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. 

The Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act: Revisited

Corporate Forces Behind Draconian Law Finally Revealed

In a recent three-part post on GreenIsTheNewRed.com, journalist and blogger Will Potter sheds new light on the sneaky, underhanded process that a cadre of animal industry groups used to pass the Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act (AETA) near the end of 2006. Internal documents handed to Potter by an anonymous informant provide evidence that the Animal Enterprise Protection Coalition knew they lacked the necessary political support to push the AETA through congress, so they came up with a plan to pass it under the public radar – and

succeeded. Also included in the formerly clandestine documents is a list of those opposing the legislation, among which are Potter and In Defense of Animals (IDA), the organization that I worked for at the time.

Time Capsule: 2006

As the senior staff writer/editor at IDA immediately before, during and after the AETA's passage, I wrote all of their alerts encouraging activists to fight the bill by urging elected legislators to vote against it. Knowing now that the nefarious forces behind the AETA were secretly monitoring my work gives me a strange sense of retroactive satisfaction. However, I am also freshly reminded of the devastation I felt when the AETA passed, and that our efforts to preserve freedom of speech were so resoundingly squelched.

Being perhaps somewhat more idealistic about the democratic process then than I am now, I thought we would defeat the sweeping bill whose wording could potentially criminalize Constitutionally-protected protests against industries that profit from animal suffering and death. Sadly, I was wrong about our prospects for victory. But on the bright side, I was also wrong about something else: the impact that the AETA would ultimately have on the animal protection movement.

Flash Forward: 2008

To the best of my knowledge, the AETA has not yet been used to prosecute any animal advocates for engaging in traditional forms of protest (such as leafleting, boycotting or investigating businesses that perpetrate animal exploitation). Nor, seemingly, has the law "chilled" animal protection activists into inaction by causing them to fear arrest for taking a principled stand on behalf of non-human species. The AETA hasn't even been used, so far as I know, to charge underground animal activists as domestic terrorists.

To be honest, I’m sort of surprised (but heartened) by this, as my ultra-suspicious self of two years ago had more than half-expected to become the target of specialized paramilitary task forces for supposedly threatening the market earnings of powerful commercial syndicates. I vowed to myself back then that I would continue advocating for animals, even in the face of danger. But in reality, nothing changed at all: no pursuit or persecution by law enforcement personnel, no financially-draining lawsuits, no mandatory court appearances forcing me to testify or name names, no prison sentence – no nothing.

Thankfully, my fears turned out in retrospect to be merely part of a paranoid nightmare fueled by six excruciating years of Bush, Inc. reflexively undermining our civil liberties and deliberately pushing dissenters toward the fringes of society – pitting "us" (liberals) against "them" (Republicans) for their own greedy gain. Can’t say I’m disappointed, but then again, I thought at the time that maybe the fact that industry titans were attempting to label mainstream animal rights activists as "terrorists" meant we were an actual threat to the corrupt status quo – and therefore making real progress. I think now, however, that this assumption may have been only half-right: allow me to explain.

The Animal Exploitation Industry's New Fear: Legislative Reform

Judging from recent missives in the pages of meat, dairy and egg industry journals, it seems as though agribusiness insiders are less concerned these days about masked "terrorists" than they are about the impact of the latest bombshell to hit their world: the passage of Proposition 2 in California. This new law will outlaw battery cages for egg-laying hens, gestation crates for pregnant pigs, and veal crates for male calves in the state by 2015, and probably have much wider implications for animal agribusiness across the country in coming years. So it's not surprising that factory farmers are scared they will have to institute major changes in order to survive.

As just one example of the alarm reverberating across the spectrum of factory farm producers in the wake of Prop 2, cattlenetwork.com reported that Steve Kopperud, VP of Policy Directions, Inc. warned attendees at last month's Texas Cattle Feeders Association Annual Convention against "allow(ing) idiots to dictate policy on how (meat producers) operate." Let's consider, for a moment, the context in which this statement must be placed, which is that Prop 2 won with a whopping 63% of the vote: a considerable majority in the largest agriculture state in the nation. Vegans, vegetarians and animal rights activists comprised only a very small proportion of those who voted in favor of Prop 2, so it would be understandable (statistically speaking, given our diametrically-opposed worldviews) if Kopperud had strictly limited his insults to our camp alone – but he didn't, and really couldn't, because the simple act of voting for Prop 2 essentially amounts to "dictat(ing) policy on how (meat producers) operate." Therefore, in Mr. Kopperud's expert opinion, nearly two-thirds of California voters are basically "idiots" who know so little about food production that they should be prevented from having any say in how farm animals are raised.

Considering that most of the initiative's supporters were meat eaters, Kopperud's brash insolence begs an obvious question: should a self-styled animal agribusiness representative blatantly offend the very consumers who keep his corporate constituents in the black? The fact that Kopperud did so with such insouciance indicates just how flustered industry spokespersons are by our movement's recent focus on motivating voters to pass laws protecting animals from the most egregious abuses, and the trend this signifies for the future.

Perhaps more importantly, Kopperud's distasteful name-calling symbolizes how out of synch animal agribusiness' standard operating procedures are with commonly-held values. The industry unwisely invested more than $9 million in a doomed campaign to stop Prop 2 from passing – vastly outspending its proponents and humiliating themselves in the process with ludicrous advertisements (no longer available online) that unintentionally exposed their true colors. Given that We the People won the battle over Prop 2 by such a wide margin of support, should I feel sheepish about taking some pleasure here in requesting that the real idiots in this debate please stand up?

Democracy In Action

The difference between how we managed to pass Prop 2 and how animal enterprises pushed the AETA through is striking, and represents the extremes of how the political system both works and fails in the modern age. Of course, there are many other contrasting examples of how social justice is upheld and subverted in the law books, and this will certainly not be the last. But the point is that, even if animal agribusiness continues to use deception and coercion to fight us, it won't matter as much as it used to, because established movement strategists are rapidly learning how to work the system in the animals' and the public's favor – and this truly frightens these entrenched economic interests.

Agribusiness conglomerates have, until very recently, operated under the assumption that animal welfare concerns are irrelevant and ignorable. So it makes perfect sense that they are shocked and outraged at suddenly being told what they can and cannot do to the living beings they euphemistically call "production units" (in industry parlance). But when they are done crying foul and making excuses for their bad behavior, we'll see if they've learned their lesson – and whether we need to teach them yet another one before they finally adapt to the changing times.

Answering San Francisco Art Institute's False Accusations

Cancellation of video exhibit showing animals being killed provokes reactionary response from SFAI President

On May 8, 2008, The Art Newspaper, a British publication, ran an editorial by San Francisco Art Institute (SFAI) president Chris Bratton entitled "I see a new, pervasive and global condition of fundamentalist violence directed against dissident images and thought". It accused animal rights activists (and specifically IDA) of "demagoguery" and inciting death threats against SFAI employees.

As this is a completely false accusation based on Bratton's fractured and fearful view of animal rights activists, and because IDA is thoroughly dedicated to non-violent advocacy for animals, we posted an online response to his editorial, so readers of The Art Newspaper will know that it was Bratton's mismanagement of the outrage surrounding "Don't Trust Me" that caused the exhibit to be shut down.

Below, read my response to SFAI president Bratton's distorted claims, and get the real story behind the controversy.

I work for In Defense of Animals (IDA), one of the organizations that Chris Bratton accuses of fomenting "fundamentalist violence directed against dissident images and thought." I wrote IDA's alerts about the Adel Abdessemed exhibit sponsored by the San Francisco Art Institute (SFAI), and in no way, shape, or form did I encourage anyone to make violent threats. Nor did I post photos or home addresses of SFAI employees, or "cue...constituents with language meant to incite outrage and 'direct action.'" Check the alerts and see for yourself:

- The "Art" of Animal Cruelty (3/25/08)

- San Francisco Art Institute Suspends Animal Snuff Video Exhibit (3/26/08)

During the writing process, I called SFAI trying to get some background on how Abdessemed obtained his footage, and spoke with their media liaison on the phone. I asked him whether Abdessemed had in any way staged the footage, because I find it hard to believe that crushing animals' skulls in with giant hammers is standard practice on Mexican farms. I strongly felt that the public had a right to know whether these animals were specifically killed for a work of "art."

Though cordial, SFAI's media liaison did not have the answers to my questions, and this was days after the controversy over the exhibit had begun. Why was SFAI's official spokesperson still so completely uninformed at this point about a scandalously violent exhibit the school was sponsoring? All he could tell me was that SFAI had scheduled a public hearing to open up a dialogue; however, they quickly cancelled that meeting after allegedly receiving death threats, a claim that has not yet been substantiated by any concrete evidence.

My interaction with SFAI's spokesperson demonstrated how completely unprepared they were for the public's reaction to the exhibit. I don't know why Bratton is so surprised that people expressed anger towards the Institute's complete lack of interest in addressing legitimate concerns about cruelty to animals. His editorial mentions "a lecture by the artist, well attended and eliciting enthusiastic responses." So, not even one person at that lecture saw fit to inquire about Abdessemed's role in obtaining footage of animals being bludgeoned to death with a sledgehammer? Is the state of contemporary art in the city named for Saint Francis, patron saint of animals, now so amoral that lecture attendees accept it as a given that artists should be able to kill for the sake of creation?

If I'd been told when I called SFAI that Abdessemed had obtained the footage purely as documentation of a common practice on Mexican farms – and that SFAI planned to communicate this as part of the exhibit – I would have in fact recommended to IDA that we encourage people to support the show by going to see it. Indeed, animal rights activists routinely use video images of animal slaughter to expose violence with the hope that people will change their consumer habits after seeing how terribly animals suffer. Abdessemed's work, however, did just the opposite: removed from any contextualizing description or hint of origin, it implicitly encouraged people to accept humanity's exploitation of animals and the commoditization of their bodies as a supposedly inevitable, inarguable, and natural fact of life—an all too common assumption by society in general.

Judging from his self-congratulatory editorial, Bratton remains in denial about SFAI's role in the show's cancellation and oblivious to the fact that he bungled the handling of this controversy by deliberately obscuring the origins of "Don't Trust Me." Given the utter lack of explanation, is it any wonder that we would assume Abdessemed had in some way set up or provoked the scenes of killing portrayed on six video monitors? Bratton's shock that people would be upset by the intentional killing of animals for "art" indicates how deeply disconnected he is from public sentiment and empathy for the animals who were victimized so that representations of their deaths could be displayed in a gallery.

SFAI has still not fully revealed precisely what role Abdessemed played in obtaining his images. I believe he and SFAI meant to keep the images decontextualized to elicit shock in viewers: if people don't know what exactly they are seeing, their imaginations fill in the void with all sorts of wild speculations, eliciting even greater emotional turmoil. It is also likely that Abdessemed wanted to generate controversy, and he did: now he has bragging rights in the art world to say that his exhibit was the first one in SFAI's 137-year history to be shut down. He can boast that his work is so intense that people couldn't handle it.

Abdessemed seems to enjoy his reputation as a "dangerous" artist. Why else would he pull stunts like painting a picture while hanging upside down in the sky from a cable tied to a helicopter? Well, for the attention, of course, but my impression is he's more showman or provocateur than artist. Notably, animal rights activists were not the only ones who questioned the ethical and aesthetic merit of "Don't Trust Me": members of the art community recognized that Abdessemed sought to shock and upset people with his work, and signed a letter to Bratton condemning the exhibit.

In the end, what I find most offensive about Bratton's argument is that he has linked my advocacy work for animals with "demagoguery" and terroristic threats against people. I take strong exception to that mischaracterization, and want to point out that IDA fully condemns violence as a form of activism. My words and actions are consistent with my values of respect for all species, including human beings.

Keep in mind, however, that SFAI claims they decided to pull the plug on "Don't Trust Me" and cancel the planned public hearing not because of the public's outrage, but in direct response to threats of violence. So, if no one had made these alleged threats and I had just gone about my business of writing more alerts asking people to contact Bratton and let him know how they felt about the show, "Don't Trust Me" might have been on display for its entire scheduled run. So what Bratton is essentially saying is that terrorism works.

Yes, completely ignoring the rational, respectful entreaties of the majority and then caving in to intimidation by a tiny minority of invisible bullies – that's showing them, Bratton! Seeing as how effective these supposed threats were in the success of this campaign, I strongly suspect that more activists will start using these tactics the next time a similar situation arises. But please remember, all you animal rights activists out there, that while threats and violence may appear to result in some form of "victory," they do great damage to our cause in the long run by creating fear and resentment rather than true understanding and transformation of consciousness.

Framing SFAI and the artist as victims allows Bratton to claim the moral high ground and paint all animal rights advocates – regardless of whether our activism is peaceful and law-abiding or potentially violent – as a single undifferentiated mass that will pursue its goals "by any means necessary." In making no distinctions between my alerts and life-threatening emails, Bratton shows he is totally clueless about the diversity of the animal protection movement, and the non-violent strategies used by the majority.

Given Bratton's biased attitude, it does not surprise me that IDA's attempts to reason with SFAI were largely ignored. All we wanted was for SFAI to listen and respond appropriately to our concerns. Had someone initially given me reason to believe that Abdessemed was in no way involved in the killings beyond filming them, the tone of my communications would have been very different. Instead, Bratton irresponsibly insisted on maintaining a tightly-sealed information vacuum.

Lastly, I want to address the charge of "censorship" lodged against those who saw "Don't Trust Me" as a sickening example of "art" in the form of cruelty to animals. This was a publicly-funded exhibit – as a San Franciscan, some portion of my tax dollars was spent to put this work on display. I have the perfect right to say what I think about it, and refuse to censor my writing or apologize for my actions.

In fact, it was actually Bratton, as president of SFAI, who censored Abdessemed's work, for he was the one who ordered it shut down. Rather than standing tall like a strong leader, he laid down on the ground trembling with his hands behind his head at the first sign of trouble, then blamed others for his very obvious inadequacies. If he really believed in the value of Abdessemed's work, Bratton would have done a better job of explaining SFAI's position to the public, and tried harder to defend freedom of artistic expression.

___________________________________________________________________

Addendum: On July 24, 2008, I received this email response from an art critic:

Regarding the Adel Abdessemed exhibition, I have just read that somebody in San Francisco is proposing a bill that would make it a felony who causes suffering to an animal while making art. More censorship coming. Last year, an artwork by Huang Yong-Ping was removed from a major exhibition in Vancouver because flies (I say right, flies) were not being treated right. Now Abdessemed's show has been cancelled altogether. What's next? A touring show of these evil anti-animal-rights artworks under the banner "Degenerate Art"? Where did our freedom go?

Regarding art, I must say, as an art critic that I am, that you have no idea about contemporary art, visual creation or art in general. You have made it clear in your response to the president of the San Francisco Art Institute.

Regarding veganism and food choices, I feel threatened by people like you. Because you are not just trying to "help" abused animals. Your ultimate mission and/or wish is to eradicate all animal consumption and resort to eating vegetables, whether your fellow humans want it or not.

If you all could, you would turn the world into a Vegan Fundamentalist Republic. Our freedom is at stake.

Sincerely,

Bruno LeMieux-Ruibal

But wait, there’s more! After I published his first email (admittedly, without his permission), he wrote to me again three days later:

Ayatollah Mat,

As I thought, dialogue or conversation are not your forte. You'd rather publish private e-mails without asking (so rude), accuse me of things I never said (so wrong) and laugh (so childish) than answer my letter in the same channel as it came, that is- personal and private.

But listen, I'd rather be hated by intolerants like you than used by ignorants... like you (I see you respect animals, but not humans).

Now, make it public, be in bliss and feel oh-so-good about yourself. Because it's great being you, isn't it? Illuminated and ever right, ready to teach the world and punish the wrong. Yeah.

Peace-

My open response to Mr. LeMieux-Ruibal – for all to see:

So, you were upset that I posted your “personal and private” words on my blog – hey, welcome to the 21^st century! And yet despite this complaint, you have sent me an even juicier email. Methinks thou doth protest too much! So then, I assume you must want me to post the second one, too. Okay, if you insist…

Well, why not, anyway? Sure, you personally offended me, but much more importantly, you’ve insulted all animal advocates, and the movement community has a right to know about that. If you’re really so sure that your opinion of me and other animal advocates is correct, then you should want everyone to know about it – no need whatsoever to hide or be embarrassed, right?

I publicly and proudly proclaimed my perspective on the animals-in-art issue in IDA alerts to SFAI, as well as my detailed response to Bratton’s editorial. You responded to my writing by attacking me personally – a stranger who you don’t even know – yet you call me “rude”? Give me a break!

And claiming that I should take personal attacks as an invitation to converse is the height of hypocrisy. Don’t pull that with me. If you were really interested in “dialogue or conversation,” you would have written a rational explanation of why you believe people should be allowed to kill animals for art. In contrast, declaratively stating (with no analysis to back up your claims) that I “have no idea about contemporary art, visual creation or art in general” and calling me “fundamentalist” are not valid critiques of my work, but merely personal insults. As far as respect is concerned, I reserve that for those who earn it by granting me basic respect, not those who don’t know me yet cast outrageously false aspersions about who I am.

But I certainly don’t “hate” you, as you seem to think: I simply recognize that we hold widely disparate values. That is, I wholly oppose the unnecessary killing of sentient individuals for art, food, etc., and you are in favor of killing sentient individuals for art, food, etc. I am for animal rights, and you are for animal exploitation. I see no need for “dialogue or conversation” about that because you’ve already made up your mind about this issue, and about me – “Ayatollah Mat …Illuminated and ever right, ready to teach the world and punish the wrong.” Clearly, you don't know me, and you don’t want to talk: you want to argue and disagree and call me silly names because you need to convince yourself that you are “right.” Sorry, I’m not about to waste my time playing your head games. I am only indulging you now because some readers may find this exchange amusing and informative.

In conclusion, the wildly stereotypical inaccuracy of your conclusions about me and every other animal rights activist makes your emails unintentionally hilarious, so I continue to post them. Seriously, The Onion should write a story about you! Incidentally, you might want to work on your sarcasm – we’re laughing at you, not with you. Also, there is no such word as “ignorants” – “ignorant” can only be used as an adjective, not a noun, so there is no plural form. Consider gaining a basic command of the English language before accusing any more of us “ignorants” of ignorance.

p.s. For educational purposes, you might try putting a contact button on your blog so people can give you feedback.

You see, the encouragement and constructive criticism I get from readers is important, but what better way to start my day than with a hot steaming mug of blind bigotry and belligerence? Frankly, I think the experience would benefit you – especially as an art critic. My email address is publicly available on my website and blog, so any angry, bitter crank in the world can personally chastise me and belittle my life goals and values any time they feel like it. And yet, while I have your email address, the public does not, and therefore no one else has any way of letting you know what they think of you or your work.

Guess what I’m trying to say, speaking as one devoted to ideals of freedom and liberty, is that avoiding contact with the reading public doesn’t exactly foster interactive free speech…but then, I guess that’s convenient for you, anyway.

Zealously,

Ayatollah Mat Thomas
Chief Grand Poobah, Vegan Fundamentalist Republic
www.animalrighter.org

Tune in now for the semi-interminable continuation and exciting conclusion of this fascinatingly combative ethical/aesthetic discourse (same Brat Time, same Brat Channel) by consulting the comments section directly below! KAPOW!!!

Vegan Ultimate Fighter Ricardo Moreira

Ricardo Moreira is a rarity in the world of Ultimate Fighting -- an extreme sport that pits martial artists of all fighting styles against each other, often inside a cage, where they punch, kick, and wrestle one another. In fact, the soft-spoken 26-year-old seems to be one of only two vegans on the international cage fighting circuit. "There are a lot of pescetarians who still eat fish, and there are fighters who sometimes stop eating meat and dairy to lose weight before a competition," says Moreira. "But besides me and Mac Danzig, I don't know of anyone else competing in mixed martial arts who doesn't eat any animal products at all, ever."

According to Moreira, "the most important fight is not in the ring, but out in the world where animals need our help." That's why he has been fighting for animals since he was a child growing up in San Francisco's Mission District, a tough neighborhood where he learned out of necessity to defend himself and others who couldn't defend themselves. For instance, young Ricardo got into many a scuffle in the schoolyard and on the street with boys who derived pleasure from kicking pigeons or stomping ants. Moreira joined the fight for animal liberation more formally in his teens, when he started attending IDA protests, and today talks with his fellow fighters about how animals suffer. "It takes both inner and outer strength to help animals," says Moreira. "I work on developing physical strength and skill in martial arts to show that we vegans can be just as strong in our bodies as we are in our convictions."

Once a vegetarian, Moreira was inspired to go vegan by the example of two vegan bodybuilders—Kenneth G. Williams, spokesperson for IDA's Vegan Campaign, and Robert Cheeke. Moreira figured if they could be bodybuilders without eating any animal products, then he could be a vegan professional cage fighter. "Like Kenneth and Robert, I want to set a positive example by being someone who is healthy and confident, hopefully inspiring athletes to go vegan and vegans to stay physically fit."

Moreira exercises a lot of discipline in order to compete in his chosen sport. He has a black belt in karate, a contact sport in which he won a state title, and studies other martial arts, such as aikido and jiu jitsu. He also adheres to an ultra-healthy straight edge lifestyle, consuming no alcohol, tobacco, or drugs. In fact, he doesn't even use curse words. "The only things I'm addicted to are training, competing, and animal rights," he says. He also gives private karate and kickboxing lessons at the Northern Tiger Kenpo in San Francisco, and hopes to open his own martial arts studio in the city someday to teach his personal style of street-level self-defense. Excelling at the increasingly popular sport of Ultimate Fighting will help Moreira establish a name for himself as someone who people seek out for training.

"This sport is not about violence or beating your opponent," he says of his fighting and teaching philosophy, "it's about being present and doing your best in the same way a batter wants to hit a home run or a basketball player wants to execute an amazing slam dunk. Feats of skill require physical and mental focus rather than anger, which ultimately weakens concentration and your ability to win." Underneath Moreira's calm yet intense demeanor, one can detect a deep sense of outrage regarding animal abuse—whether it takes place in slaughterhouses, fur farms, research labs, or so-called "sports" like rodeo, hunting, and dogfighting.

"I choose to get in the cage, but animals don't have a choice," Moreira says, pointing out that an activity is not a "sport" if some competitors are being forced to participate—especially when they are at such great a disadvantage that they could die. "At the core, sports is about becoming your best by competing with opponents who are at least evenly-matched to your skill level. Shooting a deer at long range with a high-powered rifle is about as fair a fight as me stepping in the cage a 10-year-old kid who's just had his first karate lesson."

Moreira continues, "Chasing and terrorizing animals is not a sport, it's a power trip. A lot of guys who try to prove they're tough by exercising power over defenseless animals would never step foot in the cage where they might feel some of the pain that they are inflicting on others. My nose was broken in my last fight, and because I feel like that pain gave me some insight into what animals suffer, I have more compassion for them—especially since what's being done to them is thousands of times worse."

Moreira's lifelong emotional understanding of animals continues with his dog, Janet, an eight-year-old Rottweiler-Bulldog mix who he has raised since she was a puppy and the smallest of the litter. "Dogs are pack animals, and I really feel like Jan and I part of the same pack, which is basically the same thing as a family," says Moreira. "She's like my daughter, and I treat her as such." He also has a 17-year-old goldfish named Nemo who is the last of his tank mates but still going strong in his golden years, even with only one fin left.

"I've always felt like the underdog, so that would explain why I identify with animals so strongly," says Moreira. "I fight to show that real strength comes from caring about and protecting those who need help, not abusing them. That is what a true guardian does."

- Learn more about IDA's Guardian of the Month, Ricardo Moreira, by visiting his MySpace page.

- Arrange private martial arts training with Ricardo at the Northern Tiger Kenpo by contacting him at Muaythai3@aol.com or (415) 350-9140.

- If you live in or will be visiting the Bay Area, come see Ricardo Moreira compete at Kezar Stadium in San Francisco in March, 2008. Get ticket information.

San Francisco Protects Wild Parrots' Habitat

Board of Supervisors passes ordinance to preserve and replace vital cypress trees

Back in December 2005, IDA joined the effort to help save a grove of Monterey cypress trees in San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood because they are a favorite perch of the world-famous wild parrots of Telegraph Hill. Readers of IDA's eNews will recall that IDA started a second petition recently to support legislation proposed by Supervisor Bevan Dufty to preserve this habitat and ensure that the parrots will have a home on the Greenwich Steps for years to come.

Well over one year later, after a long campaign by many dedicated private citizens, city officials and the Northeast San Francisco Conservancy, we are proud to announce that yesterday the San Francisco Board of Supervisors voted to pass the ordinance protecting the trees! Mark Bittner, the parrots' longtime caretaker who lives next to the cypresses, noted that "the parrots were sitting in those trees squawking at the very moment the legislation passed." Thank you to everyone who signed IDA's petition and asked their family and friends to do the same. More than 1,900 caring people from every corner of the globe showed their support for the parrots by signing on.

IDA presented the results of this petition and the one we started in December 2005 at the Land Use Committee hearing in City Hall on Monday, March 5th. Committee members were impressed that IDA had gathered more than 4,500 signatures in support of protecting the parrots' habitat. The hearing chamber was packed with parrot advocates, many of whom made public statements about how the parrots benefit the people of San Francisco and add to the city's uniqueness. These included Judy Irving (the producer/director of "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill") and Mark Bittner (the movie's co-star), Richard Schulke and Christine Garcia (chair and vice-chair of the Commission of Animal Control and Welfare), and IDA spokesperson Mat Thomas (i.e., me), who was also quoted in an ABC7 News story about the parrots. "A key element in this success," said Judy Irving, "was the very visible outpouring of support from all over the globe. We couldn't have done it without IDA."

With Arbor Day coming up on Saturday, March 10th, it's especially fitting that San Francisco has passed this unique ordinance to mandate the pruning and maintenance of the two older cypress trees, plant up to six new parrot-friendly trees, and protect the property owner from legal liability should the dying trees happen to fall before being replaced. Wild parrot flocks now live in such diverse urban environments as Orange County, Calif.; Brooklyn, N.Y.; Fort Lauderdale, Fla. and Chicago, Ill.; as well as numerous cities in Great Britain and elsewhere. San Francisco's innovative solution will show other cities faced with similar issues that living harmoniously with urban wildlife benefits everyone -- human and animal alike.





Watch the broadcast television premiere of "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" on Tuesday, May 29th at 9:00 pm when it airs on PBS' Independent Lens series. For more information, check local listings for your area.

Or purchase a copy of the film on DVD or VHS, as well as Mark Bittner's best-selling book "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill: A Love Story...With Wings."