fell to the hard gravel, their scuffle a circus of flying fists, forced grunts, and swirling dirt. Standing in terror behind the fence, I searched my mind for some means of distraction, not knowing how else to break up the fight. The solution, however, came from somewhere else.
 
As I prepared to make a miraculous leap over the fence in what would certainly end with disaster results, and as both men, who’d exchanged plenty of jabs to one another’s abdomen and face, were slowing from fatigue, the sound of a guttural, primeval wail sounded from the barn. The horrific screech stopped us all in our tracks while we slowly registered the source.

She was making her voice heard.
 
I remained at the fence watching the two men slowly pull away from one another and brush themselves off before standing up in silence, still unwilling to budge in posture or perspective. Though nothing I could say would have any effect on them, I desperately wanted to tell them that they were both right. John was not uncaring or insensitive to the needs of the bobby calves, he was just doing what he always had, what was always done. He didn’t run a factory farm like the others. He kept a free range for the chickens and was always mindful of the run-off, but still, a month didn’t go by without some animal rights activist coming by to tell him he was wrong, or heartless, or inhumane. John had every right to feel defensive, and justified at the same time. Despite some stricter codes and more media coverage, not much had changed. The demand for milk was as unwavering as the consumption of meat, and the amount of true blue vegetarians remains negligible. How could he, along with the rest of the world, be wrong?

 And Samuel was right too; there were other ways of earning a living off the farm that didn’t involve artificial insemination, taxing pregnancies, and, of course, the slaughter of the bobby calves and, eventually, the dairy cows themselves. The real challenge was getting John and about 20 million consumers to imagine a way of life completely different from the one they’d always known and moving towards better ways of earning a living and enjoying a healthier diet that didn’t involve the suffering of animals, or humans for that matter. After all, the only constant in life is change.

“I have no more time to give you,” John said, regaining his composure as Samuel’s shoulders bent down toward the dusty gravel.
 
“Okay,” was all Samuel could muster before John spun on his heel and returned into the house, the door closing behind him. I watched Samuel stare after him for a moment before heading back to his car. Both men were feeling defeated, and both still worlds apart.
 
Turning back myself, the sounds of her sorrow were once again in my ears, only this time I couldn’t help but feel her pain. I had accepted the order of things as everyone else had because that was how it was always done. I never really allowed myself to consider that just because it is what we’d always known didn’t make it right. John was clearly struggling with this too as the sounds of doors slamming, pails being kicked, and frustrated grunts came from inside the house. Feeling the need to do something, I headed for the barn, not knowing how I might help her, but feeling the need to do something. 

Just then, the backdoor swung open and John came heading out in my same direction. We both arrived at the barn door at the same time, though he took no notice of me as he headed right to the far corner where she had been keeping her vigil. I stayed back by the door while John crouched down beside her, an action which caused her to immediately quiet as she met his gaze. For an entire minute he just sat there, considering her as her sad, round eyes watched him. At last he put a gentle hand on her head while he began to make a noise that sounded like humming.

It was hard not to acknowledge the emotion of the moment. Here was a hard working farmer, a faithful provider for his family, and a good man. Samuel was a good man too, you could tell. But there were so many farmers who only knew one way, and so many animal rights activists who all claimed to have the same goal, but were too divided by their own agendas and egos that nothing ever really gets accomplished. There just seems to be a need for some sort of common ground if anything is really going to change.
 
When I think about the kind of change John can’t imagine and Samuel only dreams about, I often think of that quote by Ben Franklin that reads, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." Creating change is not about doing what you’ve always done, it’s about getting to the real root of the problem as opposed to the symptoms. Really, if at first you don’t succeed, try another way!

John had read that story to me about this radical animal activist who blew up a factory farm to protest the cruel conditions of 350,000 mother pigs whose life consists of standing room only stalls for the majority of their short lives. At least as far as I could tell, the only point the extremist seemed to make was that he could be just as violent as the slaughterhouses, and alienate more people in the process. That’s not radical change, that’s just violence. How many thousands of years have people tried solving their problems with violence? Has it ever worked? Are humans that thick? Then how come they can send a man to the moon? Invent all these gadgets they use to milk cows? Well, in my humble opinion, better technology is never going to fix their relationship problems. Not in a million years.

The other problem seems to do with how we value life. Clearly human life is deemed most precious, though I’m not completely convinced that’s even a priority when I read the newspaper over John’s shoulder. Wars and famine are constantly in the headlines, along with outrageous stories of violence in every corner of every town. None of which makes sense to me, and all of which can be avoided. The value placed on the lives of animals takes a distant second, and even that is strictly divided between pets, farm animals, and wildlife. And the fish! No one gives any thought to them. There was just a story out of New Zealand that confirmed that in one month 22 dolphins were killed by slow drowning after the dolphins got caught in the trawling nets cast by commercial fishermen. Can you imagine?
 
It is all so senseless.

To be truly radical means putting all your beliefs and prejudices and conditioning aside and opening yourself up to feel the pain and suffering of your fellow creatures, great and small. That’s about the only time we experience true compassion and know in our hearts we are all equal in our capacity to suffer. We have to get to the real root of the problem or we just go round in circles, kidding ourselves that we are getting somewhere.

I know this would probably surprise a lot of people, especially coming from me, but I truly believe that most people want what is best for the world: compassion, love, and acceptance in all relationships, whether between humans and humans, humans and animals, or humans and the natural world. The opportunity to express love and understanding and to allow cross-species communication to occur seems to me the very purpose for which humans appeared on earth. Without sharing our lives together as one valued world, life is meaningless, lonely and uncaring.
 
Unfortunately, we instead choose to go about our days, tirelessly working towards some goal while rarely questioning our means or even the goal itself. If a real change is going to happen, it has to be at the expense of everyone surrendering their established way of looking at something and really considering other perspectives.

Inhumane treatment and eating of animals is a great tragedy, but the greater tragedy is that differences cannot be put aside to work together to create a compassionate world. Now, I know what you’re thinking, leave it to an idealistic pig to wax on philosophic, but the swillosopher in me truly believes that  if true change is ever going to come about for the good of everyone, then there needs to be a commitment to enlightened cooperation.

By putting aside self-interests, egos, conditioned beliefs, and recognizing that nothing is ever black and white, we can pool our resources to create and attain a shared vision that keeps what is best for humans and animals always clearly in sight.

There are many individuals who contributed to the research for this article, including both animal activists and farmers, and we thank all of them.

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