"Restaurant: (Im)Possible" VegNews Article Now Online

Last month I wrote in this blog about my four-page article on how to open a vegan restaurant being in the latest issue of VegNews. Well, now that the magazine's November/December issue is out, I've posted the article as a .pdf on my Web site. If you never got around to reading "Restaurant: (Im)Possible" in print form, now's your chance to read it online.

So You Wanna Open a Vegan Restaurant?

Get an insiders’ view of the biz in my latest article for VegNews magazine!

Do you dream of opening a vegan restaurant? If so, then you’ll want to devour my delicious new four-page feature “Restaurant (Im)Possible” in the September/October 2011 issue of VegNews magazine—on newsstands now!

This article not only provides an overview of the essential steps on the road to restaurant success, but terrific tips & tricks of the trade served up by seasoned restaurateurs. From raising money and choosing a food concept to getting experience and knowing what to expect, you’ll get expert advice based on my interviews with some of the industry’s preeminent players, including:

- Greg Dollarhyde, CEO of Southern California vegan fast-casual chain Veggie Grill

- Amy McNutt, co-founder of the vegan Texas-based Spiral Diner & Bakery

- Eric Prescott, co-founding venture capitalist behind Boston’s Piece ‘O Pie gourmet vegan pizzeria

- Richard Landau, co-founder of upscale vegan eateries Horizons and Vedge in Philadelphia

Whether you’re an established entrepreneur on the prowl for new investment opportunities, a visionary neophyte with a hunger to found your own restaurant empire, or just someone looking for a tasty read, my new article will give you some yummy and nourishing food for thought. If you’re not yet a VegNews subscriber, get your copy now by ordering online or picking one up wherever fine vegan lifestyle publications are sold! 

To the Murderer(s) of My Friend Matt Coleman

Dear Killer(s):

My name is Mat Thomas, and Matt Coleman was my good friend. A professional environmentalist and passionate protector of the natural world, Matt Coleman worked as a conservation steward, volunteer coordinator and wildlife population surveyor for the Mendocino Land Trust during the past six years. You probably only knew Matt Coleman as the tall, bulky stranger you shot to death in a barrage of bullets on Thursday, August 11th while he was doing restoration work at Cape Vizcaino, a remote 400-acre coastal forest reserve near Westport, California owned by the Save the Redwoods League. I, on the other hand, knew Matt Coleman personally as a close friend, confidant and housemate for several years, as well as a fellow literature lover, activist, outdoor enthusiast and creative collaborator on the Magnificent Glass Pelican radio program. We met when I was a freshman at the State University of New York, New Paltz, and remained friends for more than two decades. A fortunate few knew and loved him as son, brother or life partner; still others knew and respected him as colleague, community member, role model or mentor. All of us miss him terribly. 

Unlike you, we all know what kind of man Matt Coleman was: a strong, caring, compassionate, generous, funny, intelligent, energetic, noble one who’d found meaning and purpose in working to make Earth a better planetary home for people and wildlife alike. Inspired by his heroes Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Edward Abbey, and George Washington Hayduke, Matt Coleman followed their giant footsteps into the wilderness. He was only 45 years old, and probably had several good decades of life left in him. Yet you selfishly robbed Matt Coleman of his life and stole him away from us. What we want to know now is why.  

Seriously: you owe all those who knew and cared about Matt Coleman an explanation, because you had no right to kill him, and you inflicted severe emotional, existential and spiritual trauma on us when you did. We are stricken with shock, struggling to make some semblance of sense out of his apparently pointless murder. Yet we find this far more difficult to do than we would if we knew why someone decided to brutally eradicate this unique, irreplaceable individual from existence. In the depths of our psyches, we wonder: what possible scenario could there be to morally justify murdering Matt Coleman? What non-self-serving motive could you conceivably offer in your own defense? 

And Just Who the Hell Are You?*

Are you part of an armed mercenary militia force employed by a marijuana cartel, and did Matt Coleman discover your illegally-grown pot plantation (as the most plausible hypothesis maintains)? If so, how does it feel knowing that you permanently obliterated a singular human being’s consciousness for something so crass as money, and to protect yourself/selves and your fellow felons from detection? 

Or are you some unknown enemy who nursed a grudge against Matt Coleman and decided to take your petty revenge for some perceived slight? If so, how do you feel now that the deed is done? Does your vengeance taste as sticky-sweet as you’d imagined, or has it already turned to bitter ashes in your mouth? 

Or are you just some random crazyperson who stalked a lone defenseless caretaker into the woods as an easy victim? If so, I pity your chemically-distorted dementia (which is no doubt mentally agonizing). Yet, despite your disability, I cannot forgive your mortal trespass. 

Whoever you are, did you get a thrill when you pulled the trigger? Did killing a man make you feel powerful, invincible, Godlike? Among the most troubling questions about Matt Coleman’s death for those of us who knew him is whether his last moments were filled with the terror of knowing that his life was about to end. The police have not publicly released such details as how many bullets you blasted into his torso, whether you shot him from the front or back, or any incriminating evidence they may have discovered at the crime scene or on your victim’s corpse. I assume the cops have kept this information classified to maintain the upper hand against you in their investigation. In this unfortunate situation, the best we can hope for is that our dearly departed companion died quickly, and that you, his killer(s), at least had the basic human decency not to taunt your prey or ridicule his sudden infirmity and helplessness as his precious lifeforce drained away in a pool of warm blood on the ground. 

Regardless of the exact circumstances of Matt Coleman’s murder, and whatever your reasons or reactions might have been, I cannot forgive you for killing him: not yet, anyway. Because, to even begin healing the wounds afflicting our grieving souls, you owe us—Matt Coleman’s surviving kith and kin—more than a mere explanation: you owe us justice. For our sake, as well as the sake of your own deliverance from evil, I urge you to turn yourself/selves over to the authorities now so that you can be held accountable for your abominable actions and spare yourself/selves the Hell of your own personal torment.

Exorcise Your Demons

I figure there is a good chance that you, Matt Coleman’s killer(s), may read this open letter at some point. I say this because you are probably doing what most felons do: scouring the Internet for information about your crime—whether it’s to determine if the police have uncovered any damning forensic evidence, or to satiate a narcissistic hunger for media attention (anonymous as it is). Furthermore, based on what I recently learned about search engine optimization, I’ve strategically used the term “Matt Coleman” 32 times betting that Google will prominently feature this letter near the top of its browser results. 

You probably don’t want to give yourself/selves up because you’re afraid of going to prison. But you know what? You’re already in prison, whether you realize it or not. You took a human life, and somewhere deep down you know that this was wrong—religiously speaking, a mortal sin even. No matter how tough you think you are or how hardened your black heart(s) may be, guilt and shame are festering inside your guts, eating away at the calluses that have calcified around your conscience(s). You may presently be too emotionally crippled and desensitized to be fully conscious of the disgraceful state of your soul(s), but understand that you will remain trapped in cages of your own remorse until you acknowledge and pay the price for the grave damage you’ve done to others.

Has someone you loved ever died? Was that person murdered by another human being? If so, then perhaps you know the pain that we, Matt Coleman’s survivors, feel burning inside us. Maybe you’ve buried that anguish, that suffering, beneath layers of denial and self-deception, but at least some part of you knows it’s still there, controlling your life/lives, and ultimately can’t be avoided. And it’s going to drive you to kill again unless you deliberately disrupt your destructive pattern—especially if Matt Coleman was not your first murder victim. Nevertheless, whether he was or wasn’t, I’m fairly certain that he won’t be your last. 

You think you can quit killing anytime you want? I seriously doubt it. Don’t take my word for it: listen to someone who knows. In 1997, Matt Coleman turned me on to Ani DiFranco & Utah Phillips’ album The Past Didn’t Go Anywhere. On the track “Anarchy,” Phillips had this to say about violence (quoting the wisdom of Ammon Hennacy, Phillips’ halfway-house manager in the 1950s after he’d returned home from the Korean war):

“You know, alcoholism will kill somebody, until they finally get the courage to sit in a circle of people like that and put their hand up in the air and say, 'Hi, my name’s Utah, I’m an alcoholic.' And then you can begin to deal with the behavior, you see, and have the people define it for you whose lives you’ve destroyed.” (Hennacy) said, “It’s the same with violence. You know, an alcoholic, they can be dry for twenty years; they’re never gonna sit in that circle and put their hand up and say, 'Well, I’m not alcoholic anymore' – no: they’re still gonna put their hand up and say, 'Hi, my name’s Utah, I’m an alcoholic.' It’s the same with violence. You gotta be able to put your hand in the air and acknowledge your capacity for violence, and then deal with the behavior, and have the people whose lives you’ve messed with define that behavior for you, you see. And it’s not gonna go away: you’re gonna be dealing with it every moment in every situation for the rest of your life.”

So you see, dear murderer(s), you’re addicted to violence, and you’re not gonna be able to stop killing on your own…especially if you continue down the cruel path that led you to murder Matt Coleman in the first place. Your humanity—the very core of one’s Self—has already been corrupted and corroded by murdering Matt Coleman and perhaps others. Do you really want to make it worse by committing even more murders?

Your only chance for salvation from your current malady, and an even more horrifying fate than you’re already burdened with, is to surrender yourself/selves to the police. Taking responsibility for your crime will definitely be difficult, but at least you will have finally broken out of your vicious cycle and begun to purify your poisoned soul(s). However, if you refuse to confront your demons by honestly answering for the murder of Matt Coleman, your inner torture will never cease, but rather magnify exponentially until it has completely consumed whatever shriveling remnants of your humanity still remain.  

Coleman Lives! 

By murdering Matt Coleman, you may have decimated his body, terminated his brain functions, ceased his sentience and extinguished his essence, but there is still one vital part of him that you could not kill: his spirit, which will live on forever inside the hearts of all those who knew him. Matt’s family, friends and colleagues will therefore always remember him as a martyr to the critical cause of protecting Earth from human greed and exploitation. Inspired by his courage and resolve, others will continue Matt’s environmental protection work where he left off with renewed effort, and carry the torch of progress for him now that he has departed this world.  

Matt Coleman not only lived and died doing what he loved—he lived and died for what he loved. That is, if you are in fact a member of Mendocino’s marijuana mafia, you most likely killed him because he tried to defend the forest’s fragile ecosystem against your illicit invasion. Do you even know (or care) how badly illegal pot grows damage the environment? The toxic fertilizers and pesticides used to grow pot plants pollute the ecosystem for miles around, and the tons of trash left behind (from hoses to empty propane canisters) blight otherwise pristine landscapes. Illegal marijuana farmers deprive wildlife of the natural habitat they need to survive by cutting down trees to build shelters, fencing off large swaths of land, and diverting water sources to grow cash crops. The booby traps they set with live explosives to deter nosy visitors often kill animals, and those who squat on public lands to grow or guard crops illegally poach animals for food. 

If you are an outlaw pot farm guard, then you know that your kind do not fit the mellow hippy stereotype most people associate with marijuana cultivation. The criminal cannabis underground is instead populated by vile, abhorrent thugs who ravage lands that rightfully belong to the American people and ruthlessly execute anyone who threatens their profits. To them, killing is just a cost of doing business. In fact, just today Fort Bragg City Councilman Jere Melo was shot and killed after finding an illegal pot operation on a parcel of land he was managing. 

Though it is of limited consolation to those of us who mourn Matt Coleman, at least we know that his final moments were spent in the place that he most loved: the wild, cradled under the canopy of ancient, native trees that he dedicated himself to safeguarding. Matt Coleman was a peaceful warrior, and it is significant and symbolic that when you spilled his blood, it poured into, blended with and nourished the living soil where he fell on the environmental battlefield. We who remain can take some small comfort that, even though you took Matt Coleman’s life, you could not crush his convictions. 

I will always fondly remember my friend Matt Coleman in my own personal way. I will hear his gruff Brooklyn-accented, California-surfer-dude-inflected voice whenever I listen to The Pogues, The Clash or Bob Marley. I will think of his voracious intellect and sharp sense of humor whenever I read Gary Snyder, Ursula K. LeGuin or Zippy the Pinhead. I will see Matt’s smiling face—punctuated by his untamed lion’s mane of gray-blonde hair, grizzled beard and silver-rimmed glasses—every time I watch the sun set in radiant golden-azure glory, or the incandescent cobalt waves roll and tumble over the Pacific shoreline, or the luminous sea of distant suns impossibly floating in the infinite night sky. 

Matt, you are one with the Earth, with Creation now. Tom Waits expressed it better and more simply in his song “Take It With Me” than I could ever hope to in mere written words: “It’s got to be more than flesh and bone / All that you’ve loved is all you own.” With this parting poetic sentiment, my friend, I bid you a gloomy goodbye and wish you blissful eternity in the Heaven of your choosing. Peace out, brother.

1) In the wake of Matt Coleman’s passing, family and friends have set up two funds that you can donate to:

- Memorial Fund: An endowment has been established in Matt Coleman's memory that reflects his lifelong passions and interests. Please send donations to: The Community Foundation of Mendocino County; Matthew Coleman Fund for Environmental Education & Conservation; 290 S. State Street; Ukiah, CA 95482.

- Reward Fund: The Mendocino Land Trust founded a reward fund (now over $30,000 as of 9/23/11) in hopes of encouraging those with information about Matt Coleman’s murder to come forward. Please make checks out to "Mendocino Land Trust" and send donations to: REWARD; c/o MLT; Box 1094; Mendocino, CA 95460. Contact Jez at 707-962-0470 or janderson@mendocinolandtrust.org for more information. Receipts will be provided for all donations, and monies will be returned to donors if no reward is paid out.

2) If you have any information potentially pertaining to Matt Coleman’s murder, please call the Mendocino County Sheriff's Office at 707-467-9159 or 707-463-4086. Callers can choose to remain anonymous. 

3) Visit my Facebook page for updates on the police investigation.

* Police killed Aaron Bassler, suspect in the murders of both Matt Coleman and Councilman Melo, on Saturday, October 1st.

Related AnimalRightings:

- James McCaffry: 1954-2011

- Witness to Suicide at Powell and Market

- Leaked NRA Pamphlet Targets “Animal Rights Terrorists”

LIVE NUDE ACTIVISTS!!!

Sexy Strategies for Beating the Meat (Industry)

A PETA protester attracts attention to
KFC's inhumane treatment of chickens
by dressing down in winter weather

Perhaps you’ve seen them on the streets. Bikini-clad hotties handing veggie burgers out to passerby. Circus protesters in cramped cages body-painted orange-and-black like crouching tigers. Naked cellophane-wrapped demonstrators swathed in fake blood playing dead as cuts of meat in giant Styrofoam packaging. The people performing such provocative public displays can be identified, by their very lack of clothing, as a relatively new breed of animal advocate: one that uses varying shades of nudity to save other species from suffering and death.

Of course, the nude protest itself is not a recent invention. Legend has it that nearly a millennium ago, Lady Godiva rode a horse—au natural—through the streets of Coventry, England to successfully protest an oppressive tax issued by her husband, the Earl of Mercia. Yet, despite the passage of centuries, public displays of undress still arouse passionate arguments both for and against their ethicality and propriety.

The most conspicuous contemporary champion of nude protest is probably People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). I recently spoke with the Manager of PETA’s Campaigns Division, Lindsay Rajt, about this contentious but seductive subject.

Lindsay Rajt, Manager of PETA's
Campaigs Division, dons a lettuce bikini

AR: Why does PETA use nudity as an advocacy tactic?

LR: It’s a utilitarian decision. For all of PETA’s buzz and brand recognition, we’re a non-profit organization that goes up against extremely wealthy industries that invest vast amounts of money in advertising and public relations. On our comparatively tiny budget, we have to rely on getting free publicity through media coverage of our campaigns and demonstrations, and doing audacious and controversial things achieves that aim.

How nude do PETA activists actually get?

It depends on where the demonstration is being held, because each city has its own ordinances describing, often in explicit detail, what body parts you can and cannot legally expose, and we’re careful to comply with local laws. While we can get away with thongs and pasties in most places, some do allow women to go topless. There’s also this new product we’ve just started using called a shibue that’s basically a thong without straps: it just sort of adheres to the skin. Topless with a shibue is probably about as naked as we’re going to get in public. Regarding media campaigns, our “nudest” one is our online “State of the Union Undress” video, in which a female model does a strip-tease act that culminates in full frontal nudity.

How do you measure the effectiveness of nude protests and campaigns?

Our top priority is reaching as many people as possible. For street demos, that probably amounts to several hundred people in the course of an hour, and thousands more if the event is covered by the media. We systematically analyze which demos get the most attention in the full spectrum of print and broadcast media, and how our message is conveyed. With online initiatives, we’re able to track how many people watched a video or clicked a page and whether they stayed to explore other parts of our site. What we’ve found is that people really do stick around after the eye-catching video just as people on the street will linger and have a conversation once they’ve come over to check out our colorful protests.

When did PETA first start doing nude activism?

PETA was founded in 1980, but we only did our first “naked” campaign in 1989 when we produced a benefit poster with the Go-Go’s that they sold at concerts. It was a photo of the band members standing nude behind a banner reading “We’d rather go naked than wear fur.” These sold so well that we thought, “We really need to do more of this,” and organized our first naked demo in 1991. It was at an Oscar de la Renta fashion show, and included a mostly-nude man and woman handcuffed to a “We’d rather go naked than wear fur” banner strung across the runway. When The New York Times published a photo of the protest on their front page, we knew we’d found a powerful way to make headlines for animals.

Two decades later, does nudity still have the same kind of impact in today’s oversaturated multimedia marketplace?

PETA activists protest fur at Toronto Fashion Week, 2010

Considering the vast amounts of information and stimulation thrown at us every day, nudity is still an effective way to break through the noise. While nude demos and campaigns might not be front-page news anymore, the mainstream press still regularly reports on them. But the most exciting development nowadays for these types of actions is that they can go viral. I can see though how nudity might someday become less captivating as it becomes more culturally acceptable. I think that a lot of nudity’s power is derived from its “forbidden” status, and that’s going to diminish with its increasing normalization. Also, nudity tactics seem to be catching on in different social change movements, so overexposure may dilute their efficacy, as well.

Do nude demos and campaigns effectively influence people’s attitudes about animals?

Actor/comedian David Cross shows his
“funny bone” in a humorous PETA ad

Yes, because nudity is a fun way for many people to engage about difficult subjects. Showing people a photo of an animal who’s been skinned alive for her fur scares and saddens them, and most people don’t want to deal with the emotions that conjures up. But if you put, say, a man and woman in their underwear lying in bed together on the street underneath a poster that says “Fur Out, Love In,” then people are attracted rather than repelled by your message. By the way, that’s a real demo we did around Valentine’s Day this year, inspired by John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s 1969 “Bed-In” against the Vietnam War.

The John-and-Yoko connection is interesting because they were friends with Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman at that time, and many of PETA’s tactics seem to bear the Yippies’ distinctive “street theater” influence.

Like the Yippies, PETA recognizes the power of engaging people with humor. Nudity and comedy are a potent combination because while nudity has an initial attention-grabbing advantage, amusement can sustain that attention. Plus, people feel more comfortable approaching and talking with activists when they can share in the joke.

PETA also uses nudity to shock people into awareness, as in the “meat tray” demos. What’s the typical reaction to such “horror” protests?

One of PETA's macabre “meat tray” demos

While some people might be affected by our humorous demos, others might need to see pictures of how animals suffer on fur farms or in slaughterhouses or one of our “darker” protests before they are compelled to help animals. PETA’s “meat tray” demos and others like that really impact people on a visceral level. For instance, in one of our demos, an activist lays naked on a giant barbeque grill with char marks on her body, while a “butcher” in a fake-blood-spattered apron stands nearby sharpening a large plastic prop knife looking very cross. This makes people’s jaws drop because it’s often the first time they’ve consciously considered their connection with animals who they eat.

Does PETA also use nudity to show people that vegans are fit, healthy and sexy?

Owain Yeoman, co-star of The Mentalist,
 strikes a pose for PETA's veg campaign

Yes, especially because people really want to achieve their optimal weight and be attractive, and we’re always eager to prove, by “modeling” the results of a plant-based diet, that being vegan will help them do that. Plus, going vegan will likely lower your cholesterol and blood pressure while reducing your chances of suffering heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and various cancers. We even have a sexual health campaign called “Vegans Make Better Lovers” emphasizing that cholesterol and animal fat slow the flow of blood to all the body’s vital organs—not just the heart.

PETA persuades many celebrities to strip, mostly for media campaigns. How much does celebrity involvement enhance the message’s impact?

People who admire particular celebrities want to learn everything about them, and when famous people speak out about a cause, their fans listen. So many people have told me over the years, “I went vegetarian because I heard that so-and-so is veg.”

Switching gears, how do you respond to charges that PETA’s use of nudity for animal advocacy exploits women?

PETA appropriates the misogynistic image made iconic
by the cover of Carol J. Adams' landmark feminist
critique of carnivorism, The Sexual Politics of Meat

Using one’s own body of one’s own free will as an instrument for social and political change is freedom of speech and expression. Speaking as a woman and a feminist, I think it’s sexist to tell women they need to put their clothes back on. I’ve passed out veggie dogs in a lettuce bikini, been painted like a tiger and put in a cage, and stood naked on a bridge painted like a snake. Rather than making me feel exploited, these experiences were among the most personally empowering, liberating and transformative of my life. They gave me a new perspective on the hang-ups that almost all women have about their physical appearance. Exposing my body to make a statement about something important made me realize, for instance, just how silly it was to worry about whether my butt looked big in those tiger stripes. PETA also features just as many men in our nude protests and campaigns as women.

Critics might counter that men still have power over women in most societies, and objectifying females therefore perpetuates sexual victimization of women and girls.

I know from personal experience that such concerns are well-intentioned. I used to volunteer at a battered women’s shelter and have family members who’ve been in domestic violence situations, so I take this issue very seriously. So does PETA, and we would never do anything that we thought could degrade or endanger women or girls.

What about those who say nude protests are simply lewd?

In this day and age, that just seems prudish. I mean, go to any beach and you’ll see people revealing more skin than most PETA activists. These types of criticisms just take different forms in different time periods, whether they’re directed at PETA or society at large. Only a few decades ago, women were told it was disgraceful to show their knees in public or wear their hair down to their shoulders because it was too suggestive. Priggish complaints about nude social justice campaigns will soon seem just as laughable as admonitions about bare knees and flowing hairstyles do today.

Related AnimalRightings:

- Pranking the Monkey: What The Yes Men can teach animal activists

- Too Sexy For Your Meat: One man's view on the politics of vegan sexuality

Putting Factory Farm Investigations on the Map

New AnimalVisuals infographic geographically displays video exposés by species and state for easy access & panoramic analysis

Egg-laying hens in a battery cage
from an investigation by
Compassion Over Killing

Undercover video investigations are inarguably among the most effective means of exposing the legal and illegal animal cruelty being committed in laboratories, fur and puppy mills, circuses, and rodeos. Recent technological advances in video surveillance devices have made them both smaller (and therefore easier to hide) and able to capture higher-resolution images—facilitating the proliferation of such muckraking exposés. In the last decade, clandestine activists have increasingly turned their cameras toward factory farms and slaughterhouses, revealing a hidden world where many “food” animals raised for meat, milk and eggs are sadistically beaten, confined in cages so small that they can barely move, and slaughtered while still visibly conscious.  

The impact of these shocking images on public opinion and the animal agriculture industry has been profound. They’ve led to criminal animal cruelty convictions against farm workers and agribusiness companies, plant closures, major food recalls, significant corporate policy changes, public demands for stricter animal welfare laws as well as increased enforcement, and passage of landmark legislation in numerous states. It’s therefore no wonder that animal enterprises see video exposés as a threat to their profits, and have enlisted some state legislators in a cynical bid to criminalize the very act of documenting the animal cruelty being routinely perpetrated on factory farms.

I recently wrote extensively about these proposed “Ag Gag” laws in a series of interviews with representatives of the “Big Four” animal protection groups that have conducted most of the undercover factory farm investigations: namely HSUS’s Paul Shapiro, COK’s Erica Meier, MFA’s Nathan Runkle and PETA’s Jeff Kerr. Of the four bills proposed so far, those in Minnesota and Florida have been defeated, but political pawns of the animal agribusiness industry in Iowa and New York are still trying to pass these misguided attempts at censorship. Ironically, their efforts to ban undercover video investigations have backfired in that they have drawn more attention to the abuses these exposés reveal, further educating people about where their food comes from and emphasizing the importance of this information to society at large.

The Factory Farm Investigations Map

Here’s a prime example of such unwanted publicity. In response to the recent legislative attempts at outlawing undercover investigations, graphic designer, illustrator and computer whiz Mark Middleton created a new map on his AnimalVisuals website that gathers together in one place the 48 undercover factory farm exposés conducted by the Big Four animal advocacy groups in the US since 1998. Take a look at the map for yourself, then come back here to learn how animal activists can use it to both inform the public about factory farm cruelty, and why the movement should strategically strike out into virgin territory with new investigations.  

As you can see, the map is very easy to navigate: colored pins represent the Big Four organizations, and cartoon animal icons indicate the type of investigation by species (or animal use, in the cases of broiler chickens vs. egg-laying hens and beef cattle vs. dairy cows). Switch to “satellite view” (in the upper right-hand corner of the map) and zoom in to see a photo image taken from outer space pinpointing a factory farm’s precise location—something that only government spies would have been able to do just a few short pre-Internet 2.0 years ago. You can also scroll down past the map for a chronological list of investigations that specifies the state, date and species associated with each one.

Benefits of Mapping

AnimalVisuals’ factory farm investigations map can be an incredibly useful tool for raising awareness of agribusiness’ systemic animal abuse and the informational value of undercover exposés:

- The Public: Putting all the key investigations on one website gives people easy access to videos and information about factory farming’s abuse of animals. The fact that there are so many exposés also highlights the breadth of animal cruelty taking place on factory farms. As Middleton writes on the AnimalVisuals site, “Viewed individually, the actions shown might be dismissed as isolated incidents. Taken together, however, they reveal a pattern of disregard for animal welfare and routine cruelty-to-animals throughout animal agriculture.” People who view the map and videos cannot deny that cruelty is horrific and endemic throughout the animal agribusiness industry, making them more likely to question their dietary habits and consider more compassionate alternatives (such as eating fewer animal products or becoming vegetarian or vegan).

- Activists: Watching videos of animals being tortured and slaughtered may not be your idea of a good time, but it is eye-opening. Many vegetarians and vegans have told me that they already know what happens on factory farms, so they don’t need to watch any more videos documenting the horrors hidden behind their walls, and don’t want to because it upsets them. Of course, meat eaters are the ones who really need to see these videos because they probably don’t know what happens on factory farms—but how can we animal advocates expect them to watch if even we won’t? So view a video (or two or three), then click the link in the upper right-hand corner of the screen to share the map on Facebook, Twitter or email with a note encouraging your friends and followers to watch a specific video exposé that personally affected you. 

- Investigators: The map highlights the country’s informational “black holes”—especially the 29 states where none of the Big Four animal protection organizations has yet conducted an undercover investigation. Some states may be “blank” right now for various reasons. For instance, investigations tend to cluster around the areas where the Big Four are based, and there are ten states where trespassing on private property to conduct surveillance is illegal. However, in states without such laws, there would be considerable advantages to putting more factory farms “on the map” with undercover exposés. For one thing, it would make people living in those areas more aware of what is being done to animals on farms in their states. For another, it would put factory farmers throughout the nation on notice that they are not invulnerable to exposure just because they operate in a state that hasn’t yet been mapped by pioneering undercover investigators.

- Iowa Residents: Use this convenient HSUS Action Alert to encourage your state senator to oppose S.F. 431. Also contact your state senator directly, and ask him or her to oppose this bill.

- New York Residents: Use this convenient HSUS Action Alert to encourage your state senator to oppose S 5172. Also contact your state senator directly, and ask him or her to oppose this bill.

- Check out other resources on AnimalVisuals such as data visualization tools, the 3-D battery cage, and the “Farm Rescue” Facebook game. Also read my 2009 VegNews magazine article “The Road to Vegetopia: (Re)Imagining the Future of Food” featuring Middleton’s fantastic sci-fi illustrations.

James McCaffry: 1954-2011

A fond farewell, my dear friend

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And, until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

                         – Traditional Gaelic blessing

“James is dead.” That’s what the voice in my head has been repeating periodically since the afternoon of Saturday, May 21^st, when I first heard the devastating news—and every time those ethereally-inaudible words eviscerate my consciousness, my heart cries out and my eyes bleed tears, instantly turning my face into a flesh-and-bone Greek tragedy mask. How do you say goodbye to someone you love who’s already gone? In the face of that haunting question/koan, I feel not only heartbroken but utterly soulbroken.

James was my friend for almost five years. We met when we both worked at In Defense of Animals (IDA) (he as a photographer/graphic designer/art director, me as a writer/editor) and we remained friends and creative collaborators even after we’d both left the organization in 2008. In some measure that was because we live(d) in basically the same San Francisco neighborhood, so it was a quick-and-easy 10-minute bike ride to his place. Yet our friendship was based on more than just geographical proximity: it blossomed and flourished because we shared so many common interests, values and passions—and, perhaps most importantly, a mysterious connection that can’t be described or defined (except perhaps by a poet, which is something I am not), but only known and felt.

That emotional and spiritual connection I shared with James resonates like an electrical pulse throughout my very being now even though he, the man, has departed this world. While mere words cannot convey who James really was when he was alive, I can share the memories and impressions of him that remain with me still. I will certainly always remember James for the rest of my days, and hopefully my experiences of him will stay with me just as long. Yet I feel compelled to express them in some form now while my feelings are still so raw and images of James flash like sunbeams through my grief-clouded mind. I will therefore tell here of the different sides of James that I knew best: the friend, the artist, and the animal lover.

James, My Friend

James and I generally hung out together about once every week or two, mostly either in his Lake Street apartment (with a stunning picture-window view of the Golden Gate Bridge), or at one of the local beaches (usually Baker—his “power spot” where we are holding his memorial on Saturday, May 28^th at 6:00pm). We often watched the sunset as the waves of the Bay lapped the shoreline, with the verdant Marin Headlands and dazzling span of the Golden Gate Bridge as backdrop. It was a perfect spot for escaping the hyperwired urban grid, appreciating nature’s mystical beauty, and (for James) photography. He’d drink cheap canned beer (Bud or Tecate 24-ouncers) and I’d sip at least equally-cheap red wine from my stainless-steel thermos with the screw-off cup-cap. James was a good drinking-and-cigarette-smoking buddy: an emotional rock and a good listener who was always ready with support, encouragement, wise counsel, or a spontaneous joke to lift my mood.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have set a better, healthier example—it might’ve helped save James’ life. On the other hand, in fairness to my conscience, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference in his lifestyle choices. James was stubborn to the core about doing whatever he pleased. In my defense, I did often bring him hearty homemade vegan vittles prepared in my own kitchen: mason jars filled with lentil soup, minestrone and chili that he raved about. He liked my cooking so much that he said I should start my own vegan food line, and that he would design the labels. More of this food would have improved James’ health: he was really skinny, and several weeks before his death some of our mutual friends who hadn’t seen him for awhile remarked  that they’d noticed significant weight loss and were worried about him. I suppose I didn’t notice because I saw him on such a regular basis, and the physical changes took place gradually.

Nevertheless, I was still essentially an enabler, especially given the fact that James had been hospitalized in 2007 for heart problems. When I visited him at SF General with our friend Mark, James was haggard and unshaven, wearing one of those flimsy aquamarine medical gowns, bedridden with a clear plastic tube feeding drugs into his arm. He looked so small, so frail, and I remember seeing him then, for at least a moment and for the first time, as a transient entity. But even though his body was depleted, James was mentally energetic and excited to see us, so my awareness that he could actually die quickly faded. Anyway, I would certainly choose to do things differently if given the chance, but I’m not feeling guilty per se: James is gone, and there’s nothing I can do now to bring him back. Besides, James was an adult, a free agent as it were, and he had a perfect right to make his own choices about how to live. We had a traditional “guy” relationship: I tried to respect his boundaries and not interfere with his free will as a human being, and he treated me the same. 

Born in 1954, James was also about 15 years older than me, so he was essentially from a different generation, and that might have influenced the interpersonal borderlines we staked out with one another. Yet our age difference didn’t prevent us from forging a close brotherly bond: if anything, it added a profound cultural/historical dimension to our relationship that intensified my interest in his storied past. A native Canadian, James arrived in San Francisco in 1977 at the tender age of 22, so I was enthralled by his animated anecdotes recounting the exhilarating days of early SF punk and other watershed events that I am far too young to have experienced myself. It might sound cliché, but James’ life experience was etched into his face like the crags of a mountain range are worn by millennia of glacial drift and shifting seasonal cycles. 

James was a passionate music lover with wide-ranging, genre-defying tastes and a particular love for jazz, American roots, 60s psychedelic rock, modern-classical, and world music. In fact, he earned a degree in Music from Grant MaCewan University in Edmonton right before moving to the states. We went to many concerts, festivals, street fairs, and other events together to groove on live music. We saw Iggy Pop’s 60^th birthday concert at the Warfield with his good friend Louise, Steve Earle at the Palace of Fine Arts, and a host of major stars and legendary performers at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park over the years. “Ears wide open,” he once told me. James turned me on to so much sublime music—Spearhead, John Adams, the Decemberists (and the list goes on). His musical knowledge was so vast that I was delighted when I could blow him away with some great album he hadn’t heard before—like Johnny Cash’s “Unchained,” John Zorn’s “Naked City,” or Lou Reed’s “New York.”

Speaking of which, James was fascinated with New York City. The Big Apple’s a bit too maddeningly frenetic for my fragile constitution, but I think my being originally from New York (well, Long Island, anyway) earned me some street cred with him. Even though James was a Canook, he had a distinct “Noo Yawka” air about him, which might be one of the reasons we got along so well. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy: honest and direct, stoic but secretly thin-skinned, yet also exceedingly kind, generous and empathetic. It’s a rare combination, and perhaps why he was able to make so many friends in diverse social circles. I mainly knew James as an animal advocate, visual-creative force, and nature lover: but he was also immersed in the worlds of avant-garde art, jazz and blues music, Irish-Americanism, and more. Though I know some of James’ friends personally, I only heard tell of the many others he knew (and who knew him) in different contexts: people I am sure are amazing in their own rights, and could illuminate other facets of his unique personality and essence.

James the Artist

James had over three decades worth of experience as a photographer, graphic designer, and art director. In the late 70s and early 80s, he created posters and programs for the San Francisco Ballet, and worked as the art director for a newspaper called City Arts Monthly. He also designed dozens of covers for blues and jazz albums by the likes of John Lee Hooker, Holly Near and Billie Holiday. By sheer chance, he was the last person to take professional photos of Jerry Garcia at the legendary Greatful Dead guitarist’s Marin County home before he died in 1995. Although he was highly respected as a visual artist by those he worked for and with, James never made the kind of money a talent such as his should have brought him. In the last two years of his life especially, after he resigned his position at IDA and the Great Recession hit, he struggled financially to make ends meet.

"Soul Food-For-Thought" promotional brochure

I was privileged to be one of James’ most constant creative collaborators over the past few years. We worked on projects together at IDA, and then later for others such as vegan bodybuilder Kenneth Williams and the International Fund for Africa. The most thrilling aspect of teaming up with James was seeing his powerful images and professional design exponentially enhance the impact of my mere words. We strove to develop an integrated holistic style that blurred the distinction between textual and visual content, and highlighted the substance of what we wanted to express. This was only possible because we were essentially on the same creative wavelength; a state of mutual congruity that has unfortunately been the exception rather than the rule in my professional career. Perhaps this resulted from us both drawing creative inspiration from similar and often shared sources—music, literature, art, film, nature, and life itself. We talked a lot of shop, incessantly expounding on the mechanics and metaphysics of our respective crafts, which is sadly something I rarely get to do with anyone else.

I’m extremely gratified that James often expressed his respect and admiration for my writing, especially since I valued his intelligence and insights so highly. His assessment of my work was all the more meaningful for the fact that he would honestly tell me his opinion. There were times when I’d ask him what he thought of something I’d written, and he’d say something like “It’s OK, but it’s not your best work.” I took his feedback seriously because it helped me grow as a writer, and I prefer people who don’t pull punches to those who say what they think you want to hear. Truthfulness is the mark of a trustworthy friend and true creative peer.

Ark magazine cover

I believe that James’ dream was to be the art director of his own magazine. He therefore produced a beta issue of Ark, an animal rights imprint, but it never gained any traction. After that, we drew up a prospectus and financial plan for another proposed publication called The Vegan Age, with him as art director and me as editor-in-chief, but that too failed to attract investors. We’d also tried somewhat half-assedly to start a small two-man communications business together for more than a year, but it never got off the ground because neither of us had any pragmatic entrepreneurial skills whatsoever. Nevertheless, James came up with the name “Propeller, Ink.” and I had a whole convoluted explanation for why I thought it was cool. Ultimately, we completed numerous projects together, many of them on spec, and I’m rightfully proud of what we accomplished together.

James the Animal Lover

On their website, IDA posted an obituary about James that I wrote focusing on his history with the organization and some of the influential work he did for the animal rights movement. We had many spirited discussions about animal issues, with James expressing righteous outrage over ongoing atrocities like the annual Japanese dolphin slaughter, the barbarity of primate experimentation, and his own Canadian countrymen’s clubbing of baby harp seals for their fur. But James’ affinity for animals was most evident in his love for cats, especially his beloved feline companions Luna and Bobcat.

Luna was truly James’ cat. When I (or anyone else I think) would visit his apartment, Luna would usually hide away, or at best let me pet her head at arm’s length. But she would meow for James’ attention and affection, scratching the fabric of his dilapidated tan armchair and hopping up into his lap. Luna is a tiny cat, 12-years-old, with swirly black-and-silver marble patterns adorning her luscious coat. One day, a co-worker from IDA named Max came over James’ apartment with his mellow old shaggy dog. Luna seemed a bit freaked out, but also curious about the copasetic canine guest. Max was clearly taken with Luna’s delicate beauty and princessesque bearing, dubbing her “The Elizabeth Taylor of Cats”—a moniker that James thereafter took up.  

James also fed a colony of feral cats in his apartment building’s courtyard for several years. Last year, when only one feral remained, James took “Bobcat” into his home. A large, muscular tabby with bright-orange striped fur, Bobcat earned a special place in James’ heart through her sweet and gentle nature. However, even living indoors, she still spent at least half her day outside, and was, sadly, not exactly gentle with the rodents and other small prey she hunted (according to the tales of tiny horror James recounted to me). She was always kind and accommodating towards Luna, though, and freely affectionate with any human visitors. James therefore theorized that, rather than being born feral, Bobcat must have once had human guardians who perhaps abandoned her when they moved away. Yet he couldn’t conceive of how anyone with a functioning heart could ever leave such a loving cat behind.

James expressed his love for his cats creatively every New Year with cards featuring fabulous photos of his feline friends. While Luna was slow to warm to Bobcat, who she perhaps felt had encroached upon her territory and usurped some of her guardian’s affections, the two are now close companions. James’ good friend Colleen is currently seeking a permanent home for both cats so they can continue to be together—which is especially important now that they no longer have James. (Editor’s Note: Soon after this writing, James’ cousin in Oregon adopted Luna and Bobcat.)

Colleen told me that Bobcat went missing after James’ death, but unexpectedly returned to the apartment a few days later. As Colleen and members of the McCaffry family stood in the living room, Bobcat elocuted a plaintive, heartrending cry while staring at the chair where James often sat. Shy Luna had hidden from human visitors since James’ death, but came into the living room when she heard her feline friend wailing, and the two kissed noses, comforting one another. Clearly, both Bobcat and Luna miss James just as much as his human family and friends do. He loved them dearly, and they continue to love him, mourning his absence and perhaps even understanding that he is gone.  

The Last Time I Saw James…

…was on Thursday, May 12^th, just nine days before he so suddenly passed away. He was tasked with walking his friend’s dog, Francis, and called me to ask if I wanted to meet him at the Rose Garden in Golden Gate Park around 4:30 that afternoon. The garden being close to my apartment, I arrived on time, but James wasn’t there. I walked around for about 45 minutes, and just as I was heading back home James showed up with Francis in tow. He apologized for being late: some unexpected delays, as happens with everyone sometimes. James was eccentric in his refusal to own a cell phone, so he couldn’t get in touch with me when he wasn’t at home. I said no problem. I recall just being really glad to see him. It was cloudy when I’d first gotten to the garden, but sunny by the time James and Francis arrived.  

James and I sat down on a bench amongst the brilliantly-colored flowers that were already in bloom, as Francis immediately tumbled onto his back and writhed with canine pleasure in the grass. After his roll in the blades, Francis begged for some biscuits by placing his paw on James’ knee, first whimpering while tilting his head, then barking his demands loudly. James gave him some treats and explained to Francis that there weren’t that many, so he should savor them. Yet Francis seemed to swallow the bone-shaped goodies whole without so much as chewing. We then gave him a tennis ball that lay on the ground nearby, and that vice-jawed dog literally tore it with gleeful abandon to fuzzy rubber shreds (which we gathered up so he wouldn’t swallow them).

As we sat, James drinking beer and me sipping wine, we talked about a project that we were planning. James had recently done a photo essay as a volunteer for the San Francisco Maritime National Park Association documenting the city’s historic fireboats. He’d ridden on the Phoenix just weeks before, and had tentatively arranged a fireboat ride for both of us so that I could interview the seafaring firemen and he could shoot more photos. We planned to turn the results into an article for one of SF’s lifestyle or travel magazines, or a promotional booklet for the fire department. He was very excited about all this, and promised to set a date for our nautical voyage in the very near future. Fittingly, Francis was the dog of a woman named Kaki who worked at the Maritime Association and had befriended James. Francis even wore a bandana around his neck decorated with little flags from all the nations’ oceangoing vessels.

After a couple of hours, we started home through the Redwood grove that borders the Rose Garden and stretches three city blocks eastward. It just so happens that this is my most customary outdoor spot for reading, writing and relaxing (and where I am right now as I write this on my laptop). As we walked, Francis frequently stopped to sniff the ground and mark selected territory as his. Francis is an older dog, a Golden Lab with hip dysplasia (an ailment that is somewhat endemic to dogs of that breed as they age), so he walks slowly with a bit of a limp. Sensitive to animals’ nature and individual needs as he was, James patiently waited while Francis explored the woods along the footpath, never dragging him away before his canine curiosity was quelled. “Dogs’ sense of smell is so much stronger than ours,” James observed. “They experience the world through scent, and know things about it that we can’t even imagine.”

At the corner of Cabrillo Street and 10^th Avenue, James and I said our final goodbye. James always had a flair for goodbyes…or at least farewells. Whenever we’d part ways after hanging out, his voice would turn noticeably warmer, softer, and he would say something like “We’ll talk again real soon,” or “We’ll get together again real soon.” It always made me feel good about myself, that a person of James’ character and caliber wanted to talk to me, spend time with me. He always meant what he said, too—he wasn’t one to fake feelings or exchange false sentiments—so I know that his words were genuine.

James & Smokey at "Jerry Day"

The last time I spoke with James was around noon on Thursday, May 19^th—less than two days before he died. I phoned him asking if he wanted to hit the beach later that day, the weather being fairly nice, even if a bit chilly. He said he’d like to, but he was too busy with work, or trying to hustle up some jobs, but would call me if he could get enough done to spare a couple of hours for fun. Otherwise, he said he’d spoken with the fire department, and was close to finalizing a date for our fireboat trip: it would be in the next week or two. There were no discernible traces of sickness or encroaching mortality in his voice: he just sounded like the same old familiar James to me. After making tentative plans to hang out over the weekend, we said goodbye, he with his trademark farewell phrase: “We’ll get together real soon.”

 
This, James, is my final goodbye to you. As an agnostic, I neither believe nor disbelieve in a God or an afterlife. It therefore doesn’t seem altogether unreasonable to at least hope that someday, some way, my friend, we’ll meet up once again.

If you too knew James, I encourage you to click on the "comments" link directly below and write your memories of and tributes to him.