The undercover video strikes again.
One of my Facebook friends posted a video of a chicken processing plant, clandestinely shot by some undercover worker. The video, with its grim voiceover and matter-of-fact shooting style, showed how baby male chicks were processed at this particular location, because they don’t produce eggs like the females will.
The footage showed the chicks whisked around on a conveyor belt en masse, then plant workers would pick out the males and put them on a different conveyor.
At the end of that belt was a 2-foot drop off into a grinding machine that tore them into little bloody bits.
All while still alive.
I turned away this with appropriate horror, and happened to see my three tiny parakeets; Monty, Andy, and Bebe. They were staring off into space, blissfully tweeting away, completely unaware of how lucky they got it.
Sometimes I just don’t understand. I don’t get the disconnect that we have when it comes to treating some animals better than we treat our own children, and why others are just a commodity, tossed around and coldly processed like they’re an ear of corn or a bale of hay.
I sometimes try to figure out where to point a blaming finger. Is it the end consumer who buys those animals under supermarket plastic and puts them on the dinner table?
Is it the corporation that produces and markets the animals as food, or the advertising agency that tells us, “I feel like Chicken Tonight?”
Is it the slaughterhouse worker that actually puts the necks in proverbial nooses?
My girlfriend has been trying to get me to go vegan now for a year, and I never completely understood why until I watched this video. And now I understand why.
We’re all to blame.
I hate making blanket, generalizing statements…but if you’re not part of the solution, you are indeed part of the problem on this one. Anyone who is part of this cycle is a participant, either passively or actively. And that participation equals active and massive suffering and death.
And in watching that video, I realized I was an active participant. That obviously didn’t sit right.
So, I took a stand. That doesn’t mean I’m throwing red paint at fur-wearing passersby or standing in front of factories holding signs.
But, I made a resolution — no more eggs. And I’ve stuck to it. It feels like a sacrifice…only until I realize it’s absolutely miniscule when I hold it up to baby chickens being ground alive. Thinking about it makes that tofu scramble even more appealing.
Dairy, look out…you’re up next.