How I Became an Animal Rights Activist by Alice Bruckenstein

[Guest guest]

http://www.dissidentvoice.org/2008/11/how-i-became-an-animal-rights-activist/

 

 

How I Became an Animal Rights Activist

by Alice Bruckenstein / November 24th, 2008

 

The impulse was always there. Why hadn’t I noticed sooner? Years ago, at a New

England whaling museum, hadn’t I been horrified at battle-worn harpoons

spiraled into children’s scribbles? Wasn’t I sorry for the lobsters queued

up at a Bar Harbor lobster pound, even as I anticipated eating one? Didn’t I

consider my annual excursions to the Dutchess County Fair the most fun anybody

could have? One year, an especially friendly milk cow licked me so thoroughly

even my handbag was wet.

 

Suddenly, the reality and immensity of animals’ suffering at the hands of

humans came crashing into my consciousness as forcefully as the floods of New

Orleans. I couldn’t sleep at night thinking about factory farms, leg-hold

traps, puppy mills – the list was endless. If you let your empathy neurons

work overtime, you can become paralyzed with grief. To prevent going totally

insane, as the budding animal rights activist in the film Year of the Dog

briefly did, I decided to focus on the Canadian harp seal hunt. Conducted by a

small group of fishermen in a limited geographic area, the hunt seemed like

something that could, possibly, be stopped.

 

Many knew of the seal hunt from past decades, but too few realized that it was

still going on. Pouring over my copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s The Tipping Point

like a law student studying for the Bar exam, I set out to distribute flyers

from coast to coast. Once the facts were out, little ripples of interest would

surely grow into great waves of indignation and, as Abe Lincoln said, “Public

sentiment is everything.†Putting my fledgling copywriting and design skills

to use, and with an enthusiasm reserved only for the naïve and uninitiated, I

embarked on my plan.

 

The flyers were actually glossy cards, and I felt virtuous lugging the heavy box

home from the printer through the quirky streets west of the Flatiron building.

A humane organization’s website provided me with a list of demonstration

leaders, and I sent out emails en masse. “Hello Activists!†Pressing the

send button was akin to jumping out of a plane. There was no turning back.

 

Armed with stacks of my newly minted creation, I also hit the sidewalks of

Manhattan, and approached everyone – big aloof muscular guys, preoccupied

businessmen, elderly ladies in hats and jewelry clinging arm in arm, giggling

teenagers. Some praised me and some cursed me. One young woman called me a liar.

Another, flyer in hand, walked away looking stunned and wounded. I dismissed

hurtful remarks and damaged psyches alike, secure in the worthiness of my

purpose.

 

Meanwhile, requests for flyers started popping up on my computer screen from

southern California, Albuquerque, Omaha, Austin, a small town in Georgia,

Boston. “So this is how it feels to be subversive,†I thought on my way to

the Post Office. Tipping point! One activist from across the country kept asking

for more flyers. Every day I received her emails on the latest developments to

end the killing of baby seals. When she wrote “their little souls in heaven

are thanking you,†it was as if she could see a part of my soul. Sue kept me

going.

 

My “audience†did too, regardless of the occasional rebuff, and many

passersby stopped to engage me. I discussed whale hunting with an Australian man

at a street fair in Chelsea, a young anarchist from Central America shook my

hand in Times Square, a musician singing John Lennon songs came over to chat at

the Imagine Circle in Central Park. The encounters were thrilling though,

strangely, I also had the vague sense of being an impostor. Despite the

authenticity of my mission, the role of activist seemed to make me both more and

less myself. I loved the role. It allowed me to be fearless. Yet it also set me

uncomfortably apart.

 

Recently, I witnessed a man walking his dog across a busy intersection. He

tightened the leash to a chokehold, and the dog started yelping. Pandemonium

ensued. Pedestrians called out in protest from all four corners. A head emerged

out of the side window of a large truck stopped at the offending scene. “You

leave that dog alone!†shouted the driver.

 

Most of us do care about animals when confronted with individual cases of

cruelty. The key lies in translating that outrage into action on a larger scale.

To do this the abstract must be made tangible and real. That’s where the

resistance lies. Two years and four flyer designs later the annual seal hunt

continues. I haven’t given up, and I am heartened by observing hundreds of

people reading the flyer. Turn it over and you see the devastating numbers of

baby seals that have been slaughtered – but on the cover is a picture of just

one.

 

Alice Bruckenstein is an animal rights activist living in New York City. She has

a number of letters published in the New York Times and is the composer of Song

for Canada’s Harp Seals, which can be heard on YouTube. Read other articles by

Alice.

 

This article was posted on Monday, November 24th, 2008 at 8:00am and is filed

under Activism, Animal Rights. ShareThis

[Guest guest]

That was beautiful.

 

 

 

, fraggle <EBbrewpunx wrote:

>

> http://www.dissidentvoice.org/2008/11/how-i-became-an-animal-rights-activist/

>

>

> How I Became an Animal Rights Activist

> by Alice Bruckenstein / November 24th, 2008

>

> The impulse was always there. Why hadn’t I noticed sooner? Years ago, at a

New

England whaling museum, hadn’t I been horrified at battle-worn harpoons

spiraled

into children’s scribbles? Wasn’t I sorry for the lobsters queued up at a

Bar Harbor

lobster pound, even as I anticipated eating one? Didn’t I consider my annual

excursions to the Dutchess County Fair the most fun anybody could have? One

year, an

especially friendly milk cow licked me so thoroughly even my handbag was wet.

>

> Suddenly, the reality and immensity of animals’ suffering at the hands of

humans

came crashing into my consciousness as forcefully as the floods of New Orleans.

I couldnâ

€™t sleep at night thinking about factory farms, leg-hold traps, puppy mills †"

the list

was endless. If you let your empathy neurons work overtime, you can become

paralyzed

with grief. To prevent going totally insane, as the budding animal rights

activist in the film

Year of the Dog briefly did, I decided to focus on the Canadian harp seal hunt.

Conducted

by a small group of fishermen in a limited geographic area, the hunt seemed like

something that could, possibly, be stopped.

>

> Many knew of the seal hunt from past decades, but too few realized that it was

still

going on. Pouring over my copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s The Tipping Point like a

law

student studying for the Bar exam, I set out to distribute flyers from coast to

coast. Once

the facts were out, little ripples of interest would surely grow into great

waves of

indignation and, as Abe Lincoln said, “Public sentiment is everything.â€

Putting my

fledgling copywriting and design skills to use, and with an enthusiasm reserved

only for

the naïve and uninitiated, I embarked on my plan.

>

> The flyers were actually glossy cards, and I felt virtuous lugging the heavy

box home

from the printer through the quirky streets west of the Flatiron building. A

humane

organization’s website provided me with a list of demonstration leaders, and I

sent out

emails en masse. “Hello Activists!†Pressing the send button was akin to

jumping out

of a plane. There was no turning back.

>

> Armed with stacks of my newly minted creation, I also hit the sidewalks of

Manhattan,

and approached everyone †" big aloof muscular guys, preoccupied businessmen,

elderly

ladies in hats and jewelry clinging arm in arm, giggling teenagers. Some praised

me and

some cursed me. One young woman called me a liar. Another, flyer in hand, walked

away

looking stunned and wounded. I dismissed hurtful remarks and damaged psyches

alike,

secure in the worthiness of my purpose.

>

> Meanwhile, requests for flyers started popping up on my computer screen from

southern California, Albuquerque, Omaha, Austin, a small town in Georgia,

Boston. “So

this is how it feels to be subversive,†I thought on my way to the Post

Office. Tipping

point! One activist from across the country kept asking for more flyers. Every

day I

received her emails on the latest developments to end the killing of baby seals.

When she

wrote “their little souls in heaven are thanking you,†it was as if she

could see a part

of my soul. Sue kept me going.

>

> My “audience†did too, regardless of the occasional rebuff, and many

passersby

stopped to engage me. I discussed whale hunting with an Australian man at a

street fair in

Chelsea, a young anarchist from Central America shook my hand in Times Square, a

musician singing John Lennon songs came over to chat at the Imagine Circle in

Central

Park. The encounters were thrilling though, strangely, I also had the vague

sense of being

an impostor. Despite the authenticity of my mission, the role of activist seemed

to make

me both more and less myself. I loved the role. It allowed me to be fearless.

Yet it also set

me uncomfortably apart.

>

> Recently, I witnessed a man walking his dog across a busy intersection. He

tightened

the leash to a chokehold, and the dog started yelping. Pandemonium ensued.

Pedestrians

called out in protest from all four corners. A head emerged out of the side

window of a

large truck stopped at the offending scene. “You leave that dog alone!â€

shouted the

driver.

>

> Most of us do care about animals when confronted with individual cases of

cruelty. The

key lies in translating that outrage into action on a larger scale. To do this

the abstract

must be made tangible and real. That’s where the resistance lies. Two years

and four

flyer designs later the annual seal hunt continues. I haven’t given up, and I

am

heartened by observing hundreds of people reading the flyer. Turn it over and

you see the

devastating numbers of baby seals that have been slaughtered †" but on the

cover is a

picture of just one.

>

> Alice Bruckenstein is an animal rights activist living in New York City. She

has a number

of letters published in the New York Times and is the composer of Song for

Canada’s

Harp Seals, which can be heard on YouTube. Read other articles by Alice.

>

> This article was posted on Monday, November 24th, 2008 at 8:00am and is filed

under

Activism, Animal Rights. ShareThis

>