FROM THE EDITOR

WELCOME to your winter Vegan Voice – we hope it warms you all over. What a creative, arty lot vegans seem to be. In this issue we have an interview with US activist Mark Hawthorne, who’s written his first book, Striking At The Roots. Mark’s only been vegan a few years but he’s already crammed in a veritable lifetime of writing and voluntary work in the name of veganism and animal rights.

Two female singer/songwriters, who just happen to have new CDs to promote, tell their enthralling life stories. And there’s a very personal story from young raw vegan Freedom Bradbury, who had it rough for a while back there but has emerged intact and strong.
Rev. Barbara Allen writes about the trauma of losing a nonhuman friend, and how she performs an important role in helping people cope, as well as mourn. We talk to Carrie Barnes about her vegan wine business, and singer Liz Bowie declares that vegans, if they’re not already doing so, should use their creativity to spread awareness for the animals.

It’s been another strange few months, if you ask me. So many people having so many meetings and discussions (not to mention summits), and nothing meaningful ever seems to come of it all, other than a flurry of reports and studies and inquiries. I suspect that humans just like to hear the sound of their own voices. I was sent a press release about a “Dangerous Climate Change” event held in Canberra in May. Apparently it “attracts over 300 delegates and brings to the spotlight the great research and achievements of some of Australia’s brightest scientists. The symposium will showcase the latest Australian research on climate change, and the potential hazards that lie ahead for humanity and the planet.”
Hmm. I’ll believe they’re taking it seriously when someone stands up and announces that animal agriculture is to be abolished and it makes the front page of every world newspaper. Cattle farmer in denial Al Gore has stated that the climate change situation has worsened since his film came out in 2006. No kidding! How could it not – little has been done to change anything that I can see, except that maybe people have changed their light bulbs. Meanwhile, sales of plasma TVs have soared.

I go from faltering hope to black depression, usually utterly ashamed to be part of the human species. I never quite know who to be when I’m writing this column: the me who hasn’t time for most other humans and hates the fact that most don’t give a damn about very much other than themselves, especially nonhumans; or the me who is good, and kind, and tries to empathise with people. Most of you are probably the same, juggling your several selves.

One thing I do believe is that great changes are going to come very fast. Whether they’ll come fast enough remains to be seen. The world’s population is projected to grow from seven to nine billion by mid-century, and that obstacle seems insurmountable. Then there’s the food crisis and the burgeoning demand for biofuels. With the focus on grains, perhaps people will finally realise that most cereal crops are being fed to “farm” animals that we don’t even need to eat.

The message about how meat eating is affecting the planet is getting out there more and more. It cannot be ignored for much longer. And while it’s sad that humans will not stop eating the animals for moral reasons, I’ve come to terms with it, though not without some bitterness. Instead the Earth has decided for us. She is not going to let this continue. I tend to agree with PETA; I think in-vitro meat might be the way forward. Vegans won’t eat it, but the planet’s carnivores, if they don’t want to give up meat or accept substitutes, will most certainly have to. Sooner than they think.

Whatever happens, and no matter how much people try to ignore it, it will definitely not be business as usual. The rocks are rolling down the mountain. I predict an avalanche.

HERE AT WEBSTERS CREEK we’ve been getting a few of those intensely blue-sky days that mean winter is on its way. Other than that, it’s been raining. For near on six months. It’s stopped now, but forgive me for complaining.

There’s nothing quite like lying in a deep, hot, outdoor bath in the rain. You look up and your face is sliced with freezing drops of water, while you’re safe and secure in the warmth. Eventually, of course, you have to get out and navigate muddy paving stones and the slippery veranda, but then you’re indoors again and the fire’s going and all is cosy.

All through our very wet summer the rain-delirious frogs would start up at dusk: wark, wark; wark, wark. Sometimes we would walk around in the dark with torches, competing to see who could spot one first. Brown with huge dark eyes, they blend so perfectly with the ground that you have to take extreme care not to step on one. Strangely, I always seemed to win this frog-spotting game, though it was never just one frog I would find but a set of twins. Always the same set, I swear, and always together, sitting side by side. Enormous liquid brown eyes, just watching, trusting. Not moving. Then you’d turn for an instant and they’d have moved, silently, a few metres away. Ultimately you too would move on and spot others, but never a pair like those handsome twins.

It’s magical out there in the dark. You stand looking up at the starry night sky wondering what the frogs think of it all. I hope they dwell here in ignorant bliss, unaware of how the rest of the world lives. Or dies. No human lights can be seen. Tall trees sway gently if there’s a breeze, and a wisp of cloud drifts over the moon. There’s no sound, other than the frogs. It’s another world, one fallen out of time. And here are we, just lucky enough to have fallen with it.

Sienna

Read more from the editor in our June-August issue, out in the last week of May.