To my fellow human being:
If you are still eating cows (flesh or dairy) and other farm animals, it’s incumbent upon you to understand why they are drowning in the midwestern United States…and baking to death in Australia.
It’s up to you to understand your part in it, and end at least your part in it.
It’s your responsibility to look behind the curtain, and deal with these unnatural disasters connected with the unnatural sprawl that produces those unnatural groceries you so easily toss into your shopping cart.
It’s never too late to learn. And you won’t be alone on the journey.
This is what I want the average New Yorker on the street to hear on Sunday 14 April.
On the day of the Veggie Pride Parade, I’ll have a mic for a few minutes, and dang! Do I know how precious a few minutes of someone’s attention can be!
In 1983, Robin Lane, a vegan, left a pamphlet on my seat (and all the other seats) in a concert hall. The leaflet took just a few minutes to read. It changed the world for me. That night I made the commitment to become vegan. The day before, I’d never even heard the word.
Leaflets are sacred.
I appreciate the call to be an audible leaflet for just a few minutes.
To my fellow vegan:
I share your anguish as we witness what animal agribusiness is doing to the animals in it. What the massive plundering of fossil fuels, former forests, and natural sierras and plains has wrought. The ecocide. The coming apart of the climate.
And each day we get up and go out into the world. Kind of, but not quite, like that person who said they’d plant a tree today even if the world would end tomorrow.
Sparing the tree that’s already there, we know, is better.
Love & liberation,
Lee.
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No one needs a scientific survey to notice that very few deer at Valley Forge National Historical Park have aged beyond two years. The photo here was taken before 2010—the year Valley Forge started shooting its deer.
The thing that shocked me, along with the chief impact of the whole setup, was that my Uncle George, of whom I thought very highly, was part of the crew, and I suppose at that point I decided that farms, and uncles, had to be re-assessed. They weren’t all they seemed to be, on the face of it, to a little, hitherto uninformed boy. And it followed that this idyllic scene was nothing more than Death Row. A Death Row where every creature’s days were numbered by the point at which it was no longer of service to human beings.
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