Compassion and Hope from St. Louis to Los Angeles

Photo of Louie and Libby by Joanna of Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary

Though the conference wrapped up last night for most people, there are a few sessions and events happening today still, and I myself have another day and a half here in Los Angeles. After I return home to St. Louis, and as I settle in, and my brain function (and sleep schedule as well as schedule in general) return to normal, I'll have several conference-related posts for you over the course of several days--conference-related in that they'll be discussions of discussions had at AR2009, that is. (Do your best to contain your excitement!)

But before I get into all those posts, I will use this one to say that this year's conference confirmed for me what last year's did: some of the best people on the planet are in this movement, and though they have opinions as varied as their backgrounds (and they do have incredibly varied backgrounds, stories, lifestyles, interests, and strategies), at heart they all have extraordinary compassion and passion. And being around them for these last four days has been good for my soul.

I listen to the stories of individuals' experiences and activism, to the incredible ways so many people have sacrificed and even dedicated their lives, to the point of excluding much from their lives that others take for granted or consider basic comforts or indulgences, to rescue animals, to speak for animals, to fight for animals. And it is humbling.

The conference can be overwhelming because of all the information presented and learned--much of it daunting, heartbreaking, disturbing, even downright terrifying--but via the people giving this information and proposing solutions and strategies, it also offers that glimmer of hope that we can change this, that we can chip away at this mass-scale exploitation, suffering, and killing on which our society is so based and, in saving animals, save this planet, save this planet's people, save ourselves.

There are people here who’ve been fighting this fight all their lives, and there are children who are just starting their advocacy, people who have decades of experience behind them and people who have decades of experience ahead of them. And though the ways in which the world is not changing as fast as we want--as fast as the animals (and indeed we) need it to--are frustrating and sometimes demoralizing, I take heart from moments and interactions that give me hope.

And I had that hope before getting anywhere near the conference site. On the flight here, I was finally, after months of not having time to read anything but blogs and articles, making some serious progress in Jeff Masson's The Face on Your Plate (which is the topic of another post to come, and you can read Jeff's guest posts thus far on this blog here). I noticed the gentleman sitting next to me glance down at the book several times during the flight. And I assumed, for no reason beyond cynicism, that he wasn't thinking positive things. I kept wondering if I should use this opportunity for advocacy, to engage this stranger in conversation about the book whose title seemed to have caught his interest. Would he look at me with discomfort when I mentioned that I was heading to an animal rights conference? Would he make an offensive, dismissive joke if I talked to him about animals and the idea of not eating and exploiting them? Would we spend the rest of the flight in an awkward silence?

I was still struggling with whether I should indeed take this opportunity for advocacy and discussion when he opened up and asked, in friendly fashion, if I was enjoying my book, a book he'd heard about on the radio, he explained. Several minutes later, he casually mentioned, "My wife's a vegan too." And I was stunned. I was stunned that of all the many people on that plane, the person sitting next to me not only knew what "vegan" meant, but supported veganism and seemed close to reaching that point himself. I was sitting next to someone who spoke genuinely of turkeys, chickens, pigs, and cows as unique, feeling beings deserving of life. Someone who, rather than making a joke about soy milk, noted that he prefers rice milk. Someone who chose to live in a rural area of Missouri and adopt an in-need potbelly pig from a rescue ranch. Someone whose gentle son, so upset upon seeing an ad for live "Thanksgiving turkeys," knowing what was to become of them, used his allowance to buy two turkeys, bring them home, and give them a free life on the family's farmland.

Though an animal rights and vegan community is certainly present in the St. Louis area and, I think, growing, it is not Portland or San Francisco or New York or Boston. And until this past week, I would have assumed that the chances of my finding myself sitting next to someone on that plane with whom I could have the lovely conversation that I did--the chances that I would spend the latter part of the flight and the trek through the airport talking to a transplant from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to rural Missouri about his and his family's act of saving and advocating for animals rather than eating them--would be quite slim. Yet there we were--and I can't tell you how inspiring that felt. Before we'd spoken even a word to one another, I'd foolishly made assumptions that couldn't have been more wrong. And I am so glad I was wrong. We may not be all the way there yet--or even nearly there yet--but perhaps the tide is finally turning. Being vegan and caring about animals is becoming more and more "normal," whether you live in a major progressive city or are surrounded by rural farmland.

This weekend, there was a hotel full of hundreds of people of all backgrounds, ages, nationalities, personalities, and experiences dedicated to changing this world, to giving animals' lives back to animals, to making this fight for animals a serious priority in their lives, to stopping the violence and spreading compassion.

And there are two young boys in rural Missouri who would rather rescue turkeys and chickens than eat them, who would rather spend their money to save the lives of two birds than to buy games or candy or CDs for themselves.

There is hope.