Animal Farm: Lessons on Humanity from Lobsters, Bunnies… and Badass Cats

One of my weekly letters I write to my subordinates:

My family celebrated Mothers Day on Saturday and Sunday because I wanted a reason to feast and drink each of those days (Hubby cooks supper most of the week days and I prefer the weekends when I am less tired). With cancelled travel and limited places to wander, I guess I look for occasions to buy my family members even small gifts, making it a celebration for everyone. My Mom beat me to the punch and called me up… because Saturdays and Sundays are the only days I sleep in, as all other days I am up by 04h15 aiming to be at work at 06h00. I called my Mom again just before leaving the drive way for the weekend coffee, because I felt like cooking lobsters and I wanted to be sure I had the recipe and procedure right. Before the pandemic, my parents and some besties would go camping each year, collecting live oysters and lobsters in Maine at the site where the movie “A Perfect Storm” was filmed. My Mom would cook them, freeze them, then gift them during visits, hence why I had not cooked them in some time.

I think my teens were excited about having those giant water insects (crustaceans)… until they found out that lobsters are cooked alive. Though they were fascinated by the creatures frolicking in the sink, they felt compelled to go upstairs when I started to boil some water because they did not want to know what suffering sounds like. Perhaps that made me the murdering Mom for the weekend. I had to explain to the teens that lobsters are like rabbits in that they do not fight to stay alive; once their body understands game over, it experiences a sort of heart attack in order to die faster and minimize suffering… unlike cats who fight for every one of their nine lives, as well as going into burning buildings to save the nine lives of each of their offspring. I asked my children if they thought cows were born dead and fall apart into burgers and meat cuts like Bram Stoker’s Dracula collapsed into myriads of rats. They thought that was okay because we were not directly responsible for the slaughter. It made me think of scenes from “Saving Private Ryan,” and “Band of Brothers;” how decimating human life with artillery can be more acceptable than hand-to-hand combat, because we know our adversary less. It made me think of a quote about Nazi Germany that is being compared to the US… along the lines of one third of a population hurting/killing another third of the population while the remaining third watches and remains in silence (distanced and/or willfully blind)… how dehumanizing people makes the atrocity further from sight and comfort. I said a quiet prayer over the sink, thanking those lobsters for feeding my family and hoping that they would get promoted through reincarnation to become dolphins and sharks… because when we value Life, we tend to not waste it, taking only what is needed.

I grew up in a sort of village. Born on the island of Montreal, I did go to Catholic schools in the South Shore of Montreal that housed every gender and colour in the rainbow… the land where most people speak three or more languages and misunderstand each other, except when cheering when the Habs score a goal or when the Expos get a home run. Growing up, my parents, on weekends, would congregate with those who also immigrated from the Philippines in the 1950s/60s/70s, those sharing the same affinity for cooking the same foods and landing in Canada to quickly learn what “snowstorm” and “parka” meant. They became extended family and consequently, all the children would call the adults the equivalent of “Aunt,” “Uncle,” “Grandmother,” or “Grandfather.” It includes customs that recognizes and reveres seniority. The village that raised me… that includes the customary respect and affinity with unity. When done properly, these are the same traits and values that makes the military unique and strong.

While the pandemic has been rampant with negativities with respect to “family,” (i.e. not being able to be with elders as they died alone in hospitals, or died in senior residences; not being able to see loved ones in order to save lives by constricting spread; not being able to be optimal at work with everyone in the home growing restless and competing for WiFi access), it has also made parts of the world closer. My childhood friend, who is now in BC, lost her Mother the day before Mothers’ Day. And for about 14 days, according to a religious custom, we will gather each evening and pray for those left behind. In these pandemic times, it is cool to see people on the screen, newborns to octogenarians or more, from Canada, US, Europe, and sometimes Southeast Asia, knowing how to click “JOIN,” coming together to show support for those left behind. This is the village that raised me (the ones who are still alive), these are the children I grew up with, and now our children are the ages that we used to be when spending countless weekends playing street hockey, field soccer, neighbourhood park basketball, or eating and eating some more in someone’s backyard.

In a TED.com episode, “Words Matter,” (People’s words and actions can actually shape your brain — a neuroscientist explains how | (ted.com) ) we learn about how words positively or negatively shape people and the environment in which we exist. Contrary to “village,” which is a form of positive development and support, is a “lack of support.” I remember a time when I suffered migraines, recurring vomiting… remembering what it was like to have knees shaking and convincing myself that I do not fear…remembering how much more strength it takes to make like I am not affected at all, because letting bullies know that they are getting to you is allowing those persons to win; because being a senior officer in a room full of male senior officers, I would never want to appear weak and have people wrongly believe that being female must mean being weaker… and I hate losing and I hate quitting… and I refuse to be a bunny or lobster. But I like to think that surviving makes us even stronger for the next challenge. I like to think that my current Chain of Command has jumped on the bandwagon for immediate and positive change in light of all the senior officers being called out for sins of the past. And I like to think myself as being empowered when I can sit in a meeting, even if it is virtual, and remain professional even if a senior officer is someone who I filed a grievance against for abuse of power. My knees no longer shake, my brain no longer strains, my heart no longer races… I feel like Aslan reawakening after being hazed, maimed and perceivably executed by the Snow Queen’s minions. Winning… as a person’s silence can be an admission of guilt. And the wonderful thing about pandemic technology is that button that even preschoolers and octogenarians have figured out… that button that cuts video or mutes sound in an effort to save bandwidth. Being at the same table, in the same room can be like the infanteer snipers wrestling in the Bell Tower towards the end of “Saving Private Ryan.” Germs are communicable, and my sleeve can be a direct billboard of my smirk that announces things like, “I think you’re Awesome and walk on Water,” or “I think you’re repulsive and full of sht.” Whereas meeting virtually is much like artillery… gaining effect at a distance, and repeating only when necessary. How far of a stretch is that from a Star Trek Holi-deck or Avatars or Interactive Holograms that allow us to be something else without real impunity? It sort of makes us less “Human.”