Blood flows a river
Behind the slaughterhouse walls
Sharp knives, stony lies
Most everyone has a polite, euphemistic idea of what happens inside a slaughterhouse. Someone summed it up nicely, animals go in alive and whole and come out chopped up in little pieces, and somehow, somewhere in between, people believe something humane happened.
Euphemistic, as in self-delusion.
How many people would give up eating animals if they experienced the horrendous atrocity of animal slaughter up close and personal? If they heard the bellowing cries of gut-wrenching terror, seen the frightful foreboding in their trembling faces as they hung upside down. Blood pumping out of a gaping neck wound. Not many, I’m saddened to say, but there’d be few. Not everyone’s an NPC.
I’ve never been inside the house of horrors, but I’ve seen the undercover videos. It’s emotionally traumatic, life-changing in my case. And it’s not just the heartless barbaric act of killing a fellow earthling that turns my stomach and demands my abstinence. It is that, of course. But what piques my misanthropic anger is the workers’ complete lack of compassion—their sadistic torture and torment for the sake of torture and torment.
What sort of person does this?
It doesn’t matter; because the real question you should ask yourself is, Why am I a part of this.
Don’t be an enabler. Be kind.
Image and video courtesy of WeAnimals.org