Wonderful Touching People (for Animals) -A Peaceable Table Cross Post, Pls

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Cross Posted from "A Peaceable Table," Vol. 5, No. 4, April, 2008. Please go to this website issue and view the beautiful, uplifting photographs of Wilbur, the sanctuary pig, and his friend, Pam Ahern. Pam writes of her moving experience speaking to a man whose job was to kill animals.As Pam said, "I remember well reading that people do not change because someone is rude to them." Please keep these words in your heart when you speak for the voiceless animals. We intuitively know that anger and harsh words do not persuade. Thank you. Margarethttp://www.vegetarianfriends.net/issue42.html Guest Editorial: Touching People By Pam Ahern Pam Ahern and friend Wilbur Two incidents in my work on behalf of animals will stay with me forever. We were running a campaign booth at a market just north of Geelong (a major city in Victoria, Australia). Wilbur "Bur," the sanctuary pig, was having a little "kip" after a heavy morning campaigning, so I was “working the crowd solo,” although Bur did have the courtesy to flake out on his bed in full view of everyone, thereby still attracting a crowd. On my asking a man with his young daughter by his side if he was concerned about animal cruelty, he replied, “Nah, I kill ‘em, I’m a slaughterman.” “Oh well, you’d be interested in our campaign against the live export of sheep and cattle to the Middle East.” He looked at me as if I was mad. “Are you aware that they are also exporting jobs just like yours? That abattoirs have even had to close as a result of this trade?” He stopped in his tracks, paused and thought a second “Ok, I’ll sign,” he said. He was a huge man, at least 6 feet 6; I had to crane my head back to look him in the eye. As we walked to our information table, I asked “So where about on the line do you work?” “I knock em.” He punched the words out as if to offend me. “Oh I see, so what species do you kill?” At this point he just looked at me, a little puzzled by my

polite interest. “Sheep.” I probed: “Oh right, gee that must be tough, I bet you have to go fast.” “Yep, 4,500 a day I knock.” “That’s a hell of a lot, do you ever miss?” “Sometimes.” “It must be tough on you, do they get scared?” By now the rough façade was dropping and he was staring me right in the eye, “S___, yeah mate, they are s___ scared and I hate it, I really hate it.” “You poor thing, I really feel for you.” I didn’t know what else to say. Here we were, what many would consider the natural born enemies of each other, but somehow I didn’t hate this guy; I liked him, I hated his job. If our circumstances were

different, who knows? “Yep, you should see their eyes, they’re terrified,” he sniffed, wiping at his nose with his sleeve “but I gotta feed my family, what else can I do, I gotta feed my family.” I wished right then and there I had the answer; I wished I could have offered him a job. He stood there a second longer, his chin quivering, his eyes glazed, sniffing. I looked away, as did the young girl. “Hang in there, mate,” was all I could offer, as I gently touched his elbow; he sniffed again and quickly hurried off. Sometime later I saw the same man leaving the market. He looked my way, his eyes still misty with remorse. I looked at him and nodded, “Hang in there, mate.” Clearly this was not the first time he had really thought about what he was doing. It obviously troubled him greatly. I guess it would have

been easier for him had I been rude or abrupt; it would have justified his façade. But I was kind; all day I thought of him, I still do, I can only imagine his pain. I remember well reading that people do not change because someone is rude to them. I guess it is one of the challenges of what we do; I can sympathize with those who would have loved to have told him he was a jerk, a paid assassin, but what would that achieve? Where was his escape? It’s easy for us to condemn him and God knows I hate what he does. I mentally imagined the speed at which he would dispatch my beautiful ovine friends, forty-three of them, I later worked out, would be dead in less than five minutes, providing his figures were accurate. This guy is sitting on the cusp of change, he is struggling with his conscience and I pray he has the courage to keep listening to it, for there is never a point in a person’s life where they cannot say

“I am not going to be a part of this any more.” Pam and Wilbur enjoying a much-needed "kip" The next incident happened at a country market. An elderly gentlemen walked past Bur and I asked if he was interested in what we were doing. He replied “No, yous are all anti-farmer.” “Well no, we’re not, but we are anti-animal cruelty. Surely you would agree with that, no one likes cruelty to animals.” Taking a brochure he eyed me and Bur, only to return a short while later. “Hi there,” I offered, “did you have a chance to read the leaflet?” “Yeah I did, I used to

work at a piggery, you know”, he said, as he knelt down to talk to Bur. He wasn’t looking for an answer, just a chance to talk to Bur. “How you going, mate?” he said as he took Bur’s head in his hand. On cue, Bur shut his eyes, put on his “happy face” and pressed his head into the old man’s hands. "But we had to do it, we really had to do it, I hated doing it. What they used to do to those poor sows, aw...” I was having trouble hearing the chap now and I didn’t want to interrupt his private moment with a pig. I doubt he had ever had the chance to chat honestly to one like he was now, so I eavesdropped some more, but I think at this point he was oblivious to me. “Aw mate, you really are a lovely, lovely piggy aren’t you, aw I hated it.” Then there was silence; looking down to see what brought this about, I saw the old man just holding the smiling Bur’s head in the palm

of his hands. By whatever reasoning I do not know, but Bur was managing to keep still for more than a second; did he know this was a truly special moment for the old guy, or was he just plain tired? A lone tear rolled down the old guy’s cheek, he ever so subtly wiped at it. Trying to move the lump in my throat, I began talking to another passerby, but couldn’t help but hear what I thought were the words “I’m sorry.” A short time later he stood up, turned to me and said “Sure, I’ll sign your letters, show me where.” Pam Ahern is the founder and director of Edgar’s Mission Farm Sanctuary www.edgarsmission.org.au Reprinted from the Spring, 2008 Newsletter of Quaker Concern for Animals quaker-animals.org.uk,

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