Why PETA makes me want to eat a barn owl

What's better than domestic violence imagery? Sexy domestic violence imagery!

 

 

There's a poem by Wendy Cope I absolutely love, called "Kindness to Animals". She says that if she became a vegetarian and stopped eating lamb, she'd be both a better person -- and thinner. It concludes:

But the lamb is not endangered
And at least I can truthfully say
I have never, ever eaten a barn owl,
So perhaps I am OK.

Well, nothing makes me want to eat a barn owl more than PETA, the People For The Ethical Treatment of Animals. Flushed with the storming success of their "we'd rather go naked than wear fur" supermodel billboard (it turned out Naomi Campbell wouldn't, by the way, as she has modelled fur several times since), they decided years ago that nakedness was the key to ending animal cruelty. If you don't believe me, and you're not at work, have a Google.

They even have a whole page, Veggie Love, dedicated to boasting about how their recent adverts were "too hot" (read: too lazily objectifying) for television, with one banned from the Superbowl slot for featuring a woman "rubbing pelvic region with pumpkin".

Further down the page, they trill: "'Veggie Love' isn't the first PETA video banned from the airwaves. Check out our other videos that have been deemed "too hot for TV"!" Because you know what's definitely proven to stop people being cruel to animals? Masturbation, that's what!

So far, so "sex sells innit and our advertising agency is lazy". But one of PETA's key messages -- that vegetarians make better lovers -- has taken a disturbing new twist with their latest campaign.

"This is Jessica," begins the video, over footage of a woman in a neck brace shuffling painfully down the street. "She suffers from WVAKTBOOM - Boyfriend Went Vegan and Knocked the Bottom out of Me... a painful condition that occurs when boyfriends go vegan and can suddenly bring it like a tantric porn star."

Er, what? At this point I watched the video again. Was it really tossing around domestic violence imagery in an effort to persuade me to give up eggs and milk? Apparently so. Men who go vegan will become such sexual adepts that they will injure their partners.

As if that wasn't offensive -- and unpersuasive -- enough the advert has more. The way Jessica is shot is consistently sexualised. There's a lovely frame of her bum walking up some steps, painfully, and ohwouldyoulookatthat she's forgotten to put her skirt on. In she wanders to see her sex panther of a boyfriend, who looks deceptively pale and weedy, and she's in her bra and pants. Because what's better than casually using images of violence against women? SEXY images of violence against women!

As a journalist, I'm reluctant to blog about adverts like this, because they are the corporate version of trolling -- if you draw attention to them, you're doing their publicity work for them.

But unlike say, the Ryanair advert banned this week for objectifying its staff, this PETA advert doesn't in the slightest make me want to go vegan. In fact, quite the opposite. So not only will I happily call them out, but I'm going to smother myself in foie gras and panda steaks.

Hat-tip to @rosamundurwin for pointing out the advert. Follow me on Twitter: @helenlewis

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

Photo: Getty
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What happened when a couple accidentally recorded two hours of their life

The cassette tape threw Dan and Fiona into a terrible panic.

If the Transformers series of movies (Transformers; Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen; Transformers: Dark of the Moon; Transformers: Age of Extinction; and Transformers: the Last Knight) teach us anything, it is that you think your life is going along just fine but in a moment, with a single mistake or incident, it can be derailed and you never know from what direction the threat will come. Shia LaBeouf, for example, thinks everything is completely OK in his world – then he discovers his car is a shape-shifting alien.

I once knew a couple called Dan and Fiona who, on an evening in the early 1980s, accidentally recorded two hours of their life. Fiona was an English teacher (in fact we’d met at teacher-training college) and she wished to make a recording of a play that was being broadcast on Radio 4 about an anorexic teenager living on a council estate in Belfast. A lot of the dramas at that time were about anorexic teenagers living on council estates in Belfast, or something very similar – sometimes they had cancer.

Fiona planned to get her class to listen to the play and then they would have a discussion about its themes. In that pre-internet age when there was no iPlayer, the only practical way to hear something after the time it had been transmitted was to record the programme onto a cassette tape.

So Fiona got out their boom box (a portable Sony stereo player), loaded in a C120 tape, switched on the radio part of the machine, tuned it to Radio 4, pushed the record button when the play began, and fastidiously turned the tape over after 60 minutes.

But instead of pushing the button that would have taped the play, she had actually pushed the button that activated the built-in microphone, and the machine captured, not the radio drama, but the sound of 120 minutes of her and Dan’s home life, which consisted solely of: “Want a cup of tea?” “No thanks.” And a muffled fart while she was out of the room. That was all. That was it.

The two of them had, until that moment, thought their life together was perfectly happy, but the tape proved them conclusively wrong. No couple who spent their evenings in such torpidity could possibly be happy. Theirs was clearly a life of grinding tedium.

The evidence of the cassette tape threw Dan and Fiona into a terrible panic: the idea of spending any more of their evenings in such bored silence was intolerable. They feared they might have to split up. Except they didn’t want to.

But what could they do to make their lives more exciting? Should they begin conducting sordid affairs in sleazy nightclubs? Maybe they could take up arcane hobbies such as musketry, baking terrible cakes and entering them in competitions, or building models of Victorian prisons out of balsa wood? Might they become active in some kind of extremist politics?

All that sounded like a tremendous amount of effort. In the end they got themselves a cat and talked about that instead. 

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder