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The Feelings of Chickens

Last month, I discussed how recent findings on the ability of fish to feel pain should cause us to reconsider our relationship with the most widely consumed meat in the world. I argued that, since a standard tuna sandwich is the product of around 100 seconds of intense animal suffering, we have strong moral reasons to opt for a better (i.e., plant-based) alternative. But is this the only way?

I regularly judge ethics competitions for students ranging from elementary to high-school age. Discussions about the ethics of eating meat often arise, and – when they do – most students tend to approach the problem in a remarkably similar way: They argue that eating meat is an excusable necessity, one dictated by human biology. But they’re not indifferent to the suffering of animals. In fact, it tends to be at the forefront of their thoughts on this topic. Their argument isn’t that we should stop eating meat altogether; but rather that we should do all we can to minimize the suffering associated with the fulfillment of our dietary needs.

Are they on to something?

A study released last week on the experiences of farmed chickens might provide us with a way of understanding how this should be done. Getting people to care about fish is hard – but I’d hope that chickens are an easier sell. Our relationship with birds is, after all, more intimate. We attract them with feeders, we keep them as pets, and we adopt them as national icons. But while we might have endless concern for hummingbirds, or parakeets, or bald eagles, our regard for the humble chicken is severely lacking. The average American consumes approximately 53 kilograms of chicken every year. Around 9 billion chickens are killed every year to satisfy this voracious appetite – with another half billion dying before making it to slaughter. And the lives of these chickens are short and brutal. Breeding practices have seen the standard chicken size triple since the 1950s, causing them to suffer lameness, heart failure, and debilitating pain. What’s more, the standard broiler chicken lives for only 6-7 weeks before slaughter; a fraction of their expected lifespan of five to ten years.

The European Chicken Commitment (ECC) is an attempt to reduce this brutality. A voluntary pledge, the ECC emphasizes the use of slower-growing breeds and the improvement of welfare standards. But here’s the astounding thing: the research released last week indicates that adoption of the ECC guidelines would see the prevention of between 15 to 100 hours of intense pain per bird, at a cost of just $1 more per kilogram of meat. Put another way: avoiding an hour of animal suffering could cost as little as one-hundredth of a cent.

Suppose that – like those aforementioned students – we adopt the premise that eating meat is necessary, but that we have an obligation to minimize the harm caused in the process. On this basis, adoption of the ECC seems like a no-brainer. Yet, despite this, welfare improvements in the poultry industry are moving at a snail’s pace. But why? As I see it, there are three possible explanations.

Firstly, the continuingly abysmal conditions for chickens might simply be the result of ignorance. We just don’t realize how bad chickens have it – nor how simply conditions might be improved. If that’s the case, then research like that published last week takes on new importance – as it’s precisely the kind of thing that might lead to swift reform.

A second – and perhaps more likely – explanation is that the extra cost to improve chicken welfare simply isn’t seen as worth it by consumers or producers. We’re in a cost-of-living-crisis, and the idea of paying even more for necessities will be anathema to most. But there seems to be some bad-faith reasoning in such an argument. If cost is what really matters, then chicken is a poor choice of protein. At the time of writing, a four-pack of chicken breasts – yielding a total of 100 grams of protein – will set you back $7.99. Obtaining the same amount of protein through tofu, on the other hand, would cost only $6.92. Chickpeas provide an even more economical alternative, at only $5.66 per 100g of protein. Put simply: if you’re already splurging on chicken as your source of protein, then it seems somewhat disingenuous to claim that cost is a reason to not improve the welfare of those same chickens.

Which is what leads to the third possibility: that it’s not a matter of ignorance or cost, but simply a lack of will. Most of us simply don’t care to reduce chicken suffering. Why? Because we don’t see that suffering as morally important. Chickens aren’t like us; they’re unintelligent, uncommunicative, and – unlike cats or dogs – far removed from our experiences. So it’s easy to dismiss their suffering. Of course, this is – for reasons I’ve noted before – an incredibly bad argument, and it smacks of the speciesism that Peter Singer warned us about. Suffering is suffering. If we would happily pay one hundredth of a cent to avoid an hour of intense suffering by, say, our pet dog, or cat, or bird, then consistency demands we do the same for animals that give their lives to feed us. There is – for the reasons outlined above – no reason not to.

On Meat Eating: Cats, Dogs, and Carnism

Photograph of a person's hands holding a knife and fork with a piece of raw meat on a plate beneath the utensils

This September, the US House of Representatives passed the Dog and Cat Meat Trade Prohibition Act of 2018, a bipartisan piece of legislation targeted to “prohibit the slaughter of dogs and cats for human consumption, and for other purposes” by specifically making it a felony to slaughter, buy, or sell a cat or dog with the intent to eat it. Although Jeff Denham, a Republican from California who sponsored the bill, admitted that rates of dog and cat meat consumption in the US are not high, “Adopting this policy…demonstrates our unity with other nations that have banned dog and cat meat, and it bolsters existing international efforts to crack down on the practice worldwide.”

On one hand, it’s unsurprising that a country where nearly 184 million cats and dogs make their homes as companion animals to humans would place a priority on preserving the lives of these creatures. But, on the other, the behemoth of American agribusiness and the record-setting diet of the average American consumer predicted to eat over 220 pounds of red meat and poultry in 2018 might also lead one to ask: what is so special about these two particular animals? Why are we happy to eat pigs, cows, and chickens, but – if this new Act is eventually signed into law – may face federal penalties for eating comparably similar nonhuman creatures?

This is the question Melanie Joy takes up in her 2010 book Why We Love Dogs, Eat Pigs, and Wear Cows: An Introduction to Carnism. Joy argues that it is is simply a matter of cultural perspective which leads people in the US to view some animals as food and others as friends; empowered by a violent ideology labeled carnism, Joy explains how a variety of social and historical facts have developed over time into a system that conditions the majority of US citizens to simply take for granted that different species of animals are categorized in various arbitrary ways. It’s not the case that most meat-eaters have consciously chosen to eat some animals and not others; it is instead the case that, because carnism operates invisibly, most carnists have simply never actually considered the question of what they are actually eating.

Roughly twenty years ago, my family sat down to dinner in the home of a Saudi-Arabian national; as a normal part of the meal, a goat had been killed, prepared, and served on a large platter as a main course. Two decades later, my mother still tells the story of how uncomfortable she felt when the platter was placed directly in front of her, forcing her to face the empty eye sockets of her dinner’s skull for the duration of her meal.

The presence of the goat’s head on that dinner table remains memorable because it violated a key principle of carnism: invisibility. Normally in the West, animal slaughtering practices are removed from the public eye, allowing carnism to promote what Joy calls ‘psychic numbing’ as eaters mentally disconnect the animality of meat from its role as food. Trying to have a polite meal with a reminder of one’s dinner’s pre-mortem life as a centerpiece unavoidably grates against that invisibility.

So, because cats and dogs are less invisible to most Westerners, the thought of betraying our species-level relationship with them by treating them like food sounds reprehensible; doing so to other animals is contingently easier because they are socially removed from our general experience. Joy argues that such a disparity is ultimately inconsistent; pigs and dogs, for example, are far too similar in emotional, intellectual, and physical capacities to justify being treated so differently. However, raising the awareness of the current carnist state’s arbitrary conclusions will take time.

For now, the potential ban on cat and dog consumption still has several legislative steps ahead of it before it becomes a law, but with support from the Humane Society of America, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, and cosponsorship from congresspersons representing eight different US states, animal rights advocates are celebrating this incremental step towards protecting vulnerable creatures. Whether or not similar legislation protecting other defenseless animals will eventually make its way to the floor of Congress seems unlikely given the strong ideology of carnism, but, as Shakespeare’s Richmond says in Richard III, “True hope is swift and flies with swallow’s wings.”