cross-posted from: https://hexbear.net/post/8710585

Why Do We Love Birds, But Slaughter Chickens?

The first time I met him, the stranger didn’t have a name—he was “the zebra-stripey one.” A notch above “anonymous brown blob,” the species all unmet birds fall into. All I knew was that he was elusive. I chased him and ten of his closest friends down a San Diego hiking trail for 30 minutes trying for an ID. It was on the 61st branch that I managed a clear enough picture, shaken through my binoculars.

We had no relationship then. He was, to me, as unique as a default profile photo. A grey silhouette on a greyer background.

Seven months later, I moved out of downtown into a more suburban area—a home with a garden, space for my arms and legs to stretch, and far more flowers for inquisitive birds. That’s where zebra stripes found me again.

I thought him shy, at first. I’d only spotted him once in the first three months, but then I learned I’d been looking for him outside his social hours. How conceitedly human of me! Like insisting the world banks on my hours.

Before long, I had dug through the grey and found contours of an expansive inner world. The bird—the white-crowned sparrow—has favorite seeds, tones of voice, enemies, friends. I catalog intuitively, give him a nod of the head. I see him now. It took time, but I do.

This is how it goes with every bird I meet: a devotional practice. It starts with learning the species’ name, and the rest slots into place. I can tell you about the blue jay in upstate New York who threw tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way. Or the Anna’s hummingbird with such a strong preference for curled-petal flowers he’d chirp at the sight of one. Or the juvenile starling whose subtle hunger tell was putting his mother’s whole face in his beak.

But what can I tell you about the bird I see most often? Ah… nothing. I can’t tell you her likes, dislikes, or quirks, even if I squinted through binoculars. And it’s not by choice, it’s because the system is designed so I could never stand at a feeder long enough to find out without the cops being called. It is, yes, the bird on the plates of everyone I love, whose dismembered legs and wings I’ve seen far more often than her feathered face: an ordinary chicken. Before we can ask who she is, the meat industry has already ensured we can’t find out.

Her life begins as one of 600 million chicks hatched annually in the U.S. egg industry. Half of these chicks—her sisters and female cousins—will live the same short life as her. The other 300 million males are considered useless to both the egg industry, since they can’t lay, and the meat industry, since they are leaner and unsuitable for efficient meat production. Instead, they are routinely ground up or gassed alive within their first day of life. On average, male chicks live to be one day old, and what’s left on the other side of the macerator gets turned into animal food, fertilizer, or biofuel.

Narrowly avoiding this fate, she is transported from hatchery to factory farm. In the 67 or so square inches she’s afforded—an area smaller than a sheet of printer paper—the only natural behavior left to her beak is pecking, and the only thing it can reach is other birds. So she pecks at them, and the industry reads it as damage to the product. Before she can grow into herself, a hot knife takes one third of her beak—her instrument of recognition and means of language—searing through a thin layer of highly sensitive soft tissue, similar to the quick of the human nail. In one slice, she is marooned from everything her Red Junglefowl ancestors passed on to her: the dust baths, the foraging, the full use of herself. No housing system—free-range, cage-free, or battery cage—meets all of her needs, so the industry manages a symptom of confinement, not the confinement itself.

There is a body she should have had, and a body she is given. The body she should have had lays 10-15 eggs per year. The body she is given lays around 300, far beyond what is biologically healthy. The body she should have had naturally tapers egg production as she ages. The body she is given is force-molted: starved for weeks until she loses a quarter of her body weight, then returned to a normal diet to rejuvenate egg production at the first sight of egg decline.

Or maybe she is a chicken raised for meat, in which case the body she is given grows 300 percent faster than the body she should have had. Genetic manipulation and breeding favor rapid weight gain and disproportionately large breasts. Though her body is adult-sized within weeks, her organs and bones cannot keep pace with muscles, so her heart strains, her lungs fall short of breath, her legs twist and buckle under her weight. Weak and heavy, she spends long hours lying on shed floors covered in her own waste, developing painful lesions that make movement even harder. She is, perpetually, starving. Her appetite regulation system is re-engineered so she cannot feel full. Stomach fullness is a hindrance to the machine. She must ravenously hunger to ensure fullness of “chicken breast,” instead.

The body she should have had could sustain her for up to 15 years. The body she is given is taken again at six weeks. It is held upside down by the feet, shackled to a conveyor line, run through an electrified bath to stun, slit at the throat, and immersed in scalding water to loosen feathers. Line speeds reach up to three birds every two seconds, which means stunning and slaughter are not always completed before the water. Around a million birds a year are boiled alive. A 2017 USDA inspector account at Southern Hens reads: “While performing a 500 bird count, I saw a live, non-stunned bird enter the scalder. The bird was flapping and attempting to right itself. As it entered and traveled half the length of the first scalder, the bird jerked violently while lifting itself until it was no longer in my immediate sight.”

If I could bring my binoculars to a factory farm, I would not see her. I would see the capitalism-perfected, efficiency-optimized machine of her. I couldn’t see her because even she couldn’t see herself. There is a witness problem here. And to witness that, you’d need a special lens that so-called “ag-gag” laws, a new class of legislation that has sprung up across the Midwest of the United States in the last decade, work hard to ensure you never look through.

In 2011, a Mercy for Animals activist known as “Scott” went undercover at Sparboe farms, the fifth-largest egg producer in the US supplying all McDonald’s eggs west of the Mississippi. His mission as an activist was similar to mine as a birder, though the tools were different: to see up close what’s far away. He spent months wearing a hidden camera in facilities across Iowa, Minnesota, and Colorado. Sparboe marketed its eggs as humane, claiming hens had “freedom from fear and distress” and “freedom to express normal behavior.” Scott found that this freedom looked like hens crammed in crowded cages, workers grabbing birds by the neck, slamming them in and out of cages, shoving them in pockets “apparently for fun,” pressing thumbs into the back of chicks’ necks until they broke.

The footage aired on ABC. McDonald’s announced it would no longer accept Sparboe eggs before the broadcast finished. Target pulled their eggs within hours. Then most grocery chains followed suit. In response, Sparboe fired employees and blamed everything on a few bad actors. The president and owner claimed to be “shocked and deeply disturbed.”

Within months, Iowa’s governor passed what would become the model for a new generation of ag-gag laws. It was not a response to the cruelty, but a response to the proof of it.

Agricultural gag—“ag-gag”—laws are a series of anti-whistleblower laws that make it nearly impossible to see inside a factory farm or slaughterhouse. Civil liberties lawyers fight them in court and often win. The industry adjusts the wording and passes them again. In Iowa, the whack-a-mole has lasted over four rounds:

• 2012: Ag-gag 1.0 passes—criminalizes lying about being an animal rights member on a farm application. Struck down as unconstitutional, 2019.
• 2019: Ag-gag 2.0—criminalizes using deception to gain access to an agricultural facility with intent to harm the business. Struck down, 2020.
• 2021: Ag-gag 3.0—criminalizes the use of cameras on farms entirely. Struck down, 2022.
• 2024: a federal appeals court reverses the lower courts. Iowa’s ag-gag laws are, for now, constitutional, a first offense carrying up to two years in prison and an $8,500 fine.

The same pattern is repeated across many states—Idaho, Utah, and Wyoming among them. The industry doesn’t change its practices, only what is legal to document.

We know what the government’s own inspectors saw because someone had to sue to make it public. The USDA settled a Freedom of Information Act violation lawsuit in 2021, agreeing to publish inspection reports. Those reports described birds with heads engorged with blood, skin torn from their bodies, and live animals lying among carcasses on blood-soaked floors. All of it was on the government’s record the whole time; it was just hidden from public view

Sparboe’s farm was not especially cruel, just especially documented. Consumer ignorance is not a byproduct of the industry. It is the product—actively manufactured and legally enforced so the public never gets to meet her: the bird on the plates of everyone I love.

I still take a seat at the table. I see the plates and make no scene. The entire architecture—legal, cultural, linguistic—exists so that she stays invisible and we stay comfortable. The fortress of ignorance is so sturdy I don’t even try when I face it in the eyes of my brother or my best friend. How do I go against an almost universal silencing? Often, I don’t. I’m silent, too. I save my strongest attacks for when I’m safe behind a phone. Am I not, then, complicit too?

Across the table, sometimes, I think to ask: do you know what species you’re eating for lunch? Not “chicken”—which chicken? What kind? Did you know there are dozens of breeds, each with different temperaments? Four different species? Was she ever a stranger to you, or was she always a product? In another world, could she have been a visitor? A regular? A friend?

The anonymous brown lumps our forks interact with contain nothing to recognize. Bodies are drained bloodless, cut to the uniform shape of plastic containers, and stripped of anything that could rouse curiosity. We are organ-carrying, hot-blooded creatures with legs and hearts. She is caloric, inanimate flesh.

But it stays a thought. I reach for words, but the reason I’m so drawn to birding is I’ve always been more fluent in observation than speech.

I’ll tell you, then, what I’ve observed: the white crowned sparrow’s favorite perch is the second branch to the left. When he visits my feeder, he loves to shuffle his feet in the seeds before picking the first. Doesn't scurry when a towhee or finch lingers on the trellis. Prefers the early sunset hour. Has something to say about every other bird's song.

I can tell you nothing about the bird you ate for dinner. Maybe she would have loved the color yellow, if she were allowed to have eyes. Maybe she would have followed every bee to its flower, if she were allowed to have legs.

Manar Naboulsi is a creator, activist, and serial-hobbyist who can’t shut up about human and animal rights. You can find her on Instagram at @earth.to.manar.

From https://allsortazines.neocities.org/

cross-posted from: https://lemmygrad.ml/post/11575812

Amsterdam bans public adverts for meat and fossil fuels

BBC

Advertisements for meat products, such as beef burgers, have disappeared from Amsterdam's streets

Amsterdam has become the world's first capital city to ban public advertisements for both meat and fossil fuel products. Since 1 May, adverts for burgers, petrol cars and airlines have been stripped from billboards, tram shelters, and metro stations.

At one of the city's busiest tram stops, adjacent to a grassy roundabout bursting with vibrant yellow daffodils and orange tulips, the poster advertising landscape has changed.

They now promote the Rijksmuseum, the national museum of the Netherlands, and a piano concert. Until last week it was chicken nuggets, SUVs and low-budget holidays.

Politicians in the city say the move is about bringing Amsterdam's streetscape into line with the local government's own environmental targets.

These aim for the Dutch capital to become carbon neutral by 2050, and for local people to halve their meat consumption over the same period.

"The climate crisis is very urgent," says Anneke Veenhoff from the GreenLeft Party. "I mean, if you want to be leading in climate policies and you rent out your walls to exactly the opposite, then what are you doing?

"Most people don't understand why the municipality should make money out of renting our public space with something that we are actively having policies against."

This view is echoed by Anke Bakker, who is Amsterdam group leader for a Dutch political party that focuses on animal rights – Party for the Animals.

She instigated the new restrictions, and rejects accusations of them being nanny state.

"Everybody can just make their own decisions, but actually we are trying to get the big companies not to tell us all the time what we need to eat and buy," says Bakker.

"In a way, we're giving people more freedom because they can make their own choice, right?"

Removing that constant visual nudge, she says, both reduces impulse buying, and signals that cheap meat and fossil heavy travel are no longer aspirational lifestyle choices.

Meat was a relatively small slice of Amsterdam's outdoor advertising market – accounting for an estimated 0.1% of ad spend, compared with roughly 4% for fossil related products.

The advertising was instead dominated by the likes of clothing brands, movie posters, and mobile phones.

But politically the ban sends a message. Grouping meat with flights, cruises and petrol and diesel cars reframes it from a purely private dietary choice to a climate issue.

Local politicians Anneke Veenhoff (left) and Anke Bakker say the ban was needed

Unsurprisingly, the Dutch Meat Association, which represents the industry, is unhappy at the move, which it calls "an undesirable way to influence consumer behaviour". It adds that meat "delivers essential nutrients and should remain visible and accessible to consumers".

Meanwhile, the Dutch Association of Travel Agents and Tour Operators says that the ban on advertising holidays that include air travel is a disproportionate curb on companies' commercial freedom.

For activists like lawyer Hannah Prins and her environmental organisation Advocates for the Future, which worked closely with campaign group Fossil-Free Advertising, the ban on meat advertising is a deliberate attempt to create a "tobacco moment" for high carbon food.

"Because if I look now back at like old pictures, you have Johan Cruyff," says Prins. "The famous Dutch footballer.

"He would be in advertisements for tobacco. That used to be normal. He died of lung cancer.

"That you were allowed to smoke on the train, on restaurants. For me, that's like, whoa, why did people do that? You know, that feels so weird.

"So it really is like what we see in our public space is what we find normal in our society. And I don't think it's normal to see murdered animals on billboards. So I think it's very good that that's going to change."

Lawyer Hannah Prins wants people to view meat in the same way as they do smoking

The Dutch capital is not starting from scratch.

Haarlem, 18km (11 miles) to its west, was in 2022 the first city in the world to announce a broad ban on most meat advertising in public spaces. It came into force in 2024, together with a prohibition on fossil fuel adverts.

Utrecht and Nijmegen have since followed with their own measures that explicitly restrict meat (and in Nijmegen's case also dairy) advertising on municipal billboards, on top of existing bans on adverts for fossil fuels, petrol cars and flying.

Globally, dozens of cities have, or are moving to, ban fossil-fuel advertising. Such as Edinburgh, Sheffield, Stockholm and Florence. France even has a nationwide ban.

Campaigners hope that the Dutch approach - linking meat and fossil fuels - will act as a legal and political blueprint others can copy.

Stand at a tram stop in Amsterdam and you might no longer see a juicy burger or a 19 euro ($18.70; £14.90) flight to Berlin on the shelter.

Yet the same eye-catching offers can still pop up in your social media algorithm. And, let's face it, many of us would be looking down at our screens until the tram trundles along.

If municipal bans leave digital platforms untouched, how much real world impact can they have on our habits or are they purely symbolic virtue-signalling?

Getty Images

Is the ban on outdoor adverts worthwhile if people can still see promotions for meat and fossil fuel online?

So far, there is no direct evidence that removing meat advertising from public spaces leads to a shift toward more plant-based societies.

However, some researchers are cautiously optimistic, such as Prof Joreintje Mackenbach who is an epidemiologist - a medical professional who investigates health patterns within populations.

She describes Amsterdam's move as "a fantastic natural experiment to see".

"If we see advertisements for fast food everywhere, it normalizes the consumption of behaviour of fast consumption," says Mackenbach, who is from the Department of Epidemiology and Data Science at hospital Amsterdam University Medical Center.

"So if we take away those types of cues in our public living environments, then that is also going to have an impact on those social norms."

She points to a study which claims that London Underground's 2019 ban on junk food adverts led to less people buying such products in the UK capital.

Smiling on the banks of a canal in the centre of Amsterdam, Prins is adamant smaller specialist tradespeople in Amsterdam will benefit from the new advertising ban.

"Because like everything we love, festivals, nice cheese, a flower shop around the corner. All the stuff that we love, we don't hear from through ads," she says.

"It's usually through people that we know, or we walk past the building. So I think local businesses will be able to thrive because of this.

"I think and I hope that big polluting companies will be extra scared. And maybe will rethink the kind of products they are selling. I think you can really see that change is possible."

Originally posted to Hexbear 5 years ago https://hexbear.net/post/147544

Bulbasaur is the founder and chief librarian of the Vegan Theory Club.

visit https://vegantheoryclub.org/ for a link to the discord.

There’s a small but vocal group within the vegan community who call themselves antinatalists. Their position: having children is unethical. Not just for themselves, but for anyone. They argue that bringing new sentient beings into existence guarantees suffering, and therefore procreation is a harm we should all avoid.

I understand the compassionate impulse behind reducing suffering. I share it. But I think antinatalism is not only strange, it is indefensible as an extension of veganism. Worse, it confuses what veganism actually asks of us and what the definition of veganism actually is.

Veganism is about exploitation, not suffering. The standard definition of veganism (from the Vegan Society) is: “a philosophy and way of living which seeks to exclude, as far as is possible and practicable, all forms of exploitation of, and cruelty to, animals for food, clothing or any other purpose.”

Notice the order. Exploitation comes first. Cruelty (which implies suffering) is second. That’s not an accident.

Suffering is incredibly hard to measure, compare, or predict. One person’s suffering metric can lead to wildly different conclusions, including eugenics, forced sterilization, or (in some interpretations) even suicide. Most antinatalists reject those conclusions, but the fact that they’re utilitarian conclusions that can be drawn from a reduction of suffering shows how slippery suffering-focused ethics can become. You can’t directly control how another being experiences suffering. You can’t know if a future child will find their life worth living. That makes suffering a shaky foundation for universal moral rules.

Exploitation, by contrast, is something you can control. You are the one doing the exploiting such as using an animal for food, clothing, entertainment, or labor. You can choose to stop. You don’t need to measure the inner experience of a cow or a chicken. You just need to ask: Am I treating this being as a resource? If yes, and you don’t have to, then stop. That is both actionable and measurable.

From Non-Exploitation to Antinatalism Is a Leap, Not a Logical Step

Here’s where antinatalism goes wrong. It takes the valid vegan concern for existing beings and stretches it into a prohibition on creating new beings. But non-existent beings cannot be exploited. Exploitation requires a victim, an actual someone who is used against their interests. A potential child isn’t a victim until they exist. You can’t exploit nothing.

Antinatalists often reply: “But you can’t get consent from someone who doesn’t exist yet, so you shouldn’t bring them into existence without that consent.”

This sounds clever, but it’s a category error. Consent is a concept that applies to existing beings with the capacity to say yes or no. To demand consent from the nonexistent is like demanding a signature from a ghost. Veganism respects the consent of living animals. It doesn’t require us to ask permission from the void. If we applied that logic consistently, we’d have to ban growing vegetables (plants don’t consent to be eaten), building houses (the land doesn’t consent), or even breathing (the air doesn’t consent). That’s absurd. The antinatalist’s consent argument only seems plausible if you forget that consent presupposes existence.

Here’s a simple test. Ask yourself: Does veganism give me a direct answer about whether I should have a child?

Clearly not. Veganism says nothing about procreation between consenting adults. It says nothing about human population policy. It says: don’t exploit animals. Full stop.

Antinatalism, by contrast, wants to tell humans what they can and cannot do with their own bodies and reproductive choices. That’s not veganism, that’s a separate totalizing philosophy that uses suffering as a cudgel to forbid something most people (including most vegans) see as a basic, joyful, and morally neutral part of human life.

You might personally choose not to have children for environmental or ethical reasons. I chose not to have children myself. This is not a judgement on the childless. That’s fine. But claiming that all procreation is unethical and labeling other vegans as immoral if they have kids, is a radical overreach. It’s also a great way to make veganism look cultish and unhinged to everyone outside the echo chamber.

What Veganism Actually Asks of Us

Veganism is hard enough as it is. It asks us to change what we eat, wear, buy, and support. It asks us to look at centuries of normalized exploitation and say no. It can include friction with the people you care about. It can mean telling grandma something she loves is wrong. That’s a massive, daily, heroic effort.

We don’t need to add “and also you can’t have children” to that list. Not because having kids is always perfect, but because veganism is about your actions toward existing beings and not about preventing existence altogether.

Focus on what you can control. Stop exploiting animals. Stop treating sentient beings as resources. Reduce suffering as a happy side effect. But leave the antinatalism to the philosophers. And leave other people’s reproductive choices alone. Veganism doesn’t require you to never have a child. It requires you to never have a victim.

To feed your food preferences:

AI: ~560–800 Billion Liters Annual usage

Beef: ~4,387 Trillion Liters (for feed alone)

AI: Minimal land use

Beef: 44% of global habitable land

AI: ~20,400 tons CO2 (per large model)

Beef: ~14.5% of all global emissions

AI: Electronic waste, local heat islands

Beef: Methane, manure runoff, "dead zones"

A single quarter-pound beef burger requires between 40 and 70 gallons of surface/groundwater

A heavy AI user (50 queries/day for a year) consumes roughly 14 to 48 gallons of water annually

Beef driven industrial agriculture is the #1 driver of global deforestation. In the Amazon, cattle ranching is responsible for at least 75% of forest loss. This is causing ecological collapse.

All this to torture cows. Fucking stop it. Stop it NOW.