The death of a bovine with no name

Heavy handed use of electric prods at Whanganui slaughterhouse photographed by animal rights activists: The death of a bovine with no name.
 

Photo by Caitlyn Blake
 

An unsettling picture of a bovine with no name has appeared on social media.

This steer is jumping over high metal railings in an attempt to escape an electric prod. It occurred while he was being offloaded to the slaughter house.

In the photo we see his legs vertically in the air, his stomach pressed up against the bars. He looks as if he is about to fall on his head. There seems little doubt that this steer would have suffered some pain and injury as a result of this incident.

The picture was taken by animal rights advocates who were standing vigil at Land Meats, Whanganui, last Sunday 8 March. The organizer of these vigils, the singing vegan Sandra Kyle, has been standing, often alone, outside this slaughter house for over two years.

Kyle, who was joined in this occasion by three other activists, said: “We all noticed how much this particular driver was using the cattle prod, jabbing at the animals repeatedly. Regulations were recently introduced by MPI regarding the use of cattle prods, and these include where on the animal’s body they can be used, and the animal must be able  to move away from the prod. In this case, the avoidance tactic the steer used was to make a dangerous leap over steel bars!”

“I hope this poor steer wasn’t injured, waiting in pain all night just to have his throat slit the next morning!”

“Slaughterhouses are hell holes and they have no place in a civilized society.”

She is right, of course. Death comes to us all, and yet, and yet … what a horrible way to die. The steer would have only been a juvenile, possibly two years old. He is likely to have experienced deep trauma as well as physical injury.

He died in fear, in an alien environment of noisy clanks and rough yells, hustling, and painful electric prods. He may have had to wait 12 hours together with hundreds of others, before walking the green mile to his death the next morning. In accordance with New Zealand law, he would have had a bolt gun to his brain to render him unconscious, and then his throat was slit.

During this process not one person would have showed him an ounce of kindness. There is no time, anyhow. Slaughterhouses are like assembly lines, where hundreds of animals are killed every day in New Zealand, and many more in some places overseas.

Political scientist Timothy Pachirat worked undercover at Great Plains slaughter house in the States, where 2,500 cattle were slaughtered every single day. His book One Every Twelve Seconds is a vivid account of the violence of mass slaughter and the hidden realities of uncomfortable truths.

Pachirat’s book makes very difficult reading. He discusses how slaughterhouses are largely divided and structured so that the full process of slaughter is concealed, not only from the public, but from the workers as well. And the process is horrific and frankly, pathologically violent.

A quote from his book:

“Some balk when prodded up the chute leading to the kill box, some collapse from exhaustion or disease, some have horns that are especially difficult to cut off, some are pregnant and about to give birth, some are unusually large, and some are unexpectedly small.”

Pachirat makes visible the individuality and diversity of the animals who are killed in this manner. All cows are not the same, physically or emotionally. Every one is an individual, sentient being, who feels physical and emotional pain, and suffers.

I wonder how the steer who dramatically jumped the steel fences presented himself in the kill box. Were his eyes white and rolling with fear? Was he still aching with bruises and injuries? I imagine so.

And the big question. Did he know? I don’t know why this question matters, but somehow it does. The old saying ‘they can smell the blood’ makes sense to Kyle:

“Over my five years of doing slaughterhouse vigils I have seen countless tired, hungry, confused, terrified animals arriving on trucks, as well as waiting in pens to be slaughtered. They don’t want to get off the truck, and they are agitated and depressed-looking when they are waiting, because their instincts are telling them something’s very wrong”.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But I don’t have any words to convey the deep sense of sadness this picture that was taken at the slaughter evoked in me.

I have not eaten meat, or consumed dairy or eggs for many years. I do not consider this choice to be restrictive – instead if helps me to live in a very brutal world. I just don’t want to be any part of the violence behind meat production.

Our choice to ‘eat meat’ takes away the choice of another living being to their life. This choice, however, entails suffering to animals - something most people in New Zealand are against.

I am not trying to tell people what choices that they should make. It would be an exercise in futility anyway. But I do think it is important, if we want to live ethical lives, that we examine the systems behind food production in society.

The steer who tried to avoid the pain of an electric shop on Sunday at Land Meats had no name. But he will never be forgotten.

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