Burger King’s latest ad campaign – Whopper Virgins – is a convoluted mess of racism, sexism, speciesism and colonialism, all crammed into a a series of 15-to-30-second ads.
To wit:
Let’s dissect, shall we?
Just for the record: I’m not particularly fond of the latest PETA2 ad featuring Khloe Kardashian. However, it’s not Kardashian’s state of (un)dress that bothers, rather, it’s the way in which PETA’s photographers have posed her that irks my feminist sensibilities. Though not as bad as, say, the Suicide Girls series, Ms. Kardashian is somewhat pornified in this ad: here, her body is turned away from the camera, so that it appears that the audience is following, ogling, stalking, sneaking up on her from behind. (From a racial perspective, I also find it interesting that PETA chooses to depict one of their few women of color models with a teased, “wild” hairstyle; while I know little about Khloe Kardashian, it doesn’t appear as though she normally wears her hair this way.)
Now, if this were just one of a handful of PETA ads that resemble a Playboy layout, I’d dismiss it as inevitable; PETA recruits a number of celebs to pose for their print ads, and no doubt some of these women (and men) will prefer more sexualized poses (in our pornified society, after all, women do trade on such images in order to get ahead; and I’d much rather criticize the culture which makes such compromises necessary, as opposed to the women doing the compromising). Yet, the ad fits a larger pattern wherein
women are more likely to pose in the nude than men; and, if you were to objectively compare the PETA print campaigns which feature nude men and women, you’d see that the portrayals are drastically different. Strip away PETA’s logo and slogans, and the women’s photos look like they were pulled straight out of a recent edition of Playboy. Young, white, thin, feminine, (conventionally) attractive women are displayed on all fours, backs arched, gazes vacant, faces and torsos turned away from the camera, submissive in posture, ready for a good fuckin’. In contrast, the men’s shots are fun, funny, inspiring, humorous, and full of personality.
So yes, I do think there’s more than enough room for a feminist critique of PETA’s ads, print and otherwise. That said, I don’t at all trust feminists who objectify non-human animals (by eating, wearing, gawking at, or otherwise exploiting them) to offer an unbiased critique of an animal advocacy group’s objectification of women. Assuming that PETA is indeed sexist*, speciesist feminists are no better: both objectify a group of living, sentient beings based solely on group membership.
Furthermore, these women have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo vis-à-vis their relation to (i.e., domination of) non-human animals: if they were to accept PETA’s premise that non-human animals have rights and interests equal to those of human animals, they’d have to reconsider their meat-eating, leather-wearing, dog-buying ways. In short, they would have to acknowledge (and thus, renounce) their human privilege.
So, how do the women at Feministing (et al.) claim moral superiority, again? While they may sometimes be correct in their interpretation of PETA’s campaigns, this veg*n feminist finds them no more trustworthy than an openly, unabashedly racist white feminist criticizing civil rights leaders for their misogyny. While their conclusions may be correct, their reasoning and motivations are forever suspect.
Just as they insist that PETA needs to lose the sexism before feminists will take them seriously, they need to lose the speciesism before they can expect veg*n women to give a damn about what they have to say.
* Which is a gross generalization, considering PETA’s vast membership numbers; better still to say that president Ingrid Newkirk and/or other higher-ups is/are sexist, and the organization is sexist to the extent that Newkirk/those in charge influences their hiring and PR policies.
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Tagged: animals animal rights animal welfare peta people for the ethical treatment of animals peta2 sexism misogyny fur Khloe Kardashian flickr photos pornified women feminism speciesism
Lifelong atheists, the Mr. and I have had an increasingly ambivalent relationship with Christmas. On the one hand, x-mas is undoubtedly *the* biggest holiday of the year – and yet, it’s also a very *religious* holiday, crass consumerism and Santa hats aside. July 4th, President’s Day, Flag Day, St. Patrick’s Day…no secular holiday can compare. Even Thanksgiving and Halloween carry religious connotations. Besides protesting the holiday by spelling it with an “x” instead of a “Christ” (the weakest of protestations, I might add), what’s a godless blasphemer to do, hmmm?
In ’06, we tried celebrating Festivus in conjunction with x-mas. Given that Festivus – having only appeared in one episode of Seinfeld – is a pretty sketchy holiday, our Festivus was “Festivus” in name only: we still decorated the house with a Christmas tree, red-green-gold-silver tinsel, stockings, Santas, etc., dressed the dogs in holiday apparel, and opened presents and devoured vegan eats on December 25th. What were we gonna do – display an aluminum pole and yell at one another over dinner? We weren’t kidding anyone: it was CHRISTmas, more or less.
Last year, I had an epiphany – why not celebrate FSMas instead? We could decorate the house with pasta and pirates, and perhaps even celebrate on a day other than the 25th. And that’s what we did – I made macaroni ‘garland’ by stringing pieces of penne together, hung maroon satin bulbs (soy balls) and red lights on the tree, framed photos of His/Her/Its Noodliness, made a pirate alter in the front window, and created festive mini Flying Spaghetti Monsters using tinseled pipe cleaners, pom poms and googly eyes. We ‘officially’ recognized the holiday on December 24, so we could lounge around and relax on the 25th. (In between phone calls home, of course.) The dogs dressed as pirates, and Kaylee posed for our FSMas card surrounded by gold doubloons and Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum.
We had so much fun that we’re doing the same this year, only bigger and better. I’m reusing many of the decorations I created last year, and hopefully I’ll find time to follow up on some other ideas (especially that Noodle House – like a Gingerbread House, but with lasagna and the like). While the general theme is pasta and pirates, I’ve kind of relaxed the rules a bit from last year. As a for instance, I stuck to red (red sauce) and gold (gold booty) tinsel last year, but am also including green (pesto sauce) and silver (silver booty) tinsel this year…because I’ve got a ton of the stuff. X-mas themed stuffed animals are also allowed out of the closet this year, but only if they agree to wear pirate hats, eye patches, and gold hooks. Pirates are again all the rage, but whereas “pirates” meant eye-patched, sea-faring thieves in ’07, the definition of pirates has expanded in ’08, to include much beloved space pirates as the crew of Serenity. (Where do y’all think we got the names Kaylee and Jayne, hmmm?)
Anyway, I’ll be blogging it all on Smite Me!, so if you’re interested, keep an eye out.
Also last year, we began a tradition of starting the FSMas decorating the weekend after Thanksgiving. Which got me thinking about Thanksgiving, and whether I want to recognize a holiday that commemorates the genocide of millions of Native Americans with the genocide slaughter of millions of birds at all. (Update, 11/30/10: Genocide is “the deliberate and systematic extermination of a” [group]. Clearly, the farming of animals including turkeys does not fit this definition. The attempted extermination of wolves in the U.S. by ranchers, though, is another story…)
I’ve never been a big fan of Thanksgiving; doubly so since I went vegetarian roughly 12 years ago. Those early years, spent at my father’s mother’s house, I was lucky if there was a dish or two I could eat. I was both allergic to milk and ethically repulsed by meat, so there were precious few foods suitable for my diet. Later on, the Tofurky worked its way into pop culture consciousness and onto our table. But even then, my options mostly consisted of the Tofurky, olives (which my grandmother, having lived through the Depression, rationed out as though they were caviar) and salad. Not exactly the stuff of a feast.
The title pretty much says it all.
What *will* the mad scientists at NIH spend your tax dollars on next?
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Tagged: animals animal rights animal welfare video you tube the onion animal experimentation animal research animal testing vivisection nih ida in defense of animals
This Thursday, you have choices – the most obvious of which, is the choice between consuming this
and this.
In case y’all couldn’t tell, November has all but knocked me on my ass. I can barely manage to eke out a link roundup for easyVegan.info before flopping back into bed with a book, a doggeh, or a blankie for a good read/snuggle/nap (or some combination thereof). Perhaps it’s time to kick the sunlamp up a notch, eh?
Anyway, here’s some random stuff – elsewhere, other things, for your browsing pleasure, until I return. Whenever that may be.
- Yesterday was the 10th annual International Transgender Day of Remembrance. I haven’t really been reading a whole lot of non-veg blogs lately, so didn’t catch many of the entries, but I did like Melissa and Jack’s contributions. For more, Cara has a nice link roundup here.
- amandaw at three rivers fog lets the fully-abled individual(s) among us know what we can do to improve accessibility for those living with disability. I’ve never been one to unnecessarily take the elevator, though I will henceforth think twice and be more conscious of my surroundings before walking/running on the escalator.
- Dennis Kucinich continues to rock.
- Me want.
- If you: 1) enjoy the Alien franchise; 2) are a heroine junkie like moi; and/or 3) *heart* pop culture criticism, check out Alien Woman: The Making of Lt. Ellen Ripley by Ximena Gallardo C. and C. Jason Smith (2006):
“Alien Woman” examines the construction of sex and gender in the four science-fiction films comprising the Alien saga (starring Sigourney Weaver). The Alien saga stands alone in presenting an enduring, self-reliant female protagonist, Ripley, who in the first film ends up as the sole survivor of the beleaguered starship Nostromo. Subsequent writers and directors in the 1980′s and 1990′s, left to grapple with this strong female protagonist, re-envision Ripley for different social, political, and cultural imperatives for women. “Alien Woman” focuses on how these writers and directors have re-written Ripley and how each revision informs our understanding of women in science fiction, and by examining the films’ creation and commodification of the female hero, the book illustrates how changing attitudes toward women and the female body help us understand broader societal beliefs and relationships, and provides a useful lens with which to understand woman’s place in the late 20th century and early 21st century.
Good stuff.
- Finally, no doubt you’ve already seen this video of Sarah Palin pardoning a Thanksgiving Wasilla turkey…
…and then granting an interview while the turkey’s less-fortunate comrades are slaughtered in the background. It’s everywhere, which may or may not be a good thing, I guess.
There isn’t much I can add to what Elaine and Ryan have already said – except to note that the disconnect of meat-eating bloggers, blogging about the disconnect Palin exhibits in pardoning one turkey and then engaging in idle conversation while two more turkeys are brutally slaughtered behind her, is enough to make my (admittedly already fragile) brain disconnect from my body in a violent fucking im-/ex-plosion.
So, yeah, think about that when you’re enjoying your fat, plump, juicy, genetically modified, brutalized and abused “holiday” turkey. Turkeys like Victor, Opal, Gobbles, Elliot, Gertrude and Ariel. Turkeys with feelings, families, emotions, interests and sentience. Turkeys like the one Sarah Palin pardoned – and her barn-mates, who were slaughtered in the backdrop while Ms. Palin gushed, without a hint of irony or self-awareness, about “levity” and “at least this was fun.”
At least Palin is honest enough to acknowledge from whence her holiday corpse comes.
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Tagged: sarah palin turkey slaughter thanksgiving video you tube alien alien woman link roundup link dump lolcat sad link love
Because slapping a gaudy yellow ribbon on the back of your SUV simply won’t do.
1. Volunteer to foster a soldier’s companion animal(s) while he or she is stationed overseas.
There exist very few programs to help members of the military care for their companion animals while they are stationed overseas. Unless soldiers can recruit a family member to house and care for their “pets” while they are away, soldiers are forced to relinquish their animals – to a “pound,” a shelter, or an adoption group.
Between 6 and 8 millions dogs and cats enter U.S. shelters every year. Of these, half are euthanized murdered.
By fostering a soldier’s companion animal(s), you can save an animal’s life, and also ensure a happy reunion between a soldier and her furry friend(s) when she returns from serving her country – i.e., you.
How it works: many of the programs I’ve seen match potential foster homes with soldiers in need, based on a number of factors, including location, type of animal, and caregiver preferences. These groups are generally nonprofits, and finances are limited; consequently, veterinary and food costs, as well as terms and conditions, are usually negotiated between the soldier and caregiver.
To get started, check out Guardian Angels for Soldier’s Pet and Operation Noble Foster.
If you live near a U.S. military base, you may also want to check with local veterinarians to see if they can help match you up with soldiers in need locally. Alternately, you can coordinate with your local veterinarians to start a grassroots foster program in your area – even if you yourself are not in a position to foster an animal.
Updated to add:
Here’s the exact quote; early accounts of the press conference on the internets only had partial transcripts:
With respect to the dog. This is a major issue. I think it’s generated more interest on our web site than just about anything. We have two criteria that have to be reconciled. One is that Malia is allergic, so it has to be hypoallergenic. There are a number of breeds that are hypoallergenic, on the other hand our preference would be to get a shelter dog. But obviously a lot of shelter dogs are mutts like me. So whether we’re going to be able to balance those two things I think is a pressing issue on the Obama household.
Also irksome is the reporter’s phrasing of the question: “everyone wants to know what kind of dog are you going to buy for the girls?” Because purchasing a sentient being as if it’s a microwave or couch is the only way to bring an animal into your home, dontchaknow?
Idiot man-child Chris Matthews echoed this sentiment even after playing Obama’s response just now. Dolt.
Finally, “hypoallergenic” as it relates to dogs should really be in scare quotes; as both Elaine and the Wiki entry I link to below note, there’s no such thing as a truly hypoallergenic dog. However, there are a number of steps that those living with animals and allergies can take to minimize the misery. Shane has asthma, and we manage with five dogs and a cat. (Likewise, my mother has asthma, and has lived with dogs, cats, rabbits, birds and turtles…though not all at the same time!)
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During President-elect Obama’s first press conference this afternoon, he was asked about that puppy he promised daughters Malia and Sasha:
“With respect to the dog, this is a major issue. We have two criteria that have to be reconciled. One is that Malia is allergic, so it has to be hypoallergenic. Number 2. is that we would prefer a shelter dog, but as you know a lot of them are mutts, like me, so we’ll have to balance those issues.”
Here, Obama buys into the myth that young and/or purebred dogs are not available for adoption; that they can only be purchased from breeders. A quick perusal through animal adoption sites such as Petfinder puts this misconception to bed, as Elaine points out.
In addition to Obama’s prejudices regarding shelter dogs (i.e., all are old mutts), I’m also disturbed by his apparent willingness to flipflop on this issue if need be, despite Mrs. Obama’s promise that the family will adopt, rather than purchase a dog. (No doubt due to several high-profile campaigns encouraging them to do just this, including a letter from PETA and a petition drive from Best Friends.) Doubly so when Obama has a history of changing course when it’s politically expedient. If he can’t keep such an “inconsequential,” simple promise such as this, I don’t have much faith that he’ll, say, appoint justices who respect my bodily autonomy.
While the matter of adopting vs. purchasing the family “pet” may seem trivial, the epidemic of companion animal overpopulation and the resulting murder of 3 to 4 million cats and dogs annually is anything but. The Obamas are in the unique position to set an excellent, progressive example; and yet, President-elect Obama has already begun backtracking, hemming and hawing – at such an early date, and seemingly in response to misinformation regarding animal adoption.
I hope Best Friends continues hounding (pun intended) him on the issue.
Spoiler alert! – Namely, for Peter Jackson’s King Kong (2005). Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
OK, so perhaps this post is six days late, but I’ve been busy enjoying the last throes of warm, sunny weather here in the Midwest. Plus, there was this minor matter called the presidential elections on Tuesday…maybe you’ve heard of it?
As I mentioned previously, Shane & I have a longstanding (three years now?…maybe four?) Halloween tradition: namely, we spend the day watching horror movies and scarfing junk food. This H-day was no exception, although we didn’t get though as many scary movies as we usually do; we watched three flicks, compared to the normal five or six. Probably because the first film, Peter Jackson’s King Kong, ran three and a half hours! Also on the roster were Identity and Untraceable.
Aside from some dreadful “primitive tribal heathen” stereotyping early on, King Kong is an incredible film. There’s definitely a strong (albeit most likely unintentional) animal welfare message underlying Kong’s story, and it’s handled beautifully by director Peter Jackson and actor Naomi Watts. Jackson’s Kong is the last of his (her?) kind, living a life of solitude and loneliness on Skull Island – that is, until Carl Denham (Jack Black) and crew arrive in order to film a movie. Leading lady Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) is kidnapped from her ship by the island’s natives and sacrificed to Kong (cue awful stereotypes), presumably to keep the “beast” happy, content, and out of their camp. Kong, instead of devouring Darrow, initially keeps her as a sort of “pet.” (Kong is taken with her comedic vaudeville stylings, it seems.) Darrow soon escapes, but finds herself lost on a prehistoric island filled with rampaging dinosaurs and giant bugs. Kong, distraught at his only companion’s disappearance, tracks Darrow down, just in time to save her from two raptor-like dinos. Once Darrow is safe, Kong skulks off, injured both physically (from the battle) and emotionally (at Darrow’s desertion). Whether from fear or compassion (or, most likely, a combination of both), Darrow rejoins Kong.
Meanwhile, in the face of stampeding brontos and an angry Kong, Denham’s crew has abandoned their search for Darrow. Instead, they leave Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody) to continue the search for Darrow (with whom he’s fallen in love), while the crew heads back to the ship in order to set a trap (unbeknown to Driscoll) for Kong, who’s sure to pursue the pair. Driscoll manages to find Kong’s den, which is littered with the bones of Kong’s long-dead relatives. Darrow is asleep in Kong’s palm; the two, who have formed a reciprocal, interspecies bond, watched the sun set and then nodded off together. Driscoll wakes Darrow, and the two attempt to sneak away without rousing Kong. Kong awakes in time to see the two creeping away together, and in the ensuing scuffle, a hoard of bats stir from their cliffside perch and attack the trio. Driscoll and Darrow manage to hitch a ride on one of the bats’ backs, and Kong runs after them in frenzied pursuit.
Naturally, this is where the story becomes a tearjerker. Kong is tranquilized, captured and caged during his attempt to retake a regretful Darrow. Back in NYC, Kong becomes part of a grotesque monster display, wherein Darrow’s sacrifice to the beast is reenacted for the entertainment of “horrified” audience. Darrow, who during her time with Kong had come to recognize his humanity, intelligence and sentience, wants nothing to do with the circus act, so director/showman Denham hires a Darrow lookalike to play the part. Kong begins the show partially sedated; as he comes to, he initially starts at the blond actress: I know her! Kong reaches out to Ann – only to become enraged when he realizes that it’s an impostor. Now furious, he rips free of his shackles and storms New York in search of his Ann. On the streets, he scoops up any and every thin blond he can find, only to toss the women aside when he realizes they aren’t the ones he wants.
Performing in a small, low-budget vaudeville hall, Darrow hears the commotion and runs towards Kong while throngs of flee in the other direction. Once Kong is reunited with his Jane Goodall, the two enjoy a few brief moments of reconnection. Kong, who hails from a tropical island, has never before seen ice or snow, and he delights in skidded across a pond in Central Park with Darrow perched safely in his hand. This playful scene is interrupted by a hail of gunfire; Kong, though he hasn’t intentionally harmed anyone (and is in fact a captive slave in the city, there against his will), must be destroyed! You probably know the rest: Kong is pursued by the police and military to the top of the Empire State Building, from which he is eventually gunned down.
Kong dies for our stupidity, greed, selfishness and speciesism.
In The New York Times, “Farm Boy” Nicholas Kristof “Reflects” on time spent murdering innocent, sentient beings:
Then there were the geese, the most admirable creatures I’ve ever met. We raised Chinese white geese, a common breed, and they have distinctive personalities. They mate for life and adhere to family values that would shame most of those who dine on them.
While one of our geese was sitting on her eggs, her gander would go out foraging for food—and if he found some delicacy, he would rush back to give it to his mate. Sometimes I would offer males a dish of corn to fatten them up—but it was impossible, for they would take it all home to their true loves.
Once a month or so, we would slaughter the geese. When I was 10 years old, my job was to lock the geese in the barn and then rush and grab one. Then I would take it out and hold it by its wings on the chopping block while my Dad or someone else swung the ax.
The 150 geese knew that something dreadful was happening and would cower in a far corner of the barn, and run away in terror as I approached. Then I would grab one and carry it away as it screeched and struggled in my arms.
Very often, one goose would bravely step away from the panicked flock and walk tremulously toward me. It would be the mate of the one I had caught, male or female, and it would step right up to me, protesting pitifully. It would be frightened out of its wits, but still determined to stand with and comfort its lover.
He goes on to say,
So, yes, I eat meat (even, hesitantly, goose). But I draw the line at animals being raised in cruel conditions.
How very generous of you, Mr. Kristof.
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