Humane labels offer up food for thought
By Beth Teitell
Boston Herald Columnist
Thursday, October 26, 2006
There I was, fluffed with smugness about what a good person I am for eating only humanely raised chicken and beef, without really knowing what, exactly, was meant by ‘‘humane,” when I realized I’d be even more pleased with myself if I had all the details on the wonderful treatment these animals enjoyed before they were slaughtered for my stir-fry.
OK, I know what you’re thinking, because it’s what I’ve been thinking. ‘‘Slaughtered” - that’s not so nice. So let’s not focus on the fact that these animals are now pushing up daisies in a supermarket freezer, but rather on the happy lives they lead because we Americans are willing to pay more so they can enjoy themselves, pre-abattoir. I like to picture them lolling about on the farm, with ready access to lots of food, sunshine and hay, not to mention wireless Internet access and a companion ticket if they sign up for the platinum card.
But wait - I’ve just read the small print on some of those soothing labels, and I’m not feeling so great about myself:
The ‘‘certified humane” label allows castration of sheep in the first week; electric prods on cattle in emergencies and docking of the tails. The ‘‘free farmed” label follows the same rules. The do-gooders at Whole Foods, which is planning to introduce an ‘‘animal compassionate” label, are fine with emergency cattle prods, but draw the line on the bovine bris and tail docking.
Bon appetit!
Of course, the super-cynical view is that the worse the animal’s life, the better. By eating it, you’re putting it out of its misery.
But that’s not really true. From my perspective, the real challenge posed by the labels is this: Once you allow yourself to focus on the unpleasant technicality that your organic free-range boneless chicken breast was once an actual chicken, there’s no drawing the line. Why demand a chicken be treated like a princess without also making sure the lamp you bought wasn’t assembled by a 7-year-old?
Would I feel better if I switched to wild salmon that committed suicide by flinging itself into the boat and I crafted all my family’s clothes and furniture by hand?
I might lead a more eco-compassionate life if I did, but I guarantee, it would be a very, very cranky one.
