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

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. 

Arabian Knights

Could the Jasmine Revolution offer clues to catalyzing change for animals?

They say revolution's in the air,
I'm dancin' in my underwear
'cause I don't care.

–  The Rutles, from “Piggy in the Middle”*

By now you probably know the story of how a formerly unknown fruit and vegetable vendor's self-immolation swiftly brought down a dictator who'd been ruling Tunisia with an iron fist for 23 years, but I'll quickly recap it here for the sake of context. Mohamed Bouazizi, a 26-year-old unemployed college graduate, was just barely scraping out a living on the streets of Sidi Bouzid hawking fresh produce from a pushcart when he was harassed by a local policewoman for lacking a vendor's permit (even though he apparently wasn't required to have one). She allegedly insulted Bouazizi's dead father, slapped the young man's face, spat on him, and confiscated his cart containing the equivalent of $200 worth in goods—outraging Bouazizi so severely that he quickly sought an audience with the district's governor. After being refused a hearing, Bouazizi publicly lit himself on fire in protest, igniting a firestorm of revolt that toppled President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali's administration in a matter of mere weeks, then spread like wildfire to Egypt and Libya while inspiring major protest movements throughout the Middle East.

Not even the world's most astute political analysts had predicted that a popular insurrection would sweep through the region with such lightning-quick speed. Sure, Tunisia is a country whose population is overwhelmingly young, educated, social-media-savvy, and frustrated by high unemployment and escalating food prices, but the Old Guard had been firmly ensconced for so long that it seemed their regime would be holding the reins of power for the foreseeable future. Yet Bouazizi's bold (and ultimately suicidal**) statement turned out to be one of those historically rarified events that utterly upends and transcends conventional theories of how change actually happens in the world. 

I mean, if you think about it, could Bouazizi have even dared to dream that by setting his body alight, he would so sensationally affect the trajectory of world geopolitics? Probably not. And what about Faida Hamdi, the municipal official who so antagonistically dropped the final straw that broke Bouazizi's existential back? In the course of her workaday job, in her wildest imagination, could she ever have conceived that upsetting this young man's proverbial and actual apple cart would end up toppling the corrupt autocracy that employed her? Definitely not. (I also wonder what she could have possibly said when called before her superiors to answer for this monumental screw-up: maybe something eminently pedestrian like “Whoops, my bad!”)

In retrospect at least, Bouazizi's self-inflicted combustion appears to have been perfectly timed to dovetail with the powderkeg social conditions that happened to exist within his surroundings at that precise moment. (Of course, discontent had been festering for decades before finally reaching an exasperated crescendo.) Activists for different causes have resorted to self-immolation many times before (perhaps most famously, Zen Buddhist monks opposing the bloody Vietnam War)—but few have succeeded in changing the world to the extent that Bouazizi has in this instance. So what exactly made this single act by one solitary individual the flashpoint for such a massive and seemingly spontaneous freedom uprising?

We'll most likely never know the answer to that question, but it still seems worth asking because this mystery may well hold the key to accelerating the end of other oppressive systems—such as (for the purposes of this discussion) humanity's violent enslavement of animals. Like most animal advocates, I consider myself a pragmatist who tends to take a long view of the struggle, generally assuming (based on theory, historical precedent and personal experience) that progress takes place incrementally, one small step forward at a time. But what if radical change could be instigated in one fell swoop by engaging in just the right action at exactly the right moment? Wouldn't that serve animals and the world at large better than endlessly negotiating relatively minor concessions while billions of our fellow Terrans continue to be viciously tortured and killed?

Here's the trillion dollar question: If such an exceedingly effective action could be taken to stop the massacre of innocents, what would it look like? And how do we go about figuring out whether such a strategy is even possible?

Lest anyone reading this thinks for even a second that I'm suggesting animal activists should start setting themselves on fire, allow me to categorically state here and now that I endorse no such thing. Let's make this nice and sparkling clear: do not immolate yourself, or incite anyone else to do so in protest of society's exploitation of animals. Granted, if I truly, absolutely believed that by sacrificing my own life I could fundamentally alter the way humans treat other species for generations to come, I'd probably be in line at Walgreens buying a basket full of lighter fluid right now. I mean, at the risk of implying that I have some sort of death wish, exchanging one life to save billions seems like more than a fair trade in the universal scheme of things.

There is no real reason to suppose, however, that such an act of principled self-annihilation would significantly alter most people's attitudes towards animals (aside from perhaps reinforcing the stereotype that animal rights activists are crazy). In fact, Bouazizi's auto-destruction may well have been at least as much an act of sheer desperation as a deliberately-planned political statement, and its incredible impact a relatively random by-product. Besides, my comparison between the Arab and animal rights revolutions is admittedly tenuous, at best. Which is to say, there are major differences between human and animal liberation movements that may well render my entire hypothesis a moot fantasy.

My point, however, is that there may, perhaps, be some other equally dramatic action one could take that would achieve for exploited animals what Bouazizi's sacrifice accomplished for oppressed Arab peoples—without doing bodily harm to oneself or others. I'm just saying, it can't hurt to think outside the box by at least considering the possibility that animal advocates may be able to effect change for other species much more quickly than we had previously thought realistic. That is, if we can finely attune our minds to the zeitgeist that defines our present, thereby making the most of specific opportunities when they present themselves. In terms of our modern collective consciousness, perhaps it would help to think of such a potential occurrence as our movement's Rosa Parks moment.

I know, it seems like a really long shot, and I completely acknowledge the pressing need to patiently persist in laying the groundwork for a more compassionate paradigm brick by concrete brick. And we must continue to do this the old-fashioned way: by spreading the word (through personal interactions, public protests/demonstrations, social and traditional media, etc.), financially supporting vegan businesses, passing pro-animal legislation, and other proven methods. But still, with revolution now so thick in the Arabian air, I can't help but wonder whether there are lessons we animal advocates could learn from current events taking place on the other side of the globe.

* If you're wondering why I began with this lyric (since it seems to contradict both the tone and point of this piece), it's simply because this song always makes me laugh, and I couldn't resist referencing a classic Beatles parody group fronted by Monty Python alum Eric Idle. Then again, perhaps I'm also satirically commenting on mainstream society's apathetic attitude about creating a more enlightened civilization. Rest assured, anyone who's read far enough to reach this footnote is categorically excluded from such smug judgments on my part.

** Notably, Mohamed Bouazizi officially achieved martyrdom when he died in a hospital bed from third-degree burns over most of his body 18 days after he set himself on fire.

Parallel Vegan Universe(s)

Theoretical physics is catching up with science fiction—making the possibility of more ethically-advanced extra-dimensional worlds plausible

Have you ever wondered whether there might be another you wandering around somewhere, perhaps on a planet much like our own but subtly or even drastically different? If so, then you may have actually created such a person in another reality simply by thinking about it!

Sound farfetched? Well, Dr. Brian Greene doesn't think so. As a bestselling author and physics professor at Columbia University, he's done the math, and says it suggests that our universe may be merely one of a potentially infinite number that exists within an ever-expanding multiverse. Of course, we can't actually see or visit these alternate domains (just yet, anyway) because, according to string theory, reality vibrates on at least ten or eleven mathematically-identifiable dimensions, and we Earthlings only experience three spatial dimensions (plus one of time). Nevertheless, Professor Greene believes scientists could perhaps prove the existence of parallel universes by formulating a unifying Theory of Everything that resolves basic inconsistencies between Einsteinian relativity and quantum mechanics (thereby solving the great mystery of why matter behaves so differently on the macro and microcosmic levels).

If parallel universes were discovered, it would radically revolutionize how we understand the very nature of reality. Readers wanting a comprehensive but accessible explanation of these heady ideas should check out Dr. Greene's new book, The Hidden Reality: Parallel Universes and the Deep Laws of the Cosmos. However, what interests me most at the moment is not the nitty-gritty numbers behind string theory, but rather imagining what kinds of worlds may exist out there beyond our current ken. And, especially because Professor Greene is a vegan who stopped eating meat as a nine year old to avoid eradicating animals' existence, I'm considering a grand possibility: that somewhere, on some other plane of reality, there are worlds where people don't kill animals for food or any other unnecessary reason.

Illustration by Mark Middleton

Need context? Take an example of a parallel universe from pop culture—specifically the classic 1967 Star Trek episode “Mirror, Mirror”* in which a malfunctioning transporter beams Captain Kirk and three Federation starship officers into an alternate world (with their doubles simultaneously materializing on the Enterprise). In this strange reality, the intrepid interstellar space explorers boldly encounter their crewmates' evil counterparts—including a stylishly goateed Mr. Spock who is still eminently logical but trapped in an irrationally cruel and ruthless reality of imperial intrigue, genocide and assassinations. Like all Vulcans, Spock (the original at least) is a pointy-eared alien who espouses non-violence and practices ethical veganism. Meanwhile, in our reality, Leonard Nimoy, the actor who personifies the hyper-intelligent and super-strong Science Officer, is vegetarian—probably because he was convinced by the philosophy of the fictional character he portrayed to stop eating meat, showing how even “parallel” made-up people can have tangible effects on our world.  

If Spock's malevolent doppelganger is any indication of the potential differences between our universe and others populating the multiverse, then it is quite conceivable that perhaps, somewhere among the infinite possible realms, PETA president Ingrid Newkirk is CEO of McDonalds, for example, or there’s a world where sentient plant beings breed humans on factory farms for meat. Conversely, there may also be worlds where avid hunting enthusiast Ted Nugent runs a sanctuary for injured wildlife, carnivorous chef Anthony Bourdain copacetically hosts a popular vegan cooking show called Kitchen Compassion, or there’s a smartphone app that translates most known species’ languages into human speech and vice versa. Statistically and probabilistically speaking, the variegated details between alternate worlds are essentially limitless.

While we are all stuck living in just one reality (for the time being, anyway), in another sense animal rights advocates already live in a parallel universe ruled by a paradigm of brute force domination over other species. That is, we exist, individually and collectively, as a universe within a universe—right alongside a vast majority of people who either don't know, don't care, or deny that the meat they eat is actually the dead flesh of animals who were tortured on factory farms before being painfully slaughtered on mechanized assembly lines. We see the cruelty that others remain blind to, the horror hidden in plain sight, and feel empathy for the conscious creatures who so clearly share our inherent will to live and love. And as we strive to create a kinder, gentler world, one in which innocent animals aren't victimized for pleasure and profit, perchance our thoughts and actions in this reality are not only making a difference for animals here on our planet, but also creating divergent worlds throughout the multiverse where animal exploitation is universally condemned or utterly unthinkable.

* Watch the full Star Trek episode "Mirror, Mirror" online for free at fancast.com.

Environmentalists, Fashion Designers Re-brand Fur as “Guilt-Free”

The hypocrisy of protecting wetlands by promoting clothes made from invasive “swamp-rats”

In the late 1800s, some Louisiana fur farmers started bringing cat-sized brown rodents called nutria over from Argentina to be bred, killed and skinned for posh women’s clothing. Of course, some eventually escaped their cages and found freedom in the wild, where they exponentially procreated and devoured the roots of plants that keep coastal marshes from disintegrating into open water. Now, decades later, there are about 20 million of these semi-aquatic, web-footed, rat-tailed, buck-toothed, beaveresque mammals inhabiting the state shredding thousands of acres of wetlands.*

But who ultimately gets blamed for this unnatural disaster? Certainly not the fur industry, which actually caused it by recklessly importing exotic animals for economic exploitation. No, of course not…because it’s obviously all the nutria’s fault for daring to evade their tormentors! Well, according to environmentalists, that is, who have teamed up with the unrepentant fur industry on a campaign to convince people that buying nutria-fur clothes is “green” and “eco-friendly.” It is literally and seriously being marketed as “guilt-free fur”—despite the fact that Louisiana uses federal tax dollars to pay hunters and trappers $5 a tail for killing nutria dead in typically violent and painful fashion.

The “guilt-free” justification, best expressed by the founder of fashion design collective Righteous Fur, Cree McCree, is “If (animals are) being killed anyway, then why not make something beautiful out of them?” True, Louisiana does already exterminate more than 450,000 nutria annually, and nearly 90% of the carcasses are simply left to rot in the bayou. But nutria fur is still made from murdered animals and presumably processed using the same carcinogenic chemicals as other animal furs—none of which seems particularly “green” or “guilt-free” to me.

Some animal advocates apparently disagree, as a few vegan/vegetarian fashion designers have reportedly jumped on the bandwagon** (perhaps rationalizing that at least these animals don’t spend their whole lives locked in tiny cages, like captive-bred fur-bearers do, freezing in winter and boiling in summer, mutilating themselves and cannibalizing their companions in response to intense stress). In November 2010, some of these veg fashion designers allegedly participated in a fashion show called (wait for it) Nutria-Palooza at New York City’s House of Yes sponsored by Righteous Fur***. This exclusive event featured models sashaying down the runway donning nutria-fur coats, gloves, hats, leg warmers, and even g-strings created by more than 20 professional designers.

You may be thinking at this point, “Well, Mr. AnimalRighter, at least they’ve proposed a solution to this sticky situation—what’s your suggestion? You want the nutria should just be left to wreck the ecosystem, driving your supposed friend the native muskrat into extinction while they’re at it?” And I reply, Uh, no. Granted, I’m not an expert on the environment or invasive species, and I don’t have some magically humane answer that will neatly solve this zoological dilemma…but I do want to make a few observations:

1) It was the fur industry’s commodification of a non-native species that started this whole mess in the first place: if they hadn’t brought nutria over here to be commercially exploited, these feral rodents wouldn’t be destroying coastal wetlands today.

2) Ironically, the fur industry’s solution to this problem that they created is to pursue the very same objective they originally brought nutria over here for—that is, to make killing these creatures profitable.****

3) Yet, instead of holding the fur industry accountable for destroying wetlands, environmentalists are financially and philosophically rewarding it by giving fur’s ethical image makeover a sheen of scientific legitimacy.

4) The next time alien animals endanger a native habitat as a consequence of corporate negligence and exploitation, environmentalists will yet again enthusiastically endorse the species’ merciless obliteration for expediency’s sake while conveniently ignoring the human culprits’ culpability. 

5) And finally, to reiterate, there is no such thing as “guilt-free fur”—unless it’s worn by the animal to who it rightfully belongs!

* Of southern Louisiana’s 4.2 million acres of wetlands, nutria presently impact approximately 8,475—or about 0.002% of the total (according to the state’s official Coastwide Nutria Control Program). For perspective, this represents just a minute fraction of the damage done to Gulf Coast wetlands by, say, the BP oil spill and other anthropocentric pollutants. 
 
** According to Huffington Post (although the blogger neglected to identify any veg fashion designers affiliated with Righteous Fur, and I was unable to find examples via a google search). Otherwise, trendy brands like Oscar de la Renta, Marc Jacobs and (the mostly pro-vegan) Etsy use nutria fur in their designs.

*** Righteous Fur was founded with a grant from the nonprofit Barataria-Terrebonne National Estuary Program (BTENP); Righteous Fur, in turn, gives BTENP an unspecified portion of its proceeds. So basically, purchasing nutria fur financially supports scientists’ efforts to eradicate nutria from Louisiana.

**** Nutria fur was quite popular in the first half of the 20th century, when Hollywood starlets posed for publicity photos with stoles made from this exotic species draped around their shoulders. It fell out of fashion sometime in the late 1980s after intrepid animal activists caused a fur market crash by splattering blood-red paint on fur-wearing humans.

TV’s “Dog Whisperer” Probes Puppy Mills

Watch the episode online and send it to dog-loving family & friends

An estimated 11 million Americans tune in to watch The Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic Channel every week—making host Cesar Millan arguably the world’s most famous canine behaviorist. And this week, he teamed up with undercover investigators from Last Chance for Animals (LCA) to give viewers a hidden-camera glimpse inside the dark and disturbing world of puppy mills:



Of course, Millan is certainly not without his critics, who variously charge that his training methods are overly-simplistic, unscientific, inhumane, domineering, and basically better for his ratings than for damaged dogs. As an animal rights advocate, I’ll admit to being rankled that he kept referring in the episode to individual dogs as “it” (instead of “he” or “she”)—which suggests that he thinks of them (on some level at least) as impersonal objects rather than autonomous subjects. And ultimately, with all that’s edited out of each episode, for all we know The Dog Whisperer could be about as “real” as, say, Survivor, The Bachelorette, or any other so-called reality show on television.

Despite whatever controversy Millan unleashes, I do think that he genuinely cares about dogs, and I’m glad that he used his show to educate people about puppy mills. I’d love to see him do similar exposé episodes about dog fighting rings*, the dog meat trade, and other issues affecting canines.   

Write a quick email to Cesar Millan and one to NatGeo thanking each of them for helping expose puppy mills on The Dog Whisperer.  


* Millan did guest star in an episode of the hit Fox Network drama Bones in which he helped real-life vegan actress Emily Deschanel shut down a dog fighting ring. Also, another NatGeo reality show, DogTown, produced a two-hour season premiere episode entitled “Saving the Michael Vick Dogs” that explored the violence behind dog fighting. However, as far as I can tell, The Dog Whisperer has not yet substantially addressed the dog fighting issue.

Witness to Suicide at Powell and Market

Onlookers laugh and cheer as a man jumps to his death – and we wonder why more people aren’t vegan?!

I was there today when a man killed himself before a live audience of bystanding spectators in San Francisco.

I was biking down Market Street when I saw a massive crowd gathered near the Powell Street cable car turnaround. They were frantically yelling, a combination of anxious cries and excited cheers, as though watching the climax of an intense sports match. I figured it must be a fistfight, but I was wrong…because the shouting then rose to a sudden cacophony punctuated by a dense fleshy thump.

I had never heard a sound like that in my life, and wondered what the hell it could be. Traffic had stopped, people were rushing across Market, and police & ambulances were screeching in, so I crossed the street to find out, and saw, right on the north side of the Powell BART station fence, a handful of cops standing over a shirtless man lying face-down in a bloody pool on the sidewalk. People were pointing up at the window ledge of the third-floor apartment above the “Forever 21” store he’d just jumped from, and holding cameras in the air snapping pictures of the corpse.

This nightmarish scenario was disturbing enough, but far worse was overhearing numerous young people actually laughing and saying things like “Oh shit! Did you see that?!” and “That was so cool!” One twenty-something woman nearby even loudly bragged to her friend on a cell phone that “I was yelling ‘Jump! Jump!’ And then he jumped!”

We may well wonder what caused 32-year-old Dylan Yount to take his own life. I don’t know his reasons, but maybe it had something to do with being sick and tired of living in a world where shit like this happens?

Call me naïve or out of touch, but I was actually shocked that some people’s response to seeing a fellow human violently end his tortured existence was about the same as if they’d just watched a YouTube video of a guy getting repeatedly kicked in the balls.

It’s existentially insane that, in this day and age, supposedly civilized folks consume actual, real-life atrocity as a form of entertainment while it's actually happening. The fact that these grotesque inhuman deformities actually felt comfortable broadcasting their repugnant monstrosity to everyone within earshot makes my heart ache. But what makes it so much worse is that they actually felt compelled to publicly proclaim the deadness of their souls.

Significantly, all of those I personally observed deriding Dylan's death were young adults ranging from their late-teens to mid-twenties. It's not really a generational thing though: callous, casual cruelty rears its ugly head in every century, whether it's the Roman Coliseum, Jack the Ripper or Kitty Genovese. I just expect better in 21st century San Francisco. Regardless of place or time, those who laughed as Dylan died clearly have no manners, no shame, no decency, and perhaps no capacity for compassion.

And I really can’t help but wonder, what in the world made them that way? Did they suffer horrific, unspeakable physical abuse and psychological torture as children? Or are they just unbelievable assholes? Either way, what's their excuse? And does their vile brutality and lack of empathy indicate that, ultimately, humankind has no future?

The Killing Joke

Years ago, when I was newly vegan, I spent many a Friday night with other activists on the sidewalk outside of the Metreon multiplex in downtown San Francisco handing out “Why Vegan?” booklets while showing “Meet Your Meat” and other factory farming videos on a battery-powered TV/VCR. Most people would walk by without acknowledging my offer of a booklet and deliberately avoid looking at the TV images. Some would stop and watch for awhile, and maybe take a leaflet, or even cry and thank us for being there, putting a little money in our donation jar.

And a few – always young men – would make a big show of laughing out loud as animals were slaughtered onscreen. Similarly, when I co-hosted “Vegan TV” on the SF community access station, we’d sometimes get calls from Beavis and Butthead types calling us faggots, pussies or whatever because we refused to eat meat.

In those days, such things rarely phased me, because I had an explanation. I figured these young guys joked about animal cruelty and those who repudiated it because admitting to anyone (especially their male peers) that they had feelings about anything (or anyone) left them vulnerable to ridicule, rejection and being branded “gay” – so laughing at others’ pain was their way of acting tough.

Hey, I was involuntarily subjected to junior high school too, and remember what a powerful force peer pressure was at that age, and how often I conformed to others’ rigid and distorted definitions of manhood simply because I lacked a strong self-identity and the courage to be myself. So, armed with this analysis, I deduced that the boys’ humorous reaction to slaughter footage was both a result of nervous laughter and a way for them to impress their friends. It seemed rather pathetic, but understandable: because in a way I’d been in their shoes before.

But now, after years of practicing animal rights advocacy and discovering denial firmly entrenched in every stratum of society, I no longer find such simplistic explanations of casual cruelty satisfactory. Mainly because even most so-called “mature adults” never really grow up when it comes to fundamentally respecting non-human species. Many don't even respect fellow human beings.

Even as I write, and even as you read, somewhere in the world animals are being tortured for people’s amusement in circuses, rodeos, horse races, game reserves, dog fighting rings, and other “entertainments” that by all rights should have been abolished along with human slavery long ago. But there's also still human slavery, war, starvation, terrorism, and torture going on this minute as well. There are millions of poor, homeless children right here in prosperous America. In one way at least, my experience today only served to reinforce my grave doubts about the true nature of our species — that humankind, as a whole, is stubbornly numb to the sufferings of others, whether or not we are directly responsible for their misery.

Then again, in my despair, there’s a whole other side to this story that I’ve neglected to tell. That is, of the hundreds of people who today saw a man fall to his doom, most did not laugh or cheer: they cried openly in the arms of loved ones, or sought emotional solace from a stranger, or stood silently awestruck alone contemplating the inconceivable. If not so distressed by the relative minority whose heartless behavior I found so nauseating, I might have stuck around awhile longer to grieve with those whose humanity seemingly remained intact, and perhaps found my faith in people restored. Instead, numbed to the core of my being, I rode on, and decided hours later to share my thoughts here in this public journal.

I guess it just goes to show that every life experience presents both challenges to and opportunities for growth, and what we choose to make of them is often largely up to us. Meaning, in the course of our Earthly journey, we always need to beware of mistaking one small aspect of reality for the whole truth.

If you are feeling suicidal, please call a suicide hotline and get the help you need!

“The Simpsons” – Top 10 Animal-Friendly Episodes

A best-of list spanning two-plus decades of humane humor

Encompassing 21 seasons and 450 episodes, “The Simpsons” is the longest-running sitcom in television history, and this January 10th, Fox will culminate its year-long celebration of the classic cartoon's 20th anniversary with a documentary special by Super Size Me director and star Morgan Spurlock. Diehard fans already know that “The Simpsons” pioneered a subversive style of animal rights comedy never before seen on the small screen. So, at the dawn of a new decade deluged with Top 10 lists, I decided to pay this prime-time program homage by showcasing the 10 best animal-centric “Simpsons” episodes (so far, in chronological order).

1. Episode 1: “Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire” – In the series premiere, Homer loses the family's Christmas money betting at the dog track, but then brings home the best present ever — a rescued racing greyhound named Santa's Little Helper. Laugh Line (Homer to Bart, who wants to adopt the abandoned dog his father bet on): “But he's a loser. He's pathetic! He's...a Simpson.”

2. Episode 29: “Bart's Dog Gets an F” – The family's misbehaving canine attends obedience school, where Bart refuses to implement the draconian instructor's pain-based training methods. Laugh Line (Bart): “Now...Sit! I said, Sit! Um, take a walk. Sniff that other dog's butt. See? He does exactly what I tell him.”

3. Episode 43: “Lisa's Pony” – Homer finally grants his 8-year-old daughter's wish for a pony, but she relinquishes her beloved horse after learning that dad must work nights to pay for expensive stabling. Laugh Line (Homer): “Marge, with today's gasoline prices, we can't afford not to buy a pony!”

4. Episode 54: “Dog of Death” – After Santa's Little Helper runs away from home, infamously villainous billionaire tyrant Mr. Burns plucks him from the pound and turns him into a vicious attack hound — but his love for Bart ultimately overcomes his killer conditioning. Laugh Line (Ben Caseyesque veterinarian): “I love animals. I spend my life saving them, and they can't thank me. Well, the parrots can.”

5. Episode 79: “Whacking Day” – Each May, the town of Springfield observes a traditional holiday that entails beating snakes to a pulp with clubs, but Bart and Lisa are able to save the serpents' lives with the help of soul crooner Barry White's earth-shaking basso profundo. Laugh Line (“Whacking Day” song sung by children's choir): “Oh Whacking Day, oh Whacking Day! Our hallowed snake-skull cracking day! We'll break their backs, gouge out their eyes; their evil hearts we'll pulverize! Oh Whacking Day, oh Whacking Day! May God bestow His grace on thee!”

6. Episode 98: “Bart Gets an Elephant” – Bart wins a real live pachyderm from a radio call-in show, but “Stampy” proves a neighborhood hazard, so Bart and Lisa must persuade Homer to send his colossal pal to a sanctuary instead of selling him to an ivory dealer. Laugh Line (Homer): “Lisa, a guy who's got lots of ivory is less likely to hurt Stampy than a guy whose ivory supplies are low.”

7. Episode 133: “Lisa the Vegetarian” – Lisa gives up eating meat, but almost cracks under constant ridicule at home and school — until a pep talk by Paul and Linda McCartney puts her back on the righteous path. Laugh Line (“Actor” Troy McClure, in an “educational” filmstrip): “Don't kid yourself, Jimmy. If that cow ever got the chance, he'd eat you and everyone you care about!”

8. Episode 249: “Treehouse of Horror XI” – In a Free Willy parody, Lisa emancipates a captive bottlenose dolphin named Snorky from an exploitive marine park — but the deposed “King of the Dolphins” then enslaves humanity for banishing his kind to the sea eons ago. Laugh Line (Snorky): “They made me do tricks like a common seal!”

9. Episode 252: “Lisa the Tree Hugger” – Trying to win the affections of über-activist Jessie Grass, Lisa (channelling Julia Butterfly) refuses to disembark from an ancient redwood until it is spared from logging. Laugh Line (Jessie): “I'm a level-five vegan — I won't eat anything that casts a shadow.”

10. Episode 417: “Apocalypse Cow” – Bart joins 4H to drive cool combine harvesters, but winds up having to save the calf he raised from butchery — with a cow-costumed Homer nearly being killed in a fully-automated slaughterhouse. Laugh Line (Bart): “Sorry, Lis, I can't be a vegetarian — I love the taste of death!”

Hope you enjoy these amazingly amusing episodes — and learn more about “The Simpsons” at thesimpsons.com!