Another shroom experience

I’m on shrooms again! They’re hitting me really hard and making me feel so much. I want to document some of that for myself, and I also want share with the world.

I’m thinking about the other people I’m on a spring break trip with right now. I just genuinely love and care for them all so much. And I want them all to enjoy this trip so deeply. I just don’t always know how to communicate that or to show that. It’s so hard to express how much I care to others because it’s so much. The love I have for you all is so so so so deep. It makes me cry so much, and I’m afraid to show how deep it is. But I want you all to be the happiest ever. And I want to be there for everyone when they need someone.

I’m also thinking about my life commitments. Honestly, I think my biggest commitment in life right now, might be to the animals who suffer in factory farms. That makes me really sad to say and admit. Because the animals’ suffering is so incredibly deep and heavy. And I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold it for. Because it is already starting to weigh on me, and I’ve only truly remained deeply focused on this issue for about the last year. But it’s fucking hard! It’s so hard to carry so much suffering. I push it aside so I can do things that matter. But the things that matter often require difficult emotional conversations, or being unpopular, or bringing attention to a tension that everyone else would rather ignore. And it sometimes feels hard to constantly force myself into the thick of all that. And that’s even with me still holding back a lot of the time. I think I could maintain this pace for maybe ten years or so, but it would eventually break me. I guess that’s a good thing to think about going forward. How can I sustainably remain involved in the animal rights movement?

But yeah, my biggest commitment in life right now does feel like it’s for the animals. And that’s so sad to say because I also have deep commitments to the others in my life. But I feel like, at least for right now, my primary focus is the animals. That feels sort of lonely.

And it also makes me feel like it’s probably easier for me to have deep relationships with other people who are also deeply dedicated to animal liberation. Because our goals and commitments will be so overlapping.

But also I haven’t found that in my life so far. Most of my deep relationships are with people outside the movement I dedicate myself towards. That’s both a tension in my life and a nice breather.

But yeah, I’m just grappling with the depth of the commitment I’ve made to the animals. I want to hold on to it for as long as possible. But I know there might come a point in time where I have to let go for myself.

Also, maybe I shouldn’t view things from such a simple, structured point of view. Maybe I can have fluid commitments to many things. Then again, some things require sustained focus and attention, and it’s hard to give anything your full attention, when your attention is spread too thin.

That’s true on both a macro level and a micro level. For example, sustaining my attention on the animal rights movement, or sustaining my attention on a certain project within the animal rights movement.

Okay, I’m getting too “thinky” now and I want to become more emotional again. It’s so fun being able to flip the switch between debilitating emotion and focused thought and problem solving. The debilitating emotion is more fun to be honest. Also super scary though.

Okay, what should I have debilitating emotions about? I think I’m going to think about the deepest relationships I have in my life. I’m going to fixate on how much I love every fiber of these people.

It’s so beautiful knowing for someone for so many years. To get to watch them shape and grow. To shape and grow alongside them. I never want to lose any of my relationships it makes me so sad. But it’s also just impossible to give your attention to that many people at once. I wish I had infinite attention and I could show everyone how much I loved them all the time. I wish I could give everyone my full attention all the time. I want to make everyone feel so seen and heard and special and loved because you all are. You’re all so fucking beautiful it breaks my heart.

Okay, I’m sobbing again now because it’s so good. It’s so fucking good to love people so much. I want everyone to know how much I love them. I wish it wasn’t so scary to share.

I should tell people more. I want to tell everyone in my life how much they mean to me. How much they’ve shaped me, how often I think of them, how much I feel for them.

I really need to confront that fear more often. I want to live more fully. I feel like I was living that way more so towards the beginning of law school. I was so curious and open. But now I’m more anxious and afraid of what people think of me. I’m also wrapped up thinking about how to activism all the time. That makes me think, I really need to learn how to develop a healthier relationship with my activism. Right now I divert such an anxious attention towards it. That can be helpful because I don’t let things slip through the cracks, but it can also be distracting, both from activism itself and the people in my life. Maybe I should meditate more, or do more to structure my days, or journal more, or get a weekly scheduled therapist, or something else that I’m not thinking of.

Okay, I’m getting too thinky again. I want to go back to feeling now.

Actually a quick thought before I do that. I was thinking how everything in the universe is neutral. Like rocks aren’t emotional. But mountain ranges still bring me so much joy. Which means that I am attributing joy to something that has no joy within it. So it’s not that the rocks are bringing me joy. I’m giving my joy to the rocks. What else can I give my joy to?

Okay, I’m going to give my joy to the bracelet on my hand now. Woooah this is actually so fun. My bracelet is bringing me so much joy right now (well, actually I’m giving my joy to my bracelet). But yeah, I’ve been wearing this bracelet every day for probably like three years now or so. It’s so pretty. And it’s the same type of bracelet everyone in my family wears. And my ancestors. And people of my culture and religion. It feels so good to be connected to something bigger than yourself even with something as simple as a bracelet. We should try to create something like that for the animal rights movement.

It’s funny that communal things are laughed at and called culty when they’re smaller and less established. But when communal things are super old and established (religion), they’re deemed to be more legitimate. Maybe that’s not the only difference, but it feels like the main one to me right now. It’s so cool how belief systems transcend generations and become so deeply entrenched. It’s also kind of scary. We really got to get rid of all the bad ones. It’s tough though because we can’t all agree on which ones are the bad ones.

Hopefully, we can all at least agree on something very general, like suffering is a bad thing. And then we can all tap into the shared identity of being anti-suffering or pro-flourishing. And we can then build our communities and institutions in favor of those pursuits.

I feel like the reason we haven’t been completely able to do that as a species yet is because we don’t trust each other enough. But if trust can be scaled and shared by everyone within a community. Oh my god, just imagine what we’d be capable of if we all trusted one another to have our best interests at heart.

It’s so sad how distrustful we can be of one another. I really want to help build that while I’m here on this earth. I want to build community where we all have each other’s best interests at heart, and we all trust one another. That would be so beautiful. I’m hopeful we can do that as a species. I really am. We’re just a tiny baby species, but I think we can all come together and some point. And then we can really focus on taking care of all the other animals too.

Okay for context, I sort of have this grand vision of abolishing all suffering in the universe. Maybe not all suffering, sometimes we might deem it to be useful or worthwhile, but we’d be able to get rid of the parts we don’t want. Maybe just having the ability to dictate when and when not to suffer would totally change the whole human experience, but I think we could learn to use it beneficially. Or at least agree on an institutional level which kinds of suffering we want to allow people to experience.

But anyway, it would be really cool to eliminate suffering within the human race, and then to eliminate suffering for other lifeforms too. Of course, we can work on both these problems at once (human suffering and nonhuman suffering). But I do think, to some degree, we have to get our own shit together before we’re going to fully address the vastness of nonhuman suffering.

Anyway, yeah that would be super cool. I want everyone to be so happy.

Okay, I’m getting sort of bored now. I’m going to leave this here, and if you read to the end I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you know how much I love you! And that we can trust each other! I really need to do more in life to bring this energy to people. It’s just so scary.

Okay, actually signing off now. I love you all so much. I hope you have the greatest experiences ever. I want you all to have all the love in the world.

Insane shroom experience

I feel really scared to do this, but I’m going to do it anyway. Also, it’s hard to perfectly articulate my thoughts right now, but I’m going to try. Maybe I’ll try harder at a later date.

I’m on shrooms right now, and I’m experiencing the most insane things I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

I’ve been on shrooms before, and they haven’t made me feel this way. It feels like this is the first time I’m really allowing myself to let these feelings fully shine through. Maybe, that’s also because my preexisting mood, but I don’t know this shit just feels so fucking real, like so incredibly intense and real, that I feel like I have to share it with all of you. Like it would be wrong for me to keep it hidden almost. That’s what I’m feeling.

It is such a fucking gift to feel. It is so fucking amazing, and I know you all have felt it at some point.

Please let it happen!!!! PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE FUCKING LET YOURSELF FEEL EVERYTHING!!!!!!

I WANT YOU ALL TO FEEL EVERYTHING!!!!!

Ok pretend like the rest of this is in all caps also because that’s still how I feel but I know it’s distracting, FUCK that’s funny

I want you all to let yourself feel every morsel of your existence. I want you to let it overcome you and rip through.

Like FUCK I sound so religious right now but it’s not even like that.

Like I want you to let it overcome you and overwhelm you. Succumb to it fully. Or at least allow yourself to sometimes.

I promise you. I promise you. I promise you. It is the most fucking beautiful thing in the world. Let every fucking cell orient in a single direction. Let it rip inside of you and fucking scream it.

I just want everyone to feel that so bad. It’s absolutely ridiculous.

And it’s genuinely the most heartbreaking thing in the world that people don’t let themselves feel this.

Also, of course it’s because other people have stood in their way and trauma and all that shit., yes all the qualifiers.

OKAY BUT PLEASE FEEL IT!!!!! FEEL EVERYTHINNG!!!!

Like I’m genuinely feeling so much empathy for people who pursue money & status and all that.

IT DOESNT FUCKING WORK!!!! IT DOESNT LAST!!!!

Okay maybe I’m wrong about that and other people are different, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

STOP CHASING MONEY!!! Stop chasing status. Please fucking stop hurting each other.

Me & you & the animals and all of us I fucking promise you, we all feel that, we all have it within us.

FUCKING HELP EACH OTHER!!! FUCKING HELP EACH OTHER PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE HELP EACH OTHER!!!!!

We can make something so much fucking better. We can move fucking mountains, I fucking promise you.

We can create something so beautiful and so grand. I really believe it

Okay literally my phone about to fucking die so I got to share this with the world first, but yea the upshot is! Lmfaooo

Allow yourself to feel! Or at least give yourself the space to sometimes!!!

And please recognize that we are all the same , and we can all help each other, and create something so fucking gorgeous & beautiful.

Okay I’m going back to this until my phone dies

Lowkey I might have already made my major points already Lmfaoo

I love letting you all see all of me in real time it is the realest thing I have felt in my life. Yeah, actually to the point that it overcomes my fear of seeming crazy, which is always stopping me

FUCKING BELIEVE EACH OTHER!!!!!!! BELIEVE PEOPLE WHEN THEY tell YOU WHAT THEY SAY!!!!

Fuck I really need to find my iPhone charger

I found it!!!! I fucking found it!!!

Bruh it was in my fucking car😂😂😂😂😂😂 I just really want you all to be able to relate to that feeling of how fucking funny that is.

Isn’t that crazy? How much of our experience is dictated by the fear that others won’t believe us. And how desperately we’re all searching for someone else to understand.

Be that fucking person for one another!!!!! Be the fucking person who understands someone else!!!

It’s also so wild how all of us are just searching for this same feeling all the time. Some of us look to money & status and some to drugs and some to relationships

AND I SWEAR RELATIONSHIPS IS THE ANSWER!!!! And I feel pretty confident in generalizing this to others, but it’s also likely I’m prone to overconfidence right now

But people have legit studied this, and relationships are the most sustainable key to happiness.

PLEASE STOP CHASING THE OTHER THINGS!!!!!!! PLEASE I AM FUCKING BEGGING YOU ALL, because I want you all to experience this too, I want it for you all so badly you don’t understand

I have so much love for all of you. Like genuinely all of you. It rips through my fucking soul and shreds me to pieces.

Fuck I almost feel like I’m flexing how good this is right now but I’m not even trying to. It’s so sad how hardwired it is the instinct that other people won’t believe me when I share my emotions

I feel like I’m genuinely experiencing what preachers do when they shout from roof tops. Because those people are feeling!!!!!

Fuck I got distracted from my other thought

I just want you to know I love you all so dearly. Like genuinely ALL of you I’m not just saying that!!!! I love you all so much, all the people & animals and EVERYTHING that can fucking feel even the tiniest resemblance of this emotion.

BECAUSE YOU ALL DESERVE IT!!!! I KNOW THAT so deeply. You all deserve the best in the fucking world and if we could just see each other.

It feels like the root of all our problems is just miscommunication. Because if people could just understand that others are feeling what they are, then we would stop fucking hurting each other and help one another and build something so beautiful.

Maybe that’s me being over optimistic about humanity but I really believe that. If y’all could really just understand the tiniest fraction of what the animals are feeling, of what our fellow humans are feeling, then you would help each other.

Because that force would move you to rip through mountains, to sacrifice everything, because this is so real. It is every nerve on my body, it is every thread in my heart, it is I don’t FUCKING KNOW WHAT METAPHOR CAN COME CLOSE, it is everything

And when I’m sober, I feel this sometimes too. The thing is I rarely allow myself to fully succumb to the gravity, because I get it it’s so scary, but it’s so fucking good, it’s so good

Masculinity is the most fucked up thing ever fucking created. So is having to worry about survival. Anything that stands in the way of letting us feel whatever this is is the worst thing in the world.

AND ITS NOT EACH OTHER!!!!! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD ITS NOT EACH OTHER. We misunderstand the evidence, we misinterpret it, but we ALL WANT THE SAME THING.

WE ARE ALL THE SAME AND WE ALL JUST WANT OUR NEEDS MET. It’s the most heartbreaking thing that we can’t all just recognize that and work together.

I want us all to work together so fucking badly. FUCK EVERYTHING ELSE!!! PLEASE!!!!! I want you to stop chasing the money, the power, the status, because you are all so beautiful ANd it won’t WORK!

This feeling is why I will dedicate everything I have, as much as in me to give, as much as I can, as long as I live, to all of you who are suffering, because I know that it is so real, and I know that you deserve to experience the other side of it. I love you all so much I wish you all could understand it all the time.

And for anyone just trying to express themself, I promise you I will believe you. I promise you, just tell it to me straight whatever the fuck you feel and I will believe you. And I’m so so so so so so sorry for any of the times someone has expressed their true self to me and I haven’t believed them. Because I know I’ve been skeptical sometimes, I will believe your feelings!!!!

You deserve to be believed, and you deserve to feel every fucking fiber in your body whenever you want to. You deserve to feel so fucking loved. It truly shatters me to think we experience the contrary because WE CANT UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER!!!!!

Okay hopefully y’all have gotten the gist of this. It’s wild my whole life is just tryna convince people of how much I love them, for them to see it, for them to recognize we all share that ability to experience these feelings, and to just HELP EACH OTHER!!!!!!!

Obviously I get caught up chasing the wrong things quite often also though. I’m so far from perfect. And I’m also privileged which probably helps but honestly privileged people are also fucking miserable all the time too.

Truly the greatest privilege in the world is to allow yourself to feel everything. I want you all to feel everything.

And I’m so confident we can make our entire world so much better for everyone. We are so smart, and so skilled, and if we all just came together we could help each other so much more. We sometimes get fooled into thinking that fighting is the most effective means at attaining this feeling but I promise it’s not.

If we all helped each other I swear it would be one billion times easier. Like shit would go so smoothly. Okay, yeah limited resources and all that shit but nah we’d figure it out and create something so fucking beautiful for everybody. And we’ve come so far already!

I love you all so much and I hope I won’t regret this when I come down but something tells me I won’t because fuck this shit is so real.

I love you all so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Sober thoughts on the above

Hahahah okay so it’s like two days after I wrote this and I just reread it. It definitely made me cringe a few times but also it is pretty hype.

I honestly really wish everyone could experience what I experienced. I don’t know if I did the best job communicating it, but basically my entire body was overwhelmed with love for everyone for like five hours and it was so beautiful.

And I felt like I had so much empathy for everyone and just truly wanted the best for everyone. I wasn’t plagued with the envy & jealousy & insecurity that I sometimes feel.

This post is also reassuring to me that I’m (mostly) living my life the right way. I know deep within me I have so much love & empathy for everyone. I always want to allow that to drive me, I never want to lose sight of it.

It’s so fucked up that our society is literally DESIGNED to make us lose sight of that. Like all the incentive structures point in the opposite direction: make profit, go get your bag, rise to the top, be powerful. We really gotta fix those incentives.

Hope this was enjoyable to read, and I hope you let yourself feel your feelings!

This is what freedom feels like

Estimated Reading Time: 15 minutes

I watched in horror as a two-legs picked Mia up and smashed her skull into the concrete floors. Repeatedly, blow after blow. Mia struggled to escape from its grip, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough. After the third impact, she finally stopped screaming.

The two-legs waited a few seconds to make sure she was dead, then it walked away with her lifeless body as if this was the most normal thing in the world. A trail of Mia’s blood followed it out the room.

We all stood there. Stunned and powerless. In just a moment we had been reduced from seven to six. From siblings to survivors. No one knew what to say. I examined what was left of Mia on the floor and tried not to throw up.

After what felt like forever, Mom broke the silence, “Gather around children.”

We sulked over to the side of our room where Mom lay in her cage. She tried to turn her body to face us but, as always, the bars prevented her from doing so. The cage was too narrow for her to face anywhere but forward at the wall. She settled with craning her neck to the side to address us.

With tremors in her voice, she began to speak, “Children, I’m so sorry you had to watch that… you have no idea how much it pains me to be so powerless… what… what just happened to Mia was one of the cruelest acts I’ve seen in my time here at the Shed… I know I’m usually the one to keep our spirits high, but right now… all I feel is pain.”

Seeing Mom so defeated flipped a switch inside of me. Suddenly my terror turned to rage. I began to shout, “Why do they do it Mom!? Why did they kill Mia? Why do they keep us here?”

Mom gazed at me with tears in her eyes, “Lily, I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to us Mom!” In the heat of the moment, she had become the subject of my anger. “You’ve been here longer than any of us. You must know something!”

“It’s no use to speak of what I know,” she sighed.

“Mother please! It can’t be worse than what we’ve just witnessed. At least let us understand why we’re here.” My siblings nodded in agreement.

Mom hung her head and stared at the floor. She paused for a long time before she spoke next. “Okay children. I suppose Lily’s right, it’s time I explained this place to you.”

She repositioned her head between the slats of her cage and took a deep breath. “The Shed is all I’ve ever known. Like the rest of you, I was born here in a room like this, but unlike me, my mother never talked. Every day, she’d just gnaw on the bars of her cage until she fell asleep. At first, I didn’t see why, but over the years I’ve come to understand.”

“Why didn’t she speak Mom?” one of my sisters asked.

“The Shed drove her crazy. Every year, she was forced to give birth in this tiny cage, and every year, her children were taken from her… the same thing happens to me now,” Mom’s voice trailed off. She took a moment to compose herself before continuing. “The Shed is much larger than I ever expected. There are thousands of us here, kept in cages and crowded rooms. Many of us die young, but if we live long enough, we are loaded onto rolling machines that take us away. Nobody knows where we go, because nobody ever returns.”

“Thousands of us!? Mom, I don’t understand,” I cried. “Why do the two-legs do this?”

“Lily, I’ve come to realize there’s only one explanation. It’s to keep from killing themselves. The two-legs are an evil breed… their true nature is violence. They built the Shed so that instead of harming one another, they could harm us instead. That’s why they trap us here in these awful conditions… they relish the violence.”

“But Mom, what about Mia? Why’d they kill her, and not the rest of us?” I pleaded.

“It’s because she was sick,” explained Mom. “If a two-legs sees someone who appears close to death, it will take it upon itself to finish things. Two-legs never miss an opportunity to kill.”


The next month was the hardest of my life. Mom’s story drove my siblings and I into a competitive frenzy. Whereas before we had all drank equally from Mom’s milk, now we fought one another for every drop. Nobody wanted to get sick, nobody wanted to end up like Mia.

“Move it Lily!” my brother shouted as he shoved me out the way.

The shove hurt, but I was expecting it. My siblings never let me drink for long before taking the nipple from me. I begged them, “Brothers, sisters, please just share a sip… I haven’t eaten in days!” But it was no use. Our fear of the two-legs was far stronger than our ability to cooperate.

I’d try to fight back, I really would. But I had always been the smallest of my siblings, and the competition only made things worse. I watched as my siblings grew to twice my size, I suffered through the hunger pains, and I started to slowly lose my mind. I thought for sure I was going to die, I just hoped it wasn’t the same way as Mia. For that reason, whenever a two-legs walked by, I hid behind my siblings, praying it didn’t sense my growing weakness.

One day, one of them did. “Saul, come look at this piglet. I don’t think she’s going to make it!” shouted the two-legs. It towered over me and my siblings, gazing down at me with its piercing eyes. My siblings scrambled, leaving me alone in the center of our room.

I looked up at the two-legs, and then over at Mom. I was too shocked to say anything, but my eyes gave away my terror. Mom briefly made eye contact with me, but then she dropped her gaze to the floor. I looked around and saw that my siblings had done the same.

I didn’t blame them. There was no point in rewatching what happened to Mia.

Another two-legs came into view. “You’re right Shane. She’s too small to make it in here much longer. Let’s take her.”

One of the two-legs swooped down to pick me up. I thought about running, but after weeks of fighting for my life, I no longer had the energy. I resigned to my fate and within a matter of moments, the two-legs had me wrapped in its hold. I braced myself for the skull bashing to begin.

But it never came. Instead, the two-legs began to run. “Let’s get out of here Saul!” it yelled.

I watched as the Shed swept across my vision. I caught glimpses of more rooms like mine, more children like me, and more moms like Mom. It was just as Mom had described it: cages and crowded rooms.

“Intruders! Seize them!” shouted someone in the distance. A loud, blaring sound started to ring in my ears.

“Shit, they set off the alarms Saul! Let’s pick up the pace!” The two-legs sprinted until we reached a huge door at the end of the Shed. The two-legs called Saul stepped back, lowered its shoulder, and charged at the door. It flew off its hinges and we ran out.

On the other side, we emerged into the biggest room I’d ever seen. Even though I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find the walls. The two-legs seemed unfazed by this, and they ran straight into the darkness ahead.

“Stay in the shadows Shane.” We crept onwards through the mysterious, unbounded room. The ground made a weird crunching sound below us, and somehow, the air felt as if it was moving. Meanwhile, the shouting behind us sounded like it was getting closer.

“They’re gaining on us Saul. We have to hide. I can’t outrun them to the car while still carrying her,” the two-legs said urgently.

“Okay, but where? There’s nothing but pasture.” The other two-legs pointed to a large box alongside us. “The dumpster!? Are you serious? You know what they throw in there.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

We climbed inside the large box, and the two-legs crouched to lower their heads. Upon entering, the first thing that hit me was the stench. It was overwhelming. I tried looking around to see what was producing the awful smell, but my eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness. Meanwhile, the voices outside grew louder.

“Goddamn animal extremists… terrorists is what they are… think they have the right to steal our property.” The voices sounded like they were right outside now. At the same time, my eyes began to adjust to the low lighting, and I started to make out some of the objects around me. But I wish I hadn’t.

The objects weren’t objects, they were bodies. And they all looked like Mia.

I shrieked at the top of my lungs. Quickly, the two-legs clamped its hand down over my mouth to stifle the scream, but it wasn’t fast enough. The voices outside paused.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, must’ve been one of the pigs from inside. They never shut up.”

A few minutes passed, and the voices eventually trailed off. One of the two-legs popped its head over the box and said, “They’re heading the other way. Let’s make a run for it.” We hopped out and the two-legs didn’t stop sprinting until we got to a big cage on wheels.

“Get in the passenger side Shane. I left the formula in the cup holder.” We entered the cage and the two-legs placed me in its lap. I watched as it patiently picked up a bottle and moved it towards my face. I tried to squirm away, terrified of what it had in store, but the two-legs grabbed my head and forced the bottle into my mouth.

Where I was expecting a sting, instead I felt relief. Warm milk poured into my body and filled me up from the inside. It wasn’t exactly like Mom’s, but I was far too famished to care. I didn’t stop to think why this strange two-legs was helping me. I didn’t even stop to process the horrors I’d just witnessed. All I did was chug.

“That was a close call back there Saul.”

“I know, the industry’s catching onto us. I wish we had time to save more of them.”


I woke up to the softest feeling, as if I was sinking into the ground beneath me. I opened my eyes and glanced around the room. It looked like the Shed, mostly empty, but the surface beneath me confirmed that I was indeed somewhere else now. The Shed was hard, not soft.

I felt calm, that was until I looked up and saw the two-legs’ face. Unbelievably, the softness I was feeling was the torso of a two-legs. Repulsed, I screamed and immediately jumped off. The two-legs became startled by this now too and jolted awake. For a moment, we just stared at each other, but then I made a run for it.

I got as far as the door before I realized that, yet again, there was nowhere for me to run. I turned to face the two-legs, expecting it to be closing in on me, but it was still laying in our original position, just staring. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” it began to repeat.

“It’s not okay!” I yelled back. With nowhere to run, I resorted to my words. “Stay back from me! I know about your kind. I’ve seen what you do.”

To my surprise, the two-legs actually seemed hurt by these words. In fact, it almost looked guilty. “I’m so sorry… I know you’ve already seen too much,” it replied. “And I understand why you don’t trust me, but I promise you I’m here to help.”

“How can I trust you?!” I cried. “Do you know how much two-legs have harmed me?”

“I’m so sorry,” it repeated. “If you give me the chance, I can explain everything.” I didn’t have many other options, so I let this strange two-legs continue. “Let’s start with our names. What’s yours?” he asked.

“Lily,” I replied flatly.

“Lily,” he repeated. “My name’s Shane. I rescued you from the factory farm last night because I saw you needed help, and I didn’t have the heart to leave you behind.”

“You didn’t have the heart!?” I shouted. “Then what about my siblings? What about Mom? Why didn’t you rescue them!?”

“I wish I could Lily,” it said solemnly. “I really wish I could. The reason I was there last night is because I want people to see what the industry does to pigs like you. I want them to understand how much you all suffer.”

“You want who to understand!? Other two-legs?” I challenged angrily. “How would a two-legs ever understand what I’ve experienced?”

“Because I recorded everything. Now people can see the conditions you’ve lived in. They can see the violence for themselves.”

“So what?!” I screamed back. This two-legs was either lying or foolish. “Do you seriously think that will change anything? Two-legs love violence, that’s why I was abused.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mom did. And she’s been at the Shed longer than anyone else.”

Upon hearing this, the two-legs started to look even more shameful. Its face sunk, and its eyes dropped to the floor. It didn’t say anything else for a while. When it looked back up at me, there were tears in its eyes. I didn’t understand. Was this two-legs actually remorseful?

“I get why your Mom felt that way,” it said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be abused by humans your entire life. But the truth is, that’s not why your family was tortured. It’s not because people love violence, it’s because people tolerate violence.”

“What do you mean?” I truly had no idea what it was saying.

“Do you want me to show you?” it asked. I was tempted to start shouting again, to say something angry and scathing. But something about this two-legs made me hesitate. It seemed genuinely apologetic, like it actually cared.

“Okay,” I replied.


Shane opened the door and we walked through together. On the other side, I found myself, again, in the big room with no walls. But this time everything was blue, and there was a blinding light hovering above us. It was frightening to take it all in, but Shane seemed unbothered, so I trusted it would be okay.

“What’s that above us?” I asked.

He looked up and replied, “I don’t see anything.”

I gave him a puzzled expression, and as I did so, I watched the recognition wash over his face. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I was getting used to hearing him say this. “I forgot you’ve never been outside before… the blue stuff is the sky, and the yellow ball… that’s the sun. The greens on the ground are called grass, and the greens in the air are called trees.”

“Where are the walls?” I questioned.

“There are no walls outside,” he explained.

Outside. I decided I loved outside. Shane and I walked through the greens on the ground and under the greens in the air. I wondered at the colors around me, I breathed in the smells, and I ran through the sky. The best part of it all, I could feel the sun on my skin. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

I rolled around in the grass and Shane started laughing. “How’s that feel?” he smiled. I didn’t have to respond for him to know. I just kept rolling, and he just kept laughing.

After about an hour of playing, Shane and I lay down beneath a tree to rest. Shane looked up at the sky to examine something called clouds. He tried getting me to look up with him, but I was more interested in sniffing the grass.

“Lily, do you still want me to explain what I was saying to you earlier? About the factory farm?” he asked. “I should warn you, it’s not as fun as this has been. It’s actually very scary.”

“Shane,” I said between sniffles of grass. “As long as we don’t have to go back to the Shed, I want you to explain everything.”

“Then follow me,” he said. We got up and continued walking. This time, I wasn’t as sidetracked by all the new sights and smells, although there was one thing that really caught my attention: these furry creatures, with long tongues and strings tied around their necks. Shane said most people failed to see it, but these creatures were actually quite similar to me. Personally, I didn’t see the resemblance.

I followed Shane through crowds of two-legs, across striped white lines, and around more of those big cages on wheels. It was terrifying to be around so many other two-legs, but Shane quickly noticed this and scooped me into his arms.

Eventually, we arrived at a large enclosure Shane called the grocery store. “Alright Lily, before we decide to go inside, I want you to understand what there is to see. Inside this building are more pigs like you, but none of them are alive anymore. They—”

“Shane what!?” I interrupted. “Two-legs kill us inside of here?”

“No… no they don’t. This is just where we keep the bodies,” he sighed.

“What!? I don’t understand,” I cried.

“Lily, I’m so sorry. We don’t have to go inside… I… I probably should’ve waited longer to tell you this.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said defiantly. I was tired of others not explaining things to me. Mom had done the same thing to us back at the Shed, and maybe if she hadn’t waited until the moment when she could no longer hide the truth, things would’ve gone differently. “Let’s go.”

Shane sat me down inside a cage on wheels and pushed us forward into the store. My first impression was the place didn’t look so bad actually. Two-legs were walking around with their children, it smelled pleasant, and everyone appeared calm.

“We’re about to enter the meat aisle Lily. This is where the other pigs are.”

“What’s meat?” I asked.

“It’s the word humans use for animals after they’re slaughtered and cut into pieces.”

I tensed. We turned the corner and entered the meat aisle. Again, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. All along the shelves were red strips packed into boxes, but I didn’t see anyone that looked like me.

“Where are the other pigs Shane?”

“You’re looking at them,” he replied.

I took a second to examine the red strips closer, still not understanding. Meanwhile, another two-legs that was walking past saw me and stopped. “Is that a piglet?” it asked. “Shouldn’t it still be at the farm, not the food store?” it laughed. “I don’t eat red meat anyway,” it offered as it walked away.

That was all it took for everything to finally click. “Shane,” I said softly. “Do two-legs… do two-legs eat our bodies?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “That’s why you were born on the factory farm. The purpose wasn’t to harm you, it was to eat you.”

I glanced back at the packages and broke down into tears. How could two-legs be so casual knowing there were dead bodies stacked between the shelves?

For a moment, the grief overwhelmed me. I cried for Mia, and the brutal death she suffered. I cried for Mom, still stuck in her cage, and my brothers and sisters, confined to the Shed. I cried for all the others I never met, the ones who left the Shed never to return, each of them slaughtered to red strips.

After a minute, I composed myself. I still needed to piece the rest of it together. “But if Mom was wrong, and the purpose was truly just to eat us, not to harm us… then why did they torture us back at the Shed? Why do they make our lives miserable up until the very end?”

“Because it’s easier that way. The cages and the crowds, they let the industry produce more bodies with less work,” Shane explained.

“We’re tortured for convenience?” I cried. “Don’t two-legs feel guilty for abusing us? Doesn’t it feel wrong to chew on our flesh? To have our bodies sit in their stomachs?”

Shane flinched. “We do feel bad Lily… we really do. That’s why these packages look nothing like you, it’s because the industry knows it’s best for us to not be reminded… we try to forget you were once someone with a family and feelings… that you were tortured in a factory… that you were killed in a slaughterhouse. We try to reduce you to objects, because we can’t even stand the thought of it.”

“But surely everyone still knows it, don’t they? Even the two-legs that just walked by acknowledged the process.”

“You’re right Lily. At some level, we all know what’s happening. But the problem is, everyone else is letting it happen too… that makes it hard to question the system, and even harder to speak out against it… sometimes that’s all it takes for the gears to keep turning.”

I didn’t know what gears were, but I think I finally understood. Two-legs weren’t evil, they were just complacent.


Shane and I didn’t have time to debrief any further. As soon as we exited the grocery store, a two-legs kicked over the cage I sat in and sent me flying to the ground. By the time I regained my senses, another two-legs had Shane pinned to the floor, and was tying his hands together behind his back. “Shane Wung, you’re under arrest for animal terrorism. You have the right to remain silent.”

The two-legs grabbed me and Shane and shoved us into the back of a cage on wheels. “What’s going on Shane?” I whispered.

“I’m being arrested,” he replied. “The government thinks I’m a criminal for rescuing you.”

I was too tired to ask what that meant, and too exhausted to feel angry. I just wanted to rest. I nuzzled into Shane’s body and closed my eyes.


I woke up back in the Shed. I knew immediately because the floor was hard again. My eyes opened to the metal bars and familiar colors. Suddenly, the misery and frustration I associated with this place started to boil up inside me. I had been free for less than a day, only to find myself back in a cage.

To my relief, I wasn’t alone. “Come here Lily, it’s okay,” Shane said gently from behind me. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of our room, the same place Mom used to lie. I walked over to rest my head in his lap.

“Why’d they put us back in here Shane?”

“Because I broke the law. This is where they take people who broke the law.”

“What’s that?”

“The law? It’s rules made up by humans.”

“Why’d you break the rules if you knew they’d take you here?”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

“It was against the law to help me?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I considered this for a while. Why would helping me be against the law? Perhaps it has something to do with the gears, I thought to myself.

“Who makes the law?” I asked Shane.

“I told you, humans do.”

“But why do only humans get to make the law?”

“I guess it’s because we’re the ones with the power to make it.”

“Well, if I could make the law, I’d make the Shed against the law, and the grocery store too. And the rules would say that two-legs aren’t allowed to kill us anymore.”

“Me too Lily, me too.” Shane looked down at me with another apologetic face. I was beginning to understand why he always seemed so sorry. Even though Shane was the one to rescue me, I think he was ashamed to be a two-legs.

After a few days back at the Shed, I realized that the other cages were no longer packed with pigs. Shockingly, they had been replaced with two-legs. I never knew that two-legs also trapped their own kind in cages. Shane explained that most things two-legs do to pigs, they also do to themselves.

The Shed wasn’t as horrible as my first time around, but it was still painful. I just hated being back in a cage, even if it was less crowded. I wanted to go outside again. I wanted to roll in the grass.

Often, I’d panic and ask Shane when we were going to be killed, and he’d have to explain that that wasn’t going to happen. This Shed was different. People usually survived to go outside again. And anyways, we were only stuck here until his trial. When that happened, he was going to win and set us free. 

I struggled to understand what he meant by that, but Shane said that was okay. The only important thing for me to understand was the jury: a group of two-legs who would decide our fate. As long as we persuaded at least one of them, we could go outside again.


“Get up Mr. Wung,” said a two-legs from outside our room. “It’s time for your trial.” It unlocked the door and motioned for us to leave.

Shane picked me up and followed the two-legs out the room. As we walked through the Shed, I was reminded of when Shane rescued me, and how I’d watched cage after cage flash by. The same thing happened now, but this time we were moving slow enough for me to examine not just the cages, but also the caged. To my surprise, their faces didn’t look too different from how I remembered my siblings: bored, frustrated, and afraid.

We exited the Shed and for a brief moment, I was outside again. The sun tingled my skin and the sky parted around us. Shane looked at me and smiled. “We’ll be out here again soon,” he promised.

Our guide led us into a beautiful building with lots of colors and no cages. Inside, it took us to a big room with two desks facing the front. Shane and I sat down at the left desk. Sitting at the right desk was another two-legs, and sitting in front of us was a two-legs with a hammer.

“All rise for the jury,” said the two-legs seated in front. Everyone stood from their seats and a group of two-legs filtered into the room. They sat in a box across from us.

The two-legs seated at the desk to our right stood to address those in the box. “Members of the jury, you have been called here today to decide a very simple case. Indeed, the defendant, Mr. Wung, has confessed to the crime himself. On the night of May 22nd, without permission, he trespassed onto Factory Farms and stole one of its livestock. As proof, that livestock is present with us here today, seated right beside him.”

I fidgeted in my seat. I hadn’t heard the word livestock since before I met Shane. I didn’t know exactly what it meant, but I knew it was used to degrade those like me.

The two-legs continued, “Now, Mr. Wung may try to tell you that what he did was the right thing. That this poor piglet was suffering, and she needed to be rescued. But please, when you make your decision, don’t consider the feelings of Factory Farms’ property, consider the feelings of Factory Farms’ owners.

“The owners have been terrorized by Mr. Wung for simply farming. Farming! One of our nation’s oldest traditions. All they wanted was to practice their profession in peace, but Mr. Wung refuses to provide this decency. He has vowed to continue his crusade, and I quote, ‘Until Every Animal Is Free.’ He wants a world where none of us can eat meat. We simply cannot allow this extremism to go unpunished. Today, I trust that you will all make the right decision.”

The two-legs in the box seemed to resonate with this speech, and that worried me. How was Shane supposed to explain the part about meat? If the grocery store taught me anything, it’s that two-legs will tolerate almost anything for more meat.

Shane stood and walked over to the box, “Hello everyone. The prosecution is correct. I did trespass onto Factory Farms, and I did steal one of its ‘livestock.’ But I didn’t do it to harm the owners, I did it to help the animals. One of those animals is here with me today, and I want you all to meet her.”

Shane motioned for me to join him. I jumped down from my seat and ran over. “This is Lily.” Fearfully, I examined the jury’s eyes. Some of them seemed angry, but others had softened. “Lily has lived a very difficult life, and I could go on about it, but instead I’ll allow her to tell her story herself.”

“Objection your honor!” yelled the prosecution. “Animals are property. They have no standing in a court of law.”

“Your Honor,” Shane replied, “As the victim in this case, Lily has the right to make a statement.”

 “Mr. Wung, Factory Farms is the victim here, not the pig,” said your honor. “Objection sustained.”

This made Shane angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “Jury members, the exchange you’ve just witnessed is precisely why I’m here today. Our law regards animals as property, but does property breathe like Lily? Does it feel joy and suffering? Does it roll in the grass? It’s evident that the law has strayed far from our humanity when sentient beings are regarded as objects, and when factory farms are regarded as victims. Clearly, the true victims here are the animals.

“And finally, I must admit that the prosecution is correct when it says that animals have no standing. But this is not because animals cannot stand, rather, it is because our government has buckled their knees. Time after time, our laws fail to consider animals, allowing even the most trivial reasons to justify their oppression.” Shane looked at me with tearful eyes, apologetic as always. “What I want to leave you all with today is a question. If our laws fail to consider the vulnerable, then are they really laws at all?”


Later that day, the two-legs with the hammer announced that the jury had found Shane “not guilty.” I wasn’t sure what that meant until I saw the relief on Shane’s face. He turned to me and smiled, “Do you want to go outside now?”

We walked out of the courthouse together and stopped on the front lawn. Shane lowered himself onto his knees, and at first, I had no idea what he was doing. Then he fell onto his back and started rolling around in the grass. Laughter coursed through my veins, and I joined him. This is what freedom feels like, I thought to myself.

What Draymond Green’s NBA Suspension can teach us about the Criminal Justice System

Estimated Reading Time: 7 Minutes

Last Monday, all 230 pounds of Draymond Green stomped on the chest of opposing player Domantas Sabonis. Sabonis immediately began clutching his chest, and for the next few minutes he lay writhing in pain. Meanwhile, Draymond talked shit to the opposition’s fans, and he was soon ejected from the game.

The stomp heard around the world
Draymond vs Kings fans

After the game, Sabonis got X-rays on his chest and it was found that he had a sternum contusion.1 He was listed as “questionable” for the next game, but ultimately ended up playing.

In the meantime, the NBA announced that Draymond would be suspended from the next playoff game. They cited three reasons for their decision: 1) Draymond’s stomp was dangerous and excessive, 2) Draymond egged on the crowd afterwards, and 3) Draymond has a history of unsportsmanlike conduct.2

And indeed, Draymond Green is rather infamous for his unsportsmanlike history. Some of the most memorable moments are the time he kicked Steven Adam’s in the nuts (twice in the same playoff series!),3 the time he got suspended in the NBA finals for tapping LeBron’s ballsack,4 and the time he punched his teammate Jordan Poole in the face.5 Over the years, Draymond has accumulated an impressive 163 career technical fouls, 17 ejections, and 4 suspensions.6

With all this controversy already surrounding one of the league’s best players, Draymond’s big stomp has been all the NBA’s been able to talk about. Was the suspension warranted? Was it even possible for Draymond to have avoided the stomp? And since Sabonis provoked Draymond by grabbing his leg, did Sabonis simply get what he had coming? These are the questions NBA fans and commentators have been passionately debating for the last week. ESPN has even called the incident “The Stomp heard around the World.”7

My personal opinion is that Draymond was obviously on some fuckshit. But putting all the NBA chatter aside, to me, the most interesting part of this has been observing the ways in which NBA punishment mirrors Criminal Justice punishment.

For example, a few days ago, the NBA Vice President went on ESPN to discuss Draymond’s suspension.8 He explained that the suspension wasn’t a snap decision, it was the result of debates that took place all day. These lengthy deliberations reminded me of a jury trial. Further, the Vice President used legal jargon like “conduct detrimental” and “repeat offender” to justify the suspension. This repeat offender justification reminded me of the “Three Strikes” criminal laws, which drastically increase punishment for people with prior felony convictions.9 Finally, if you check out the NBA rule used to determine Draymond’s punishment, Rule No. 12, Fouls and Penalties, you’ll see a long list of enumerated criteria, exceptions, and punishments.10 This struck me as resembling a criminal statute.

I wasn’t the only one drawing these comparisons, Marcus Thompson of The Athletic also made the same observation. “People really think this is a courtroom, huh?” he wrote. Thompson went on to argue that the NBA’s judicial posturing was just another example of the league taking itself way too seriously. The NBA isn’t a hall of justice, it’s a spectacle built on rivalries and drama. When the league suspends players like Draymond, it’s the fans who miss out.2

But the thing is, the NBA isn’t just another sitcom. It’s a powerful and influential enterprise capable of grabbing the nation’s attention. Most importantly, it has real life players who are seen as role models for many people, particularly young boys.

With all this influence, I think the NBA should take itself quite seriously. When injustice occurs, it should speak out. And when its players act harmfully, it should try to correct that behavior.

The problem is, the league is trying to correct behavior the same way as our Criminal Justice System, with punishment. That’s ineffective because, while punishment can act as a deterrent, it doesn’t get to the root of the problem.

We can plainly see that with Draymond. He’s already been punished with over a million dollars in fines,11 suspensions from some of the most important games of his career, and nearly endless criticism about how he needs to change. Despite all that, when Draymond was interviewed after this latest fiasco he doubled down and said, “I will continue to play the game how I play the game, operate how I operate, be exactly who I am.”12

The same is true of many other players. Take Karl Malone, Charles Barkley, and Rasheed Wallace for example. Each racked up over 300 technical fouls over the course of their careers! Clearly these players weren’t too deterred by whatever punishment they received. And the same can be said of the whole list of NBA players who’ve recorded over 100 technicals.13

If the NBA wants “repeat offenders” like Draymond to change, clearly it has to try something different. But what?

One option is increasing punishment severity: heavier fines, longer suspensions, maybe even league removal. This policy would surely do more to deter unsportsmanlike conduct, but also, it would probably ruin the NBA. Player-Franchise relationships would deteriorate, fans would be pissed, and everyone would miss out on good basketball. Because of these costs, I don’t think severe punishment is a viable solution.

Ideally, instead of solely using punishment to deter unsportsmanlike conduct, the NBA would also address its root causes. What exactly is it that causes players like Draymond to act out?

Maybe it’s something about the players. They could have trauma, mental disorders, or difficulty regulating their emotions. Or maybe it’s something about the NBA. It could be allowing tensions to rise too high during games, failing to prevent disrespectful fans, or treating players unfairly.

Whatever it is, the NBA should investigate this problem to determine its root causes, and then provide the appropriate solutions. Solutions might include stuff like new rules, therapy, community workshops, and a change in NBA culture.

I’m imagining going to an NBA executive and telling him about these ideas. I imagine he might laugh at me, and tell me how unfeasible these solutions are. And I’d agree that these solutions are huge undertakings, but what I’d try to explain is that they’re still less work than sticking to the traditional punishment scheme. In the long run, it’s always easier to address root causes because otherwise, problems will continue to resurface. To use a metaphor, it’s easier to grab the weed by its roots, than it is to endlessly trim.


I was talking to my dude bro friend about Draymond’s suspension a couple days ago, and at first, we both agreed that he deserved the punishment. He’s simply done this too many times, we said. But then, my friend, who’s also a borderline prison abolitionist, started to question our conclusion. Why should we accept the “repeat offender” logic in the NBA context, but not the Criminal Justice context?

Well, there are many ways to distinguish the criminal context from the basketball context. NBA players are unsportsmanlike, criminals are often violent.14 NBA players are multimillionaires, criminals are often poor.15 NBA players are suspended from basketball games, criminals are suspended from their lives.

These distinctions are certainly meaningful, but the more I think about it, the more I see these two situations as analogous. Both the NBA and the Criminal Justice System are hyper focused on punishment, both fail to address root causes, and both fail to eliminate the problems they purport to solve. #FreeDraymond.

Just as NBA punishment fails to deter unsportsmanlike conduct, criminal punishment fails to deter crime. If you don’t believe me, just look at how many times Draymond has tapped opponents in the balls, and look at how many former prisoners are reincarcerated. In America, 68% of released prisoners are re-arrested within three years, and 83% are re-arrested within nine years.16

Our Criminal Justice System is based on the flawed assumption that incarceration is an effective deterrent. It isn’t!

The U.S. Department of Justice itself has stated this. In its article “Five Things about Deterrence” it wrote, “Sending an individual convicted of a crime to prison isn’t a very effective way to deter crime.” It goes on to explain that this is because criminals rarely consider the severity of punishment, rather, they consider their perceived likelihood of being caught. Thus, even for America’s most severe punishment, the death penalty, there’s no evidence of a deterrence effect.17

And honestly, forget what the Department of Justice says, and just take a second to think about it. When people commit crimes, the Justice System’s standard remedy is to lock them up inside of a cage. What does that do to address crime’s root causes? Tearing someone away from their family and community, immersing them in a toxic prison environment, marking them with a criminal record that prevents them from transitioning back into society,18 does any of this really help prevent crime?

I doubt it. When people do harmful things, that is an indicator that they need our love and support, not that they need their life further upended. Instead of perpetuating violence with harsh punishments, we must disrupt violence with compassionate alternatives.

What are these alternatives? I’m far from being an expert on this subject, but I want to briefly lay out my two favorite ideas below.

The first idea is to be more like Norway. Over the span of thirty years, Norway was able to drop its two-year recidivism rate (the percentage of released prisoners who are re-arrested within two years) from 70% to 20%.19 How did the Norwegians do it?

Simple, they came together to overhaul the prison system as they knew it! Beginning in the 1990’s, Norway began to transition from a punitive, deterrence based system, to one more humane and effective. This included building small, decentralized jails to allow prisoners to remain close to home and see their loved ones; building single prisoner cells that resemble dorm rooms; building prisons with schools, amenities, and community spaces; granting prisoners the right to vote; capping maximum sentences at 30 years; and cutting 90% of sentences to less than a year long. Most importantly, Norway’s reforms were guided by a desire to recognize the dignity of each human prisoner.19

Today, Norway has one of the lowest crime rates, recidivism rates, and prison populations in the world.19 And while Norway is certainly different from America, I’m hopeful that many of these lessons are transferable.

The second alternative idea is Restorative Justice. Restorative Justice is a process where the offender and victim voluntarily meet to discuss their experiences, often with a mediator and community members present. The goal is for the victim to feel empowered, for the offender to recognize the harm they caused, and for both parties to agree on an appropriate remedy.20

Research on Restorative Justice shows that it has considerable benefits. A 2007 meta-analysis found that, compared to traditional criminal justice, Restorative Justice reduced victims’ post-traumatic stress, increased offenders’ satisfaction with justice, reduced economic costs, and reduced recidivism.21

Turns out, there are better ways to deal with crime than the American prison system. For the sake of everyone suffering within its cages, we must desperately fight to see them implemented.


At this point, I’ve strayed quite far from Draymond Green’s basketball antics. Allow me to bring us back with a clever pun.

You can’t use punishment to stomp out the problems! 

For real though, we need to end our obsession with punishment, and we need to work together to confront the root causes of social problems. That means divesting from punishment, policing, and prisons; investing in communities, education, housing, and healthcare; and finally, recognizing the deep unfairness of our society. It’s no secret that social problems are concentrated among the poor, racial minorities, and other marginalized groups. This is the result of a deeply woven, systemic oppression that we must confront and uproot.

Solving these enormous social problems will be enormously difficult, but again, what’s even more difficult is leaving them unchecked.


Sources:

[1] NBC Sports – Kings’ Domantas Sabonis suffered sternum contusion in Draymond Green stomp

[2] The Athletic – The NBA missed the point with Draymond Green’s suspension

[3] YouTube – Every time Draymond Green kicked Steven Adams in the balls

[4] NBC Sports – NBA Finals: Warriors’ Draymond Green suspended for Game 5 after 4th flagrant foul

[5] YouTube – Draymond Green punch on Jordan Poole

[6] ESPN – Numbers when Draymond Green misses Warriors playoff games

[7] ESPN – Stomp heard around the world

[8] NBA – Joe Dumars: Draymond Green suspension was an “all-day process”

[9] Wikipedia – Three Strikes Law

[10] NBA – Rule No. 12: Fouls and Penalties

[11] Hoops Hype – Draymond Green has eclipsed the $1 million mark in fines

[12] AP News – Draymond Green won’t change post-suspension

[13] Interbasket – The 20 NBA Players with the most technical fouls in history

[14] The Sentencing Project – Mass Incarceration Trends – “More than three in five people (62%) sentenced to state prison have been convicted of a violent crime.”

[15] Prison Policy Initiative – Prisons of Poverty – “Incarcerated people had a median annual income of $19,185 prior to their incarceration, which is 41% less than non-incarcerated people of similar ages.”

[16] U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics – 2018 Update on Prisoner Recidivism

[17] U.S. Department of Justice – Five Things about Deterrence

[18] The Brennan Center – Collateral Consequences and the Enduring Nature of Punishment

[19] First Step Alliance – What We Can Learn From Norway’s Prison System

[20] Wikipedia – Restorative Justice

[21] The Smith Institute – Restorative Justice: The Evidence

From Friend to Felon: How Eight Jurors Changed the Course of History

This is a story about hope, the American legal system, and my friend Wayne Hsiung. I hope you enjoy.

Estimated reading time: 12 minutes.

The first time I met Wayne was about a year ago. I had just moved to Berkeley and I was at a meetup for an animal rights group called “Direct Action Everywhere.” I didn’t really know what to expect, but I remember the event page said there would be free food, so I was like yo why not.

I remember pulling up and seeing a bunch of hippie white people so that was a good start. Then I made my way over to the tofu scramble and started piling it on. As I was scooping my soyboy breakfast food, Wayne, who happened to be right in front of me, turned and was like, “What’s up! I don’t think we’ve met before?”

We hadn’t, but I did already know who he was because he’s somewhat a big deal in the animal rights community. I didn’t tell him that though, instead I did that cool thing where you pretend not to already know the person you’re being introduced to.

I told him I was here to start law school, and he was like, “That’s awesome, I’m a lawyer myself!” I already knew that too, but I had to keep my cool so I was like “Woah really?” We started talking and honestly my first impression was that this is one goofy ass mf. He was super high energy, talking to me through mouthfuls of tofu, and telling me stories like this:

“I love talking to animals! I was on my way to the meetup this morning and I saw a squirrel and was like ‘Hi there Mr. Squirrel! How’s it hanging?’ I suppose I shouldn’t assume the squirrel’s gender though, isn’t it weird that we assign certain genders to certain animals?”

I was like bruh, that’s actually really funny. I like this guy. He asked me to stay after the meetup to talk to him and I thought that was really sweet. It meant a lot to me because, in my mind, this dude was actually a big deal, and because I was new to the city and feeling lonely.

He ended up asking me a lot of questions, getting my phone number, and inviting me to like three upcoming social events. That was the beginning of the end for me.


Over the next year, I joined his “Legal Llamas” defense team, where basically we meet once a week to try to make sure Wayne doesn’t get locked up. For context, Wayne’s facing like decades in prison because he likes to do this thing called “Open Rescue”, which is basically going into factory farms, rescuing animals, and then publishing everything that happens on the internet (including his face).

The reason he does this all openly is because he’s proud of it. Like yeah, it might be dangerous, and he might end up in prison, but regardless, rescuing animals is the right thing to do. He often uses the “dog in a hot car” analogy to explain this. If you would break into someone’s car to save a dog from overheating, he says, then you should also break into a factory farm to save a pig from slaughter.

Even as an animal activist, when I first heard about all this I thought it was kind of extreme. I think there was just something about breaking the law that didn’t sit right with me. But then I thought about it some more and realized it’s actually super fucking hype. And that’s because I know if I was an animal on a factory farm, then I’d certainly want someone to rescue me.

Anyway, our weekly legal meetings were pretty fun. I’d usually take the bus to Wayne’s house, knock on his door, and then wait for his dogs Oliver and Lisa to start barking. I always thought it was really sweet how he’d respond to this, never by telling them to stop barking, but instead with a compassionate, “I know, I know, very scary.”

Our team would discuss the seven or so ongoing cases he’s facing. He’d assign us action items like “Is the ‘necessity defense’ available in North Carolina?” and “Is the Iowa ‘agricultural trespass’ law unconstitutional?” Our team was small and inexperienced (basically just Wayne, another attorney, and some first year law students), but we made up for it in passion. Often, Wayne’s cat Joan would join us for moral support.

Joan hard at work

I got to be pretty good friends with Wayne too. We’ve played basketball together a couple times and, although his jumpshot is broken beyond repair, he is a decent defender. We’ve also shared a lot of meals together, and the funniest thing is he always takes at least three bites of whatever he’s eating before he starts chewing, so it’s not uncommon to catch him with these big overflowing cheeks, food on the verge of escape.

As far as I can tell, he’s basically always in a good mood, and he just really loves people. You can see it in the way he feeds off their energy. It’s common to find him surrounded by a group of people, smiling, and talking about literally anything, because he’s almost always got something to say. And you can also see it in the way he gives people his full attention, always asking about their lives, and listening to their stories. It’s really touching honestly.

His love for animals is probably even more pronounced. He’s always talking about his dogs and how much they’ve inspired him. One time he told me that whenever he sees an animal suffering, he just imagines that it’s his dog Oliver, and that’s what motivates him to risk decades of life in prison. At his new apartment in San Francisco he doesn’t even have a bed, he just sleeps on the floor with Oliver.


Wayne became a felon last December when a jury convicted him of burglary for rescuing a goat from slaughter. I was worried for him, but he didn’t end up in jail, and I think that’s because, over the course of the trial, the prosecutor realized that Wayne’s actually a good guy, so the prosecutor actually went ahead and specifically requested the judge not to issue a prison sentence. The prosecutor even gave Wayne a hug after everything was over.

After his felony conviction, someone reported Wayne to the California state bar to try to revoke his attorney license. At first, things weren’t looking so great (typically felons don’t also get to be lawyers), and the Legal Llamas were scrambling to oppose his disbarment. I was stressed because the legal supervisor of my “independent pro bono project” was close to losing his license, and I was angry, because apparently rescuing animals is a “crime of moral turpitude” that gets you disbarred. But the craziest thing is, the state bar actually granted our motion to keep Wayne’s license, so now Wayne is both a registered felon and a registered lawyer.

Possibly the biggest reason why we won is because we actually had the support of the very prosecutor that had just convicted Wayne. The prosecutor ended up signing a letter on Wayne’s behalf stating that 1) Wayne’s a person of good character, and 2) Wayne’s motives were unlike any he’d ever seen before.

Honestly, it’s stuff like this that makes me respect Wayne so much. Like bruh, how do you get the same prosecutor who just convicted you of two felonies to also help you remain a licensed attorney.

Wayne has also done this same thing with a literal factory farmer. Back in 2017, Wayne conducted an investigation into Norbest, one of the largest industrial turkey farms in the nation. He exposed the awful cruelty inside these facilities and rescued a few turkeys. This got him stuck with more felony charges, but eventually they ended up getting dropped because Wayne actually became friends with the owner of the factory farm, Rick Pitman. Now, instead of a trial, the two of them have plans to host a town hall and discuss food system reform. And not only that, but over the last few thanksgivings, Rick has “pardoned” more than a hundred turkeys, and even visited some of them at their new sanctuary homes.

It’s wild. I guess animal rights activists and factory farmers really can be friends.

But also, to be real here, most of us are not Sir Wayne Hansen Hsiung in all of his glory. Most of us will never risk our freedom to save animals from factory farms, and most of us will never be able to fit that much food into our cheeks before chewing. But nevertheless, each of us is endowed with the power & agency to create change in this world. And whether that’s done by screaming into a megaphone, or simply by having a conversation with a friend, it’s all incredibly meaningful.

The rest of this piece is about Wayne’s latest trial, and how eight ordinary people from southern Utah courageously used their power to make the world a kinder place.


It all started back in 2007 when Smithfield foods, the largest pig slaughterer in the world, promised to phase out “gestation crates.” Gestation crates are these awful torture devices used by animal agriculture to confine mother pigs. Basically, the mother is trapped in a cage that’s just barely bigger than her body (so small that she can’t even turn around), and she’s forced to live in these conditions for nearly her entire life.

In 2017, Wayne got hold of public satellite imagery that suggested Smithfield hadn’t followed through on this promise, so he and some friends decided to conduct an investigation into Smithfield owned Circle Four Farms, the largest pig farm in America.

Circle Four is this massive, sprawling operation with shed after shed of tortured pigs. It spans over twenty miles long and processes over a million pigs every year. Wayne sometimes calls Circle Four the “heart of darkness,” and I think the name is quite fitting.

This summer I visited the farm myself and it was really heartbreaking. It’s illegal to go on the property, so instead I just stood outside on one of the public roads, hundreds of feet away. The saddest part is that, even from such a distance, I could still hear the pigs screaming. It hurts me to know how much each of them is hurting.

When Wayne conducted this investigation into Circle Four, he said it was some of the worst animal cruelty he’s ever seen. He found row after row of entrapped mother pigs, screaming, thrashing, and gnawing on the bars of their cages. Feces everywhere, piles of dead piglets. Suffering, suffering, and more suffering.

I’ve reviewed hours of this footage myself to prepare for trial. Sometimes I’m able to detach myself from the horror of it all, but sometimes it’s too much, and I break down in tears.

One of the billions of mother pigs forced to endure hell on earth

What makes me feel a little bit better is at least Wayne was able to rescue two piglets that night. They were the smallest of their siblings and appeared on the verge of death. He picked them up, brought them to a vet, and nursed them back to health. On the first night of their rescue, one of the piglets slept on Wayne’s chest. Today, their names are Lily & Lizzie, and they’re living happily at an animal sanctuary.

Wayne holding Lily the piglet

All this footage got compiled into a ten minute video dubbed “Operation Deathstar”, and was published in the New York Times. Upon publication, the paper reached out to Smithfield Foods for comment, and that was likely the first time the corporation learned of what had happened. Smithfield put out a statement saying “the video appears to be highly edited and even staged in an attempt to manufacture an animal care issue where one does not exist.”

Criminal charges were filed soon after. Wayne got hit with four felonies and was suddenly facing over fifty years in prison.

One of the crazier parts of this whole story is that the fucking FBI was also super involved. Believe it or not, the FBI actually tracked down Lily & Lizzie across state lines, and pulled up to the animal sanctuary where they were living. The agents arrived in six cars and bulletproof vests, demanding DNA samples of the two piglets. This entailed immobilizing Lizzie, cutting off nearly two inches of her ear as she screamed in pain, and sanctuary staff weeping and begging the agents to stop. The agents were themselves so disturbed by this conduct that they decided not to subject Lily to the same mutilation. Weeks after the raid, the sanctuary happened to get a phone call from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, claiming that the shelter lacked the legally required licenses.

FBI Agents restraining Lizzie and mutilating her ear

It’s absurd that the FBI felt the need to get involved in a burglary case involving two missing piglets. But I guess that’s the thing, for Smithfield and the FBI, it was never about the piglets. They couldn’t care less about the piglets. Rather, it was about maintaining the status & wealth of animal agriculture.

And the industry knows that, in order to maintain this status, it must silence its critics. Because it knows that people don’t want animals to be tortured. It knows that it only takes 10 seconds of factory farm footage for people to realize something is wrong here. And it’s this very awareness that drives the industry to move in silence.

And unfortunately, the government is more than willing to do the industry’s work for them. That’s why we have “ag-gag” laws that make it a crime to take photos inside factory farms. That’s why prosecutors ignore animal cruelty complaints. That’s why FBI agents raid animal sanctuaries. And that’s why Wayne is being prosecuted for rescuing dying animals.


The trial itself was kind of a blur. I remember arriving at our Airbnb in southern Utah and one of the first things Wayne said was, “Sorry, no time for pleasantries”, and that sums things up pretty well. And honestly, it’s not that I was slammed with assignments, a lot of the time I didn’t have anything to do, I think it just felt busy due to the anxiety of seeing someone you love fight for their freedom.

Most of us weren’t allowed into the courtroom because the judge was worried our supporters would intimidate the jurors, so instead I watched Wayne argue from the couch of our Airbnb. He decided to go “pro se”, which is an obnoxious way of saying he decided to represent himself as his own lawyer, but also it does sound kind of cool. I snacked on Takis & cashews as Wayne confessed to the jury that there was no mystery here, he was indeed the one whodunit and taken the piglets. And I cheered with my fellow Legal Llamas as Wayne cross-examined Smithfield employees, the state veterinarian, and the FBI agent assigned to his case. The FBI cross-examination was particularly gratifying. “Are you aware of any other FBI investigation of a burglary involving less than $100 of stolen property?” Obviously, the answer was no.

It was times like these that you could sense Wayne’s frustration, but I think that worked to his advantage. He just appeared so authentic through it all. Whether it was his anger for the system, or his compassion for the animals, you could really feel all of it. And this was in contrast to the State yelling “Objection!” every time Wayne tried talking about animal cruelty or government corruption. Over the course of the trial, I think it became pretty evident that, while Wayne was speaking from the heart, the State was trying to prevent the jury from fully understanding the circumstances. At one point, we literally had to use scissors to cut out a chunk of a jury photo exhibit, because that chunk was deemed to be evidence of “inadmissible animal cruelty.”

Although animal cruelty evidence was heavily constricted, Wayne was allowed to have some pretty cool “character witnesses” come testify on his behalf. These are basically people whose job is to show up and be like “Yup, Wayne’s a good guy.” One was this highly accredited law professor named Justin Marceau who’s attended both the Air Force Academy and Harvard Law. He testified to Wayne’s good and “patriotic” character. I remember thinking it’s sad that we have to lean into elitism & nationalism to legitimize our cause. Another witness was everyone’s favorite factory farmer, Rick Pitman, who literally dropped one of the most fire lines of the trial, “There’s a difference between stealing a turkey … or whether he’s trying to rescue a turkey that’s suffering.”

At night when we went back to the Airbnb everyone would hangout together except for Wayne, because he was working around the clock to make sure he effectively pro se’d. I was fortunate enough to have the free time to strike up a deep conversation with Wayne’s co-defendant Paul one night. I asked them what they think about the animal movement’s emphasis on veganism and personal purity. They told me that, while they do personally prefer to avoid animal products, they don’t actually think veganism is all that important. They pointed to their clothes as an example of a product also derived from exploitation. They explained how difficult it is to live an ethical life when our system is configured to disincentivize ethical options, and that in order to create real change, we must reconfigure this system. I also asked them if they’re optimistic about the future of the animal rights movement. They said it’s hard for them to imagine us having much success unless we ally with other justice movements.

The last day of the trial was definitely the most eventful. It started with the prosecution trying to do damage control for the limited animal cruelty evidence that had already been admitted. They had a Smithfield employee testify that the company looks out for sick animals and provides them with veterinary care. This was both bullshit and a bad strategic move on their part. Wayne lit the guy up on cross-examination and got him to admit that Smithfield only hires a total of 2 veterinarians for every 1.2 million pigs. This was also a poor strategic move because by addressing the issue of animal welfare, the prosecution “opened the door” to all of our cruelty evidence that was previously inadmissible.

Wayne immediately made this “Hey they just opened the door!” argument to the judge, and the judge actually agreed, but he also said that since it was Friday and there’s a three day weekend approaching, he didn’t want to have another day of trial just for the defense to present cruelty evidence. This was incredibly frustrating for us to hear, because obviously the outcome of this case shouldn’t be determined by the happenstance of an approaching federal holiday. And it felt kind of ridiculous that, even after the prosecution opened the door, we were still denied the opportunity to present this critical evidence.

I think the judge recognized all this, which is why he did give us the option for a “mistrial”, but this kind of just felt like he was throwing us a bone. The problem is that with a mistrial, the defendants can be retried again later. We passed on the offer and moved forward with the proceedings.

In his closing statement, Wayne reemphasized that he was indeed the person who had taken the piglets, but that there’s a difference between stealing property, and rescuing an animal who’s suffering. He empowered the jury to find him not guilty, not on the basis of a technical legal issue, but rather because they believed he did the right thing.

The jury was sent to deliberate, and Wayne walked out of the courthouse to address me and the forty-ish other people crazy enough to put their lives on hold for this trial. He told us he wasn’t too optimistic about the verdict. He felt like he hadn’t really been able to connect with the jurors, and he was just so tired. I felt for him in that moment. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be to have to convince people that, no, I shouldn’t go to prison for rescuing animals.

He ended up telling us a sad story from earlier that day. Basically, he’d spent a lot of time alone with the judge and the prosecution, and there was plenty of down time, so sometimes they’d start talking about unrelated matters. The prosecution mentioned other convictions they were working on, the judge mentioned some death penalty cases he presided over, and through it all, Wayne said he just couldn’t get over how casual they were. It was hard for him to comprehend the ease with which these people could discuss incarceration and death. How people can become desensitized to something as serious as locking someone up in a cage. He said it reminded him of factory farming, and how indifferent people are to the animals and their suffering.

When Wayne finished speaking, Paul grabbed the megaphone and told a slightly different story. Paul echoed Wayne’s frustrations, but more than anything, they spoke of their empathy for the prosecutors. “They are people too,” they said. And the prosecutors, like the rest of us, are part of a larger system that incentivizes & normalizes these terrible things. It was moving to hear them speak so lovingly of the very people who’ve been fighting to imprison them for the last five years.


The next day, the eight jurors did something that surprised most of us: they unanimously found Wayne and Paul not guilty of all charges. This sets a major precedent for the animal rights movement. For the first time in history, two defendants have been acquitted in an open rescue trial. I was on an airplane back home when I first heard the news, and I remember looking out the window and laughing because, holy shit, we fucking did it.

I can’t be sure why the jurors made their decision, but I feel confident that it has something to do with the fact that they care about animals, and that when they took the time to reflect, they chose kindness over cruelty.

I hope this sends a message to animal agriculture. Because even in conservative, rural Utah, people chose to side with animal activists over Smithfield and the State.

And I hope this empowers people everywhere to rise up. Because we are not alone in believing that factory farming is morally unacceptable, and that animals deserve kindness & respect. Together, we can abolish this despicable industry, and transition to a more compassionate food system, one that doesn’t inflict such vast amounts of violence & misery.

Most of all, I hope this story inspires people to open their hearts to the suffering that surrounds us. Because yes, while it is painful to gaze out into the world and meet the eyes of the trillions of individuals who need our help, it’s also liberating. Because there is nothing more fulfilling than to be part of something greater than ourselves, and to join this struggle for justice.

Together, we can create something so much better than this. A world where poverty, incarceration, & slaughterhouses are all a memory of the past. A world where every sentient being experiences freedom & happiness. The more of us that believe in this vision, the more likely we are to achieve it. And one day, I feel confident we will.

Until every animal is free.

Sources

Direct Action Everywhere: Operation Deathstar

The Intercept: The FBI’s Hunt for Two Missing Piglets Reveals the Federal Cover-Up of Barbaric Factory Farms

The New York Times: Animal Welfare Groups Have a New Tool: Virtual Reality

The Intercept: Activists Acquitted in Trial for Taking Piglets from Smithfield Foods

The New York Times: Animal Rights Activists are Acquitted in Smithfield Piglet Case

Red Canary: A Thanksgiving Tale of Turkey Liberation and Human Decency

Report Cards, Sex, & Worthiness

I’ve gotten good grades pretty much my whole life. And it’s always felt so affirming. I can still remember the rush of opening my report cards in elementary school. The anxiety & excitement beforehand, and then the pride & validation when I saw that I had done well. “Yes, I am smart!”

Getting good grades really became part of my identity. I was the smart kid. The one who was in advanced math classes and got straight A’s and outscored my friends on the standardized tests. It all just felt so good. It gave me a lot of confidence.

My memory is a testament to that. I can still remember my GPA, my AP scores, my SAT score. I treasured these accomplishments. And it felt even better when I knew I had ranked in the top percentiles. I know it wasn’t just the scores that mattered to me, it was the scoring higher than others that really did it.

It’s all pretty fucking toxic, but I don’t really blame myself. Everyone from my friends to my teachers to my parents (and especially my parents, insert tangent about Asian parents) was praising me for my “academic achievements”. And they started me young too. From the minute I got in first grade and started getting the E for Excellent instead of the S for Satisfactory. Of course I was going to internalize that shit.

But since I’ve usually been on top, this ranking system has mainly just served to boost my ego (and give me a pass into elite institutions which will now give me a pass into a high paying job). But this year, I actually ranked on the bottom of the report card hierarchy. And I didn’t think I’d care that much, but it definitely stung. And it stung even more when I talked to my friends, and learned that I ranked lower than them.

I want to be seen as intelligent. And I worry that when people learn I’ve done poorly, they’ll think I’m dumb. And even worse, I worry that I am dumb.

So at first, I’d try fighting these insecurities with thoughts like “It’s only because I didn’t try.” And this may or not be true, I can’t really say for sure. But this coping mechanism is honestly just another trap. It doesn’t address the root of the problem. It still suggests that my grades are a reflection of my intelligence.

And I think quite obviously, that just can’t be true. Intelligence is such a broad, vague, & immeasurable concept. It feels sort of ridiculous that we’ve tried reducing it to letters and numbers. And it feels sort of ridiculous that I ever bought into the idea.

And to go even deeper, I guess the real root of the problem is that I tie my intelligence to my worth. Fuck it! Maybe some people are objectively smarter than me. But I don’t see how that makes me a lesser human.

Unfortunately though, these rationalizations don’t totally solve my problem. They certainly help, but my ego still winces when I look up and see my friends above me on the report card hierarchy. I suppose that’s okay though, those feelings are to be expected. What else happens when you raise a kid in a world where, their entire life, they are told that their grades are a reflection of their self-worth. Where they see their peers rejoicing at the A’s and tearing up at the C’s. Their teachers praising the top scorers, their parents asking them why they didn’t do better, the “smart kids” getting accepted to the big name schools and everybody talking about it like it’s a big deal because apparently it is a big deal and damn I guess I should congratulate them when I see them because, you know, not everybody gets in there! It all makes it just a little bit impossible to not get caught up on the numbers & letters.

I’m trying to unlearn it though. And all the other social ranking systems too. Hopefully one day I’ll be perfectly content to rank lower than others on whatever measurement society casts on me next.


It’s so fucking unfortunate that we’re wired for this constant exercise of social comparison. Whether it’s grades, beauty, salary, or sex, we absorb these value systems and use them to calculate our self-worth.

The ranking system that’s really fucked with me the most is the whole “virginity”, “body count”, here’s my resume of sexual experiences bullshit. I’ve absorbed these standards so deeply. Sometimes I really feel like I’m undesirable, unworthy, & unlovable just because I haven’t had enough sex with enough people. And it’s so fucked up because I don’t even want to have sex with lots of people. I just want to feel good about myself. And yet somehow, my brain has been wired so that the thing I don’t even want is also the very thing that makes me feel lesser.

Again though, it makes sense. Society puts a lot of emphasis on romance & sex. And for men in particular, we’re expected to have an insatiable appetite for sex, and our sexual partners are supposed to be a reflection of our worth. The amount of times I’ve had to hear men brag about their sexual experiences is so fucking cringe it actually hurts to think about right now. I don’t blame them though!


So what does make someone worthy? If it’s not wealth, intelligence, beauty, or any other trait that we use to rank & compare? I’m not totally sure, but I have a working theory (it’s probably not super interesting or original though).

Maybe worthiness stems from experience. I’d like to say that so long as someone has experiences, they are worthy of having good experiences. People deserve to feel happy, worthy, & loved. Regardless.

But how exactly does worthiness stem from one’s experience? I guess my logic goes something like this. I know I want to feel worthy & loved. And I know everyone else wants to feel that too. And so long as people have these desires, we should aim to satisfy them. Because it’s a basic principle that we should aim to make everyone feel good. Because positive emotions are intrinsically good.

But what about extreme examples like Hitler and Osama Bin Laden? Do people who orchestrate mass atrocities deserve to feel worthy? Maybe crimes like these revoke one’s worthiness. Or maybe not, maybe we should still try to make evildoers feel worthy. Because indiscriminately spreading love & forgiveness to the world might make it a better place. And because maybe harmful urges are just illnesses to be treated & prevented, not individual moral failures. I’m not sure.

Anyway, I hope everyone reading this can find the courage & confidence to reject the social standards around us. They don’t define us. As long as you’re sentient, and as long as you’re not Hitler or Osama, you’re probably pretty good to go. You deserve to feel worthy & loved! Actually though.

me lecturing at my law school

https://drive.google.com/file/d/19bN1mKxXVFj7GP585jNSFfqeD_PRDnVi/view?usp=sharing

I recently organized this event at my law school. I titled it “What will future generations think of factory farming?”. About 20-25ish people showed up (mostly friends of mine). It’s probably the thing I’m most proud of myself for ever doing.

The video is a 15 minute lecture. It’s pretty sad honestly. I mostly describe factory farming conditions, and urge the audience to empathize with the victims’ experiences. It’s also an inside look on how I think about this issue, and how deeply I care. Please watch if you got the time.

Together we will end this atrocity.

“Meat”

I just got back from vacationing with my friends. It was super fun but the meals were tough honestly. Everyone was eating animals except me, and that made me feel uncomfortable & isolated. I didn’t want to say anything though because that would make them all uncomfortable too. And worse, they might think I’m annoying & preachy. I want them to like me so I don’t say anything.

It wasn’t like this until recently, but being around meat actually puts me on edge these days. I think my cognitive dissonance around it all has just slowly broken down.

I always knew meat came from dead animals, but I didn’t really know. Not until recently at least. Even when I stopped eating meat a few years ago, it hadn’t fully sunk in. I’ve had to gradually chip away at this dissonance between food & animals. It’s painful sometimes.

Meat is someone’s corpse. It might sound weird to hear it that way. But yeah, animals are someones. They are individuals. They have desires & emotions. They have experiences and a will to live. Meat is someone who was brutally tortured their entire life, and then stabbed in the throat.

It’s tough because I know my friends think about it way differently than me. To them it’s food. To me it’s someone’s body. It’s a constant reminder of all the cruelty & violence that goes unnoticed.

It happens to me all the time now. I’ll walk into my living room and see my roommate thawing his beef. I’ll watch someone’s story and see the chicken wings. And of course, most meals I have with others, someone is chewing on an animal.

It makes me feel pretty isolated sometimes. Because I’m usually the only one who feels this way. And it’s not exactly an easy conversation to have. People literally get upset if you remind them they’re eating someone who used to be alive.

I don’t think eating animals makes you a bad person. We’re raised in a world that gives us every incentive to do so. It’s just so fucking sad. That we put bits & pieces of corpses on the dining table and cut them up and shove them down our throats. That we do so without a second thought. That we’re so removed from it all. If you were an animal, would you want someone to slit your throat?

Calling it “meat” is messed up itself. It conceals so much. Which is the only reason we can use the word so casually.

Meat is someone. Someone that was tortured. Someone that had everything taken from them. All for the sake of a 15 minute meal.

Animals want to live. They want to live. I’m fucking horrified by the slaughterhouse footage I’ve seen. Of the animals fighting for their lives, desperately trying to escape. They can’t do shit though. They’re so vulnerable, and humans have exploited that vulnerability. We have denied them their lives and made them our “meat”.

We can be so much better. This has to end.

I live in a big ass house

My family lives in a mansion on top of a hill. It’s kind of beautiful honestly. We have these huge open rooms we use for different purposes. In one of them there’s our ping pong table. In another, there’s the piano & the fireplace. And then in the courtyard, our grill, and the fire pit we all gather around. I think our kitchen is the best feature: always spotless, because Adelina comes to clean twice a week, with white tiles, granite countertops, and these long glass windows that take up the whole wall. They let in the light in the mornings, and we can see over the mountains and into the city.

It feels weird describing my house like this. It sounds so luxurious, and it is. But to me, having basically grown up there, it kind of just feels like life.

We moved in when I was in 9th grade. Before that we lived in a more modest, upper-middle class, suburban home. I remember I was pissed when we first moved. Because in 9th grade, for the first time in my life, I had neighborhood friends. Like the type of friends you hangout with after school. I’d never had that before, so it kind of meant the world to me. When my family moved I had to leave them behind, and that made me really angry & sad.

I put up a huge fight honestly. It’s kind of hilarious to think back on. I really was the typical angsty teenager, just my reasons for being upset were pretty unique, “I don’t want to move into the new mansion!” For the months leading up to the move, I made it very clear how upset I was about it all.

The week we moved in was actually the worst. My parents were already stressed about moving, and my anger just added fuel to the fire. I refused to help move a single thing. I couldn’t help it. I was a principled man, and I stood true to my values. I wasn’t going to sellout and help aid the tyrannical regime. I had to go on strike.

I remember one of the movers was this Mexican guy, and somehow me and him got to talking, and he started telling me about what he does. When he had time, he would pack toys & supplies, and he would truck them down to Mexico, where he gave them to children & families. I thought that was the realest shit I’d ever heard, and so I offered to give him all my toys. And obviously my spoiled ass had a lot of fucking toys. My nerf swords, my Pokemon cards, my laser tag guns, my Magic Tree House collection, I gave him all that shit.

Later that day, I told my parents what I’d done. Obviously I had to flex. I wasn’t trying to give away all my toys without at least getting commended for my kindness & generosity. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the response I received.

My parents actually got really fucking mad at me for what I’d done, and it started a huge argument. They started saying shit about how the toys weren’t mine to give away. They had paid for them. And I was like yeah, but you gave them to me. And I don’t even use most that shit anymore. And anyways, you never would’ve even noticed the toys were gone if I hadn’t just told you. Obviously I was completely right, I always am when I argue with my parents, and that just made them even more angry.

I really started taking the moral high ground. At one point I compared my actions to Jesus Christ and Guru Nanak (founder of my family’s Sikh religion). My parents thought that was pretty funny but they were still pissed. We stayed mad at each other for a couple days, but we got over it.

The argument was just such a huge deal at the time. There was so much tension leading up to it, and it all culminated during that fight. I was outraged that we had moved, outraged that my charity had been met with anger, and not approval. My parents were pissed cause I had straight up been an asshole for the last few months. Everyone was stressed and we all took it out on each other.

The argument literally still gets brought up to this day. This summer we were all eating dinner with my cousins in Chicago and my uncle lightheartedly brought it up. My parents started making jokes about my, now infamous Guru Nanak comparison, and I started getting defensive. Straight up I am still salty. Cause honestly it is fucked up. If my kid volunteered to give away all their toys I would be so fucking proud of them. It’s actually still so hard to believe my parents got mad at me for that.

But I guess I got to have empathy for them. My parents didn’t grow up rich & spoiled like me. My Papa in particular grew up relatively poor. His parents were immigrants, and he was first generation. Often, he’ll tell me about the cockroaches that used to infest their apartment, the arguments his parents would have over money, fueled by the constant stress of never having enough. He worked hard his entire fucking life so he could become the successful ass lawyer he is, so he could provide for me & Kirin, so he could give us everything he never had.

So when I gave away my toys, maybe it seemed like a rejection of the love & affection he’d given me. To me they were just toys, to him they were gifts, they were his love.

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To this day, I’m still embarrassed by our mansion. By now at least, I have the confidence to invite people over to our house, or to write about it in this blog. But when we first moved in, I was so fucking embarrassed. I purposely didn’t invite friends over for a long time. And when friends would give me rides, I’d tell them to pick me up and drop me off at the gate of our community. Cause conveniently, the gate is located at the bottom of our hill, so my friends could scoop me without having to drive up, without having to pass the rows of mansions, without having to drop me off at the top, and watch me walk through the big ass steel front doors of my house.

I think my embarrassment stemmed from guilt. I didn’t want to be caught in a mansion. Not the kind with a pool that overlooks the mountainside, and an elevator that takes you upstairs, and a whole ass guest house for our grandparents that still refuse to move in. How could I live in such luxury while my friends lived in one story homes?

I think my embarrassment also stemmed from my insecurities. I wanted people to like me for me, and not for my big ass house. I didn’t want my reputation to be the rich kid with the mansion. The kid that, maybe if you become friends with him, you can go hangout and ride the fucking elevator (me and my friends have since done this, and turns out it is quite fun).

But yeah, I felt guilty about having more than others, and about having done nothing to earn it. I was afraid people would judge me for it. I didn’t want to seem entitled. Worse, I didn’t want people to befriend me, just so they could have a taste of it too.

Eventually, my insecurities lessened. I started inviting my friends over to my big ass house. I stopped worrying too much about whether they actually liked me or the elevator. But still, whenever I go somewhere new, whether it’s college, or law school where I’m at now, I do my best to hide my privileged roots. I purposely keep my room empty. I take care to never wear anything that looks too expensive. I avoid mentioning that my dad’s a lawyer, my mom’s a doctor, and my whole life I’ve had every advantage you could imagine. Of course, I know it’s not my fault that I was born with more, and others were born with less. But still, I feel so fucking guilty.

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Growing up rich as fuck was definitely an enormous privilege. There was always stability, and always opportunity. I grew up in this white suburb. It was a great neighborhood: no violence, just the right amount of minority families, grassy front lawns, a well funded school. My elementary had this adorable little creek running in front of it where Papa and I would stop to feed the ducks. On the weekends, we’d bike around the neighborhood and the artificial lakes. Our neighbors were cool for the most part. My favorite was this mofo named Larry, who for some reason, was always fucking hosing his driveway. Shit was clean though. I think sometimes the neighbors were racist, but I guess that comes with being a brown family in the suburbs.

I attended the after school programs. I played basketball, soccer, and piano. I had limitless videogames & toys. Never once did I have to worry about food, shelter, or safety. And probably most fortunately, I had a family that was free from the stressors of violence & poverty. Everyday, they gave me all of their love.

When I went to college, I didn’t have to pay a dime. Now I’m in law school, and this shit is so fucking expensive, but I still don’t have to pay a dime. For that reason, I’m utterly terrified when my friends start talking about loans, cause I’m afraid I might have to admit to them that I can’t relate.

I’m sure my family’s wealth has benefited me in more ways than I’m aware of. I have always had every opportunity. I am so fucking fortunate (privileged).

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Wealth has also given me some perspective. I don’t chase the bag at all. I guess cause I already got the bag, shit was literally handed to me. But also, I really have no appreciation for the clothes, the houses, the cars. It’s all just shit rich people like to flex so they can signal to everyone else that they made it.

It doesn’t mean shit. It’s a reflection of their insecurities. It’s a reflection of a culture where we assign more value to property than people. It’s a fucking pointless pursuit, trying to prove our worth with watches on wrists. We’re stuck on the treadmill. When will it be enough?

Meanwhile, we got people, just a zipcode over, without food, without homes, without any kind of support. What’s it like to be them? To have to endure the Arizona summers, our 115 degree highs that are only getting higher. To not have enough to eat. To be treated with disrespect, like you’re not even there. To have to beg for help from strangers that try their hardest to ignore you. Because to the rich, the poor are an inconvenient truth, a reminder of all the suffering that still exists while we build our fucking mansions with our fucking elevators.

How do we tolerate this? Why do I get the school with the creek and the ducks? While others grow up, no creek, no ducks, having to endure all the poverty, stress, & violence. I don’t deserve this shit, and neither do they.

Wealth amidst poverty is immoral. It is the most wretched form of violence. The kind of violence we’ve learned to tolerate & normalize. For every mansion, there is someone without a home. And for every sports car, there is someone without a meal. So long as there is poverty in this world, it is immoral to be rich. It doesn’t matter whether the wealth was “earned”. Because when someone doesn’t even have enough to get by, and we have more than enough ourselves, we have a duty to help them.

How could one’s luxuries ever be more important than another’s necessities? Giving to the poor is often characterized as “charity”. But no, it’s not charity, it’s duty.

And it’s not just the rich, it’s the whole system. The system that allows for these inequities to be produced. The system that allows for poverty amidst such plenty. I don’t know all the solutions, but I know we can do better. At the least, we got to guarantee everyone food, housing, healthcare, education. It’s fucking crazy we live in the richest nation ever and we still haven’t done that. One day, I think we will.

I hope in the future, people look back on us with judgment. Because honestly, how could we? How could we ever justify the mansions & the Mercedes, while next door, people are without homes, literally fucking starving.

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Often, when I buy things for myself, I have these thoughts. Whether it’s new shoes, a concert ticket, ice cream, every dollar is a dollar I could have given to a charity that feeds starving people. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I guess I’m human, and I don’t feel the intensity of others’ suffering as my own. If I did, I certainly would live quite differently. But I do try, although I certainly could try harder.

And I suppose, far more important than any of my spending habits, is the power I have to change the system as a whole. To prevent such poverty from ever being created. We really do have to change this. We can be so much better.

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I started this reflection by writing about the beauty of my family’s mansion. I stand by that, but with some nuance. While the architecture is beautiful, the concept is shameful. That such comfort & wealth can exist amidst such suffering & poverty, that is a disgrace. A great injustice.

Our kitchen on the hill, with its white tiles, the granite countertops, and the view into the city. It’s beautiful from our vantage point, but perhaps not so much for all the people looking up.

Further Reading

A short article explaining why it’s immoral to be rich:

https://www.currentaffairs.org/2017/06/its-basically-just-immoral-to-be-rich

A longer paper written by philosopher Peter Singer, explaining why the rich have duties to the poor:

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