 Two young roosters rescued from fighting perched on either side of an older rooster, living together in sanctuary. (Photo by author) By Agaphen H. I have been navigating the Western colonial gender binary my entire life. I contain multitudes of descriptors that can be categorized into the established binary: the feminine dancer, crafter, and caregiver who enjoys sparkles and comfort, and the masculine tractor driver, a metal worker, and farmer who owns only work boots and always has a pocket multi tool. I do not fit comfortably into the concepts “Man” or “Woman,” and I do not feel that it is necessary to my happiness, or anyone else’s, to contort myself into those boxes. I neither fit into the gender I was assumed at birth, or the opposite option. Therefore, I am trans non-binary. Having the language to describe my gender, however, does not make the insecurity of not being a Man™️ or a Woman™️ any easier to handle. Humans constructed the gender binary because we, as a species, have a desire to categorize and sort and define, well, all of the world. Eschewing that binary categorization may be why I feel most at home with nonhuman animals - as far as humans know, they do not adhere to a comparable system of gender (binary sex characteristics and expectations are also not as clear cut in the nonhuman world as we were taught to believe, but that exploration is for another time). I feel a kinship with the animals who are stereotyped into genders without their consent, and feel most myself in their company because they do not seem bothered by my transness. My career and chosen priority in life is to care for nonhuman animals who have been wronged by humans. This desire to care for animals is often assumed to be a culturally feminine action. There is vulnerability in accepting the many emotions in response to seeing suffering, hoping against hope, and accepting hard truths about death. Caring for nonhuman animals requires an understanding of consent and comfort. Caring for loved ones is traditionally considered a “woman’s role” and it is my calling - but I am not a woman. So, I emphasize the gross and difficult parts of care, instead of sharing the soft and tender parts, in order to prove I am still manly while doing this work.  The author with their friend Chunk, a rooster rescued from fighting now living in sanctuary (photo by author) Caregiving while not being a woman makes my masculinity feel very fragile. Strength, courage, and assertiveness (the top masculine traits listed by Wikipedia) may be infinite resources, but masculinity is approached with an intense scarcity mindset in the United States. There just isn’t enough bravery and pride to go around, leading to Men™️ who constantly need to prove how tough, fearless, and aggressive they are - the great trifecta of masculinity - so other men will respect them as an equal. Men™️ do not need to depend on others for their survival, success, or comfort. They avoid vulnerability, connection, and sharing emotions with others. Boys are taught early in life that actions of affection are a ‘girly’ sign of weakness; men don’t cry. These Men™️ toxically define masculinity by how others see them and their choices, and ensure the only interpretation is that they are tough, fearless, and aggressive. They would rather start a bar fight than buy a pink razor or vanilla scented candle for themselves. Unfortunately, due to the cultural stigmas I described above, my embrace of the gentler nature of animal caregiving juxtaposed with the expectations of masculinity to be above feeling empathy, leaves my masculinity wanting. I feel that I must overcompensate for qualities of care in order for my trans non-binary gender to be valid. That is what I have in common with toxically masculine Men™️: the feeling of not being tough enough in order to be respected. Should my cultivated masculinity be overlooked, the core of who I am as non-binary will be erased. It is as if I must reach a certain threshold of masculinity before my gender is accepted without qualification. I do not want to destroy the feminine, but I have been consciously and subconsciously trying to hide it, trying to elevate my masculinity so that society will not look at my actions and qualify them with a marginalized gender. I’m not a man, but I want my masculinity to be unquestioned. It feels like a huge ask in a world where cismen can have masculinity so fragile that eating tofu can throw their ego into a tailspin. What hope do I, the non-binary vegan, have to be considered masculine enough? Enter the third player in my masculinity crisis: The Rooster.  A curious rooster living in sanctuary (photo by author) Ask anyone who has met one (1) rooster, and they will tell you: male chickens are aggressive, mean, and boy, are those spurs sharp. Roosters are stereotyped as tough, fearless, and aggressive (recall the great masculine trifecta). Casual knowledge insists they cannot live with other roosters, they are unnecessarily noisy, and they will hurt you because that’s ‘what they do.’ I have cared for hundreds of roosters, and hope I get the privilege to care for hundreds more - and to keep busting those stereotypes about them. In reality, humans took away the opportunity for the rooster to do what he does naturally, and put our own gendered expectations and meanings on them and their behaviors. I am here to argue that we must undo our cultural stigmatization of roosters and use their natural tendencies and behaviors to define our masculinity instead. The stereotypes assigned to roosters stem from natural behaviors that are beneficial to the species. Chickens are descended from free living jungle fowl in Southeast Asia. Wild flocks consist of multiple roosters living among multiple hens, working together to keep everyone safe and fed. The male chickens are vocal protectors of the flock. Their crow is a sign of maturity and confidence, the literal loudspeaker standing guard over his territory and flock. However, it is also a call for teamwork, a means of communicating with the other members of his flock. They utter more than crows, too, such as a hut-hut-hut chuckle sound to alert their flock that food, or a new individual, is near. A rooster will put himself in the line of danger for his family - but so will a mother hen. Male infighting is no more common than in other species, or even among hens for that matter, and stops well before death. None of a rooster’s natural ‘masculine’ coded characteristics are inherently violent for the sake of violence.  Chunk and new friend, two roosters rescued from fighting living together in sanctuary (photo by author) Humans took roosters out of the wild and then took their traits out of context, exploited and honed to fight for human sport. Fight training involves isolating the male chicken from all other birds, confining him, and mutilating his body. He is deprived of all stimuli and injected with steroids and adrenaline. When he is taken out of isolation, he is thrown into the new environment of a fight ring with loud sounds and glaring lights, in front of another similarly over-stimulated rooster. This is hardly an extension of natural tendencies, but a human created process to establish fear of other roosters, and the understanding they must kill in order to not be killed. Over time and training, fighting roosters act, however consciously or subconsciously, as though their value is dependent on diminishing the value and life of another. There is only room for one of them, and it will be determined through blood and violence. Early in my animal care career, I was tasked with rehabilitating fighting roosters, without much know-how. I was unprepared and faced with dozens of terrified, traumatized, and frankly intimidatingly mutilated chickens. Their new challenge was to relearn that other birds and humans are not inherently dangerous. It was daunting to walk into a barn where you could feel the readied tension, the defensiveness in every set of bird eyes fixated on you. I have scars from trying to feed crated roosters, who had never known kindness from a human. I have not one, but two pairs of broken eyeglasses from roosters going for my eyes, presumably because they thought their survival depended on offensive defense. I learned through trial and error that what they needed was a guided, and gentle, mental rewiring of what was expected of them - and when I made that realization, I was face to face with my own masculinity.  Randall, a rooster rescued from fighting, living in sanctuary (photo by author) This is what the fighting rooster, toxically masculine Men™️, and I have in common: scarcity mindset. There isn’t enough respect to go around, and relating to others through care makes us look weak and forfeits our due respect. The fighting rooster is taught to eliminate the other, to prove he is the strongest and bravest, worthy of survival. The toxically masculine Man™️ must prove he is capable and fearless because affection and emotion make him weak. I am afraid my toughness and independence are overshadowed by the care I give to my companions and wards. The fighting rooster, toxically masculine Men™️, and I all have a masculine urge to prove that our continued existence is worth the time and resources and acknowledgement of others. That urge is motivated by the fear of not being enough, that we cannot be seen as less than the rooster or man next to us. We need to unlearn the arbitrary patterns and values placed on the binary. We need to rewire our mentalities to know we are worthy of existing as we are, and we need not abandon our instincts of care. We must emulate the instincts of the wild, free living, jungle fowl ancestors of today’s chickens.  Chunk, in the middle of a “look I found a worm!” dance - see video below (photo and video by author) Much of the change I saw in roosters rescued from fighting was gradual. There were times I would walk into a coop and see two roosters sharing a perch, not noticing the significance, only to do a double take and realize the two roosters had not been able to coexist with another bird in any capacity a few months ago. There are other mundane, but significant, milestones. Roosters will “dance” for other hens and roosters, and the three I see often are: “I’m dancing to impress you,” “I’m dancing to intimidate you,” and “I’m gently head bobbing to share a snack with you,” usually in that order. When I saw a former fighting rooster doing the snack dance for another rooster, it meant that he knew he was more than safe - he knew there was enough to go around. I posit a new way to consider masculinity, based on the metaphor of the fighting rooster. Roosters naturally want to care for each other, but humans decided to focus and exploit the actions that cause fear and aggression. Instead of using the human definition of masculinity on roosters, we can use the roosters’ traits to guide human masculinity. We can define masculinity not through competition, but by community. Like roosters, both wild and those who are rehabilitated from fighting, we can be dependent on teamwork and still protect ourselves and friends. We can offer food to others before partaking ourselves, but still be assertive. Personal masculinity can be measured by our recognition that we can exist without proving our worth, and without demanding others prove theirs in order to be cared for. That's how I am redefining masculinity. It will not be driven by fear, but fueled by care for myself and others, and not being afraid to loudly crow that I, and my flock, are safe.  Roxwell and Nathan, two recently introduced roosters, watching over their flock on a sunny winter day in sanctuary (photo by author)
0 Comments
 By Drew Robert Winter
This is an extended version of a statement read at the 2023 American Anthropological Association conference. “I have ordered a complete siege on the Gaza Strip. There will be no electricity, no food, no fuel, everything is closed,” said Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant on October 9, 2023. He continued, “we are fighting human animals and we are acting accordingly.” What does it mean to fight “human animals”? Let’s answer this question—first in fact, and then in theory. In mid October, the Israeli military began shelling the Gaza Strip–a territory of about 365 square kilometers and a population of 2 million—one of the most densely populated areas on Earth. On October 27 it began a ground invasion. The Israeli military’s order that Palestinians leave Gaza has left 1.9 million displaced, and now much of their homes and neighborhoods have been vaporised. More than 22,600 people—including over 10,000 children—have been killed in less than two months. This is more child deaths from war than all other conflicts on Earth in the last four years combined. The number of dead and displaced is higher than the 1948 ethnic cleansing of Palestinians that preceded the founding of the state of Israel, known to Palestinians as the “Nakba” (“catastrophe”). Those who closely follow the abuse of animals, and the history of the word "animal," understand that it is much less a biological category than a moral one. When one refers to “animals” they are hardly ever referring to everything within the Kingdom Animalia—of which humans are members. But this biological, secular knowledge that humans are animals does not, as a matter of fact, prohibit the use of the term “animal” from being ascribed to humans precisely in order to dehumanize them. Derrida pointed to the violence that inhabits the very category of “animal,” which effectively serves only as a negation of the human—grouping all sentient life not human under the same header: “When one says “animals,” one has already started to not understand anything, and has started to enclose the animal in a cage.” All of the routine violence inflicted by humans, he asserted, “is engendered in this conceptual simplification.” Putting a finer point on it, Donna Haraway pointed out that to be labeled “animal” is to be “made killable.” It is a demotion from what Georgio Agamben calls the “bios“ to “zoe.” To be “bios” is to have ethical and political standing, while “zoe” is “bare life”—organic life that lacks the respect we give to those with citizenship and rights. It is why you can kill a squirrel or an ant, but not murder one like you could a neighbor or coworker. One of the most pervasive rhetorical moves to legitimize violence is to call the victims “animals” because, socially speaking, the definition of an “animal” is moral: an animal is someone who is not an object, but who may nearly be treated as one. But as animal rights activists and many philosophers have argued, this claim is fundamentally a self-justifying prejudice, not a sound argument. There is no evidence or proof behind the slur—it is a succinct way of saying (1) that someone is an “other” and (2) that others deserve what they get. This is how we should situate Israeli Defense Minister Gallant’s remark that Israel is fighting “human animals.” The phrase “human animal” no longer seems an oxymoron: Gallant acknowledged the biological species of his target, but with the qualification that this fact is a minor taxonomic detail. What is important is their moral status: they are killable. And they are being killed, in unprecedented numbers. Due to the Israelis halting virtually all supplies to Gaza, those who survive the 2000 lb American-made bombs are either trapped underneath the rubble or rushed to hospitals that lack critical supplies like clean water, reliable electricity, or anesthesia. In either case, a slow and painful death is common. It is the moral category of “animal” which Gallant marshaled to justify this systematic destruction of life he deemed to lack political standing. Gazans, to the Israeli government, are indeed non-citizens, and animals to be slaughtered. Animal allies know that “animal” is not a description of fact, but merely an excuse for violence. Because we know this, we owe our opposition to that rhetorical labeling—and any violence it purports to justify. Animal rights activists object when someone justifies violence towards nonhumans because they are “animals” and should object just as strongly when doing the same towards humans. No external justification for killing excuses the term “animal”—a bigoted term used in lieu of a reason. To stop the wholesale slaughter of any group of beings, we must abolish that first rhetorical method of making them killable; we must annihilate the category of “animal.” Because of that fact, animal advocates owe our solidarity, our empathy, and our tools for justice to all who are violated with the label of “animal.” References https://www.timesofisrael.com/liveblog_entry/defense-minister-announces-complete-siege-of-gaza-no-power-food-or-fuel/ https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/2023-11-20/ty-article/1-7-million-palestinians-displaced-from-their-homes-in-gaza-un-says/0000018b-ee55-d6a0-a7ff-ee779f3f0000 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/12/7/israel-intensifies-daily-raids-on-occupied-west-bank https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/10/29/more-childrens-deaths-in-gaza-in-3-weeks-than-annual-total-since-2019-ngo https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/nov/13/biden-lawsuit-alleged-failure-prevent-genocide-israel-palestine https://www.unocha.org/publications/report/occupied-palestinian-territory/hostilities-gaza-strip-and-israel-flash-update-85 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/12/15/war-is-stupid-and-i-want-it-to-end-injured-palestinian-children-say Khalidi, Rashid 2020 The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917–2017. Illustrated edition. Metropolitan Books. By Philip McKibbin Kim Stallwood is no ordinary animal rights activist. For one thing, he started his career in a slaughterhouse – which would be less remarkable had he not gone on to become the first Executive Director of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). He has been vegan for 47 years now, longer than many vegans today have been alive! But even more extraordinary is the story of his heart…  Kim Stallwood Kim first learned something was wrong in June 2021, when he collapsed in the street, not far from his office in Southern England. An ambulance took him to Conquest Hospital in Hastings. There, his hopes of being quickly discharged were dashed. ‘They wouldn't let me go home, because they were afraid I would collapse again.’ Kim’s condition was extremely serious: he needed open-heart surgery. He was taken to the Royal County Sussex Hospital in Brighton, about one hour’s drive from Hastings. The cardiologist explained that he had been born with a heart defect which had caused the tissue in his aortic valve to atrophy. They would have to replace the valve with another. The doctors informed him the surgery would take five and a half hours. 'I remember clearly them telling me that after the surgery, I was going to feel as if I had been hit by a massive truck, and it would take months to recover and heal,' he says. But the biggest shock would come when he asked about the replacement valve they would be putting in his heart. The surgeon explained it was made from tissue that had surrounded the heart of a cow. Kim – or the Grumpy Vegan, as he is known by his followers – has long advocated for animal rights, and he is now recognised as one of the movement’s leading figures. In his autobiography, Growl: Life Lessons, Hard Truths, and Bold Strategies from an Animal Advocate, he retraces his journey, shares lessons he has learned, and calls for a re-thinking of animal advocacy. His work explores four key values, which are compassion, truth, non-violence, and justice. And in 2020, the British Library acquired his collection of animal rights research materials, which is available to the public as the Kim Stallwood Archive.  Kim's book, Growl So being told that the surgeon planned to put cow tissue into his body was upsetting. ‘My immediate reaction was, ‘What, can't you make this in a test tube? They make meat in a test tube now, why can't you do that?”,’ Kim explains. ‘And the surgeon began to say things like, “Well, the cow wasn't killed for this particular product.” And I said, “Look, that doesn't make any difference. As far as I'm concerned, that argument doesn't wash with me.”'
Although many replacement heart valves are made using animal tissue – from cows and pigs – some are mechanical. Mechanical valves are usually given to younger patients, because although they are more durable, they also require that patients take anti-clotting medication. Older people are typically more vulnerable to its side-effects, which can include bleeding, so it is generally safer to give them biological valves. Kim was told he was not eligible for a mechanical valve, and that he would have to accept a biological one. As a vegan, Kim avoids using animal products as far as practicable so he does not harm the animals who those products are taken from. When it came to his heart, he says, he had no real choice: ‘When you are presented with a situation where it is literally life or death, you choose life.' He had already been given medication that he knew would have been made using animal ingredients, and it had probably been tested on animals, too. 'Yes, I could say, “No, no, no,” and argue and fight it out with the surgeon, but ultimately, when you're in that vulnerable situation, where I knew I almost died, there was no choice in the matter. If I said “no,” then I was probably putting a death sentence on myself. And when you're faced with that, really, what can you do?' To the doctors, the surgery was a routine procedure – ‘even though,’ Kim explains, ‘it's a big deal, because they saw open your ribcage, take the heart out while you're on life support, and operate on the heart when it’s outside of your body, separately.' It took two weeks for him to start walking again, and two months to recover. Now, life carries on for him much as it did before he collapsed that June day back in 2021. When Kim has shared his story, friends have been understanding. 'People generally have always said, “You made the right decision.” I haven't talked to a lot of vegans about this, although people do know that I had it. And certainly no one has ever negatively confronted me about it, or accused me in any way of abandoning my commitment to animal ethics by doing it. If anything, everyone who I've spoken to about this from the vegan animal rights community has been very sympathetic and very understanding.' However, some of the reactions he has received have been trivialising: ‘You know, things like, “After all the animals' lives you saved by being who you are, don't you think they're giving back to you by doing this?” And I don't, no.’ Even though he disagrees with those remarks, he believes they are well-intended. 'If anything, it was probably their way of processing the information, and making sense of it. They were just projecting onto me, in the hope that it would be a platitude that would make me not feel bad, because they thought I did feel bad about it. I mean, I do feel bad about it. I don't like it, you know?' Kim believes the replacement valve was likely made using tissue from more than one cow. He says that, although the procedure has not changed his position on veganism, it has prompted him to be more understanding of others’ medical choices. ‘I think, maybe, it's made me feel a little bit more willing to go along with someone who may say something to me like, “I'm vegan, but because there's some medical condition, I have to take such and such a major medication, or some product, which is animal-based,”’ he says. What does all this mean for the future of animal rights? Kim thinks we need to invest in new technologies. 'Well, I do feel that at some point in time, the material that they use in future operations like mine will not come from slaughterhouse by-products. They will be manufactured in the lab, and they’ll be more refined, better-quality products, because they won't come out of the body of a being who has been slaughtered in a disgusting, filthy slaughterhouse.' Similar technological developments have occurred in the past – for example, insulin used to be manufactured exclusively from pigs, but nowadays most medical insulin is synthetic. Also, synthetic options are now available for skin and bone grafts. Kim believes that, sooner or later, we will stop using animals altogether. ‘Eventually – hopefully in our lifetimes – the whole massive edifice of billions of animals who have been raised and killed for food will collapse, because it's unsustainable,’ he says. ‘And when that happens, a lot of industries and products that were using animal slaughterhouse by-products – often blissfully unaware of where those by-products originated – will have to change.' The main reason they are used, he explains, is because they are readily available. However, in order to end our use and abuse of animals, we need to view animal rights as a political issue. This, Kim says, will involve us challenging the economic system that continues to uphold animal exploitation. Together, we need to explore alternative ways of living, and – as disabled vegans have argued – make veganism accessible. In the meantime, Kim must live with his altered heart. One question he thinks about is, ‘What if a person came along and said to me, “You've sold yourself out by having that operation.” How would I react to that?’ Fortunately, it has not happened yet – but he has thought about how he might respond if it did. ‘I guess I would say something like, “Well, if you're in my shoes, you can do that and see what happens.” I was in my shoes; I had to deal with it. I made the decision that I made. ‘I’m alive fighting for animal rights.' To learn more about Kim Stallwood's work, visit: https://kimstallwood.com/ By Shaina Sadai and Shan Seahra Providing sanctuary for victims of the breeding, farming, and pet industries is one way people can meaningfully take action to address injustice suffered by non-human animals. In many cases, one may also gain wonderful companions. One of the most common, and possibly most misunderstood non-human animal species that has made their way into our homes as companions is the domestic rabbit. This article discusses the history, exploitation, and personalities of domestic rabbits. Fossil records indicate that the story of the domestic rabbit began in Asia with the emergence of lagomorphs, members of the taxonomic order Lagomorpha, during the early Eocene period approximately 56 million to 47.8 million years ago. Currently, there are two living families of lagomorphs: Ochotonidae (pikas) and Leporidae (hares and rabbits). The Ochotonidae family comprises one extant genus with 28 different species inhabiting the plateau-steppe and talus landscapes in Asia and North America (Ge et al. 2013). The more diverse Leporidae family comprises over 60 extant species from around 12 genera, and are widely distributed across every continent, except Antarctica, including tropical forest, temperate steppe, plateau, desert and Arctic ecosystems.  A still life fresco of a rabbit and four figs. Object dated to the 1st century CE; originally from Herculaneum via Wikimedia Commons. The domestic rabbit descends from the European rabbit, a highly social species who construct extensive underground tunnels and can form warrens of up to 20 individuals, or live as a single breeding pair. Their latin name, Oryctolagus cuniculus, means “hare-like digger of underground tunnels”. The domestication process and timeline is a bit unclear, but coat colour changes were documented in the 1500s, and skeletal changes (e.g., size) were documented in the 1700s (Wei-Haas 2018). It is hypothesised that our relationship with domestic rabbits as companions may have begun during this latter period. Domestic rabbits are now more widely used by humans than perhaps any other animal. They are companion animals, used as symbols of luck in pop culture, as a symbol of a religious holiday (Easter), in medical research, for animal testing, and farmed for their flesh and fur. The use of domestic rabbits in the meat, fur, and animal experimentation trades is often erroneously justified by claiming that they are in some way different from ‘pet’ or companion rabbits. For example, in online groups for people who have companion rabbits, there will occasionally be debates on whether ‘meat rabbits’ are in some way different from ‘pet rabbits’ and therefore less worthy of care. However, this false assumption that they are different in some way and therefore less worthy of care stems from humans denying or choosing not to observe and respect their personhood. In fact, many domestic rabbits who find themselves at shelters arrived there after being rescued from situations where they were farmed for their flesh or experimented on in laboratories.  Euripides, a rabbit rescued from an abusive situation in which people intended to use her for food. She now lives at Western Mass Rabbit Rescue looking for her forever home. She is spunky and loves to explore. Photo by Shaina (co-author). All domesticated rabbit breeds belong to the subspecies Oryctolagus cuniculus cuniculus, and were selectively bred by humans. Thus, we have an ethical obligation to them to both respect their personhood and provide them with the care that they rely on. Furthermore, due to selective breeding for certain features such as lop ears and flat faces, they often require highly specialised ongoing medical care that we are obligated to provide them with. Releasing them in the wild is not a solution, as domestication is correlated with a significant reduction in antipredator responses, especially in herbivores (Geffroy et al 2020). Domestic rabbits are easily targeted by predators, hit by cars, or quickly succumb to malnutrition, parasites, and disease. Sometimes, the lucky ones are found and brought into shelters and rescues. Rabbits experience deep emotions, have vibrant personalities, and form strong relationships; these truths are often recognized by these same online groups for people who have companion rabbits. Their personalities are widely varying by individual and can be curious, timid, feisty, mischievous, and any other conceivable personality type. Some rabbits like to keep to themselves, while many form deep companionships with other rabbits, with humans, and/or with other species. In both mind and body, they grow and change over time in response to their environment, their experiences, those around them, and the ageing process. When discussing the way domesticated rabbits have transitioned over time to becoming family members, Mark Hawthorne aptly describes them “living indoors with people and leading lives that are deeply entangled - emotionally and physically - with others in the home” (Hawthorne, 2020 p150).  Tater, a rescued rabbit whose original family threatened to dump him in the woods. After rescue, he became deeply bonded to his new guardians, and enjoyed hopping onto the couch to sit with them and request pats. Pictured with, and photo by, Shan (co-author) Given what we know about rabbits, we can begin to conceptualise how to bring animal politics into considerations of human-rabbit interactions. Taking a political lens to the status of rabbits in society, we can see the ways species-based oppression often dictates human-rabbit relations in the meat, fur, vivisection, and pet trade industries. Respecting their personhood and bodily autonomy means that we should support the abolition of all exploitative uses. We can put this into practice by:
But we can do much more than just opposing oppressive practices. We can envision a liberatory future where all rabbits are able to live in joy, safety, and community with their personhood respected. Domestic rabbits are often particularly excellent companions for vegans since they are in need of loving homes, especially given the adversity they often face, and because we are herbivores like them. Consider taking an active role in opposing oppressive practices by adopting, fostering, or volunteering to care for domestic rabbits, normalising companion rabbits as family members, providing space for them (ideally indoors), rescuing domestic rabbits who find themselves outdoors, and sharing with others the wonderful personalities of rabbits who are dear to us. Given that rabbits' personalities vary widely, some domestic rabbits may not be interested in human companionship, despite being highly dependent on human care. However, care and sanctuary can still be provided while respecting their autonomy and giving them the freedom to choose how they interact with us. Living with domestic rabbits is an iterative and adaptive process of observing their preferences, needs, and desires, and responding with the appropriate provisions. With active efforts to support the liberation of rabbits, we can build a more just future. References
Ge D, Wen Z, Xia L, Zhang Z, Erbajeva M, Huang C, Yang Q. 2013. Evolutionary history of lagomorphs in response to global environmental change. PLoS One. 2013;8(4):e59668. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0059668. https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0059668 Geffroy, B., Sadoul, B., Putman, B.J., Berger-Tal, O., Garamszegi, L.Z., Møller, A.P. and Blumstein, D.T. 2020. Evolutionary dynamics in the Anthropocene: Life history and intensity of human contact shape antipredator responses. PLoS Biology, 18(9), p.e3000818. https://journals.plos.org/plosbiology/article?id=10.1371/journal.pbio.3000818 Hawthorne, M. 2021. The Way of the Rabbit. Changemakers Books. Winchester, UK, Washington, USA. Link to book Wei-Haas, M. 2018. The Odd, Tidy Story of Rabbit Domestication That Is Also Completely False. Smithsonian Magazine. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/strange-tidy-story-rabbit-domestication-also-completely-false-180968168/ |
AuthorBlogs posts are authored by Animal Politics Collective members. Archives
April 2024
Categories |
RSS Feed