by Karen Davis, Ph.D.
Lantern Books (One Union Square West,
Suite 201, New York, NY 10003), 2001.
192 pages, paperback.
Reviewed by Merritt Clifton
Looking back nearly 30 years to 1990, the two most significant animal advocacy events of the year were––as expected––the first March for the Animals in Washington D.C., led by the late Tom Regan (1938-2017), and, almost completely overlooked at the time, the incorporation of United Poultry Concerns by Karen Davis.
The March for the Animals, followed six years later by a debacle of the same name, ending in low participation and much allegedly missing money, was in effect the beginning of the end of the vivisection-focused first phase of the modern animal rights movement.
That was the phase in which the issues were seen in simple terms of good guys and bad guys, and the bad guys were someone else, doing awful things in either an academic ivory tower or Dr. Frankenstein’s castle.
Where the animal rights movement turned a corner
The formation of United Poultry Concerns marked the start of the second phase, in which activists shifted their attention to what they could personally do to set an example and make a difference, for example by fixing feral cats, getting involved in electoral politics, and going vegetarian or vegan.
There were active vegetarian communes in the U.S. more than seventy years before anyone founded a humane society, and there were many other farm animal advocacy organizations before United Poultry Concerns. Already integral to the animal rights movement were the Farm Animal Rights Movement, founded by Alex Hershaft in 1981, the Humane Farming Association, founded by Brad Miller in 1985, and Farm Sanctuary, begun by Gene Baur in 1986.
Spira, Singer, Mason, Robbins
Henry Spira, the most accomplished anti-vivisection crusader of all time, had argued since 1985 that the movement should logically refocus on diet, since that would be the next opportunity to effect a steep reduction in what he termed the universe of suffering.
Neither was Davis the first to point out that chickens and other poultry, doing more than 95% of all the human-caused animal suffering and dying in the world, hold a far higher moral claim on humane movement consciousness than they have ever received. Spira recited that statistic like a mantra while pushing poultry baron Frank Perdue in futile hope of getting him to make reforms. Peter Singer, Jim Mason, and John Robbins had already pointed out the numbers in Animal Liberation, Animal Factories, and Diet For A New America.
Big groups backed away
But none of them won strong big-group support for campaigns on behalf of poultry.
The Humane Society of the U.S. began one campaign decrying the “breakfast of cruelty,” featuring bacon and eggs, then backed away as if splashed with hot grease.
American SPCA president John Kullberg in 1991 spoke out in favor of vegetarianism and got fired.
Who would stand up for the chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese?
Not I, said one big-group executive after another.
“Then I will,” said Davis, flapping her arms and thrusting her beak at Vegetarian Times founder Paul Obis during the 1990 National Animal Rights Conference, hosted by FARM in Alexandria, Virginia.
The Little Red Hen
Davis was one furious Little Red Hen (with jet-black hair) on that occasion, after Obis, who sold Vegetarian Times soon afterward and died in 2018 at age 66, accepted an ad for a prepackaged chicken pilaf mix.
Except for Obis, who could not escape down the hall no matter how he tried, and Spira, who encouraged Davis, hardly anyone took the Little Red Hen seriously at first. She had no money, no major political connections, and was even by her own admission an extreme eccentric, reportedly allowing rescued chickens to run in and out her windows and across her desk in the middle of the few very important mass media interviews that came her way.
The right person for the job
But the Little Red Hen turned out to be the right person for the job. Reporters left those strange interviews saying to themselves, and others, in calls seeking further perspective, “Karen Davis is a chicken! She is telling us what chickens would, if they could.”
They couldn’t help realizing that chickens are much more intelligent and sensitive than they had ever imagined. They found Davis likably charismatic, perhaps because of her oddness, and eventually she began getting more media attention than many of the supposed movement superstars.
More important, some reporters confessed that they could no longer eat chicken. Somehow the Little Red Hen had gotten to them.
Expanding the circle of compassion
Those who know chickens really well are aware that they do not limit their circle of compassion to their own kind. Chickens can practice cannibalism, and roosters notoriously fight to the death, yet a hen will faithfully sit on any eggs she is given, and will mother the hatchings to the best of her ability, whether they are close relatives, reptiles, or even a neonatal kitten placed in the nest to keep warm––and not because hens are too stupid to know the difference.
On the contrary, many hens will somehow know enough to lead ducklings and goslings to water, will lead other birds to whatever they need, and will even try to lead a kitten to kibble, skipping the nursing stage perhaps because they simply lack the means to nurse.
Speaking for turkeys
Such an instinct may be why The Little Red Hen wrote More Than A Meal on behalf of turkeys, and made it her best of many good books.
Davis did some first-rate investigative reporting to chase down the origins of myths about turkeys, and the origins of turkeys themselves. Her writing is passionate, yet not shrill.
For me, reading More Than A Meal first on a 2001 flight from San Francisco to Seattle, it was a page-turner, opened at takeoff and completed right at landing.
Reached a turkey biologist
As we taxied to the gate, the young man across the aisle and one row back tapped me on the shoulder, and asked if he could have the title, in order to buy his own copy. He had been reading along with me, he explained, and got hooked.
Handing him my card, I expected to hear that he was an animal rights advocate and militant vegan.
Not at all. He was a second-generation wildlife biologist. His dad was restoring huntable turkey populations not far from Davis’ home in Virginia.
Still, the young man never knew before that there was so much to know about turkeys, and he sounded as if the Little Red Hen had ensured that he would never see turkeys the same way again.