“We began the ‘Save A Life This Thanksgiving, Adopt A Turkey’ billboard campaign after realizing that something needed to be done to raise awareness about the estimated 46 million turkeys who are killed in the United States for Thanksgiving alone each year,” said Katie Cleary, Founder and President of Peace 4 Animals and World Animal News. “Taking action to save the lives of animals is the most important thing that we can do to create positive change for ourselves, our planet, and of course, for the animals. This campaign in partnership with Farm Sanctuary sends a clear message to choose compassion on your plate and change the way we’re conditioned to think about farm animals in this country; to actually make a connection to who we are eating.”
The 2020 ‘Save A Life This Thanksgiving Adopt A Turkey’ billboard is strategically located on the highly-trafficked 710 Long Beach Freeway near the Imperial Highway exit in the city of Lynwood in Los Angeles County.
“If 2020 has taught us anything, it’s the importance of empathy and that our choices impact the lives of others,” said Farm Sanctuary President and Co-Founder Gene Baur. “If we can celebrate a more joyous ‘turkey day’ without causing unnecessary killing and suffering, why wouldn’t we? By widening our circle of compassion to include one of the most abused creatures on the planet, we can prevent the enormous harm that factory farming causes people and other animals.”
For only $35.00, anyone from anywhere around the world can sponsor a turkey that was saved by Farm Sanctuary. The rescued turkeys are given a new life at one of the organization’s sanctuaries located in Watkins Glen, New York, or Los Angeles, California.
Venus “The Champion,” Ferris “The Hotshot,” Tutu “The Charmer,” Sandy “The Sweetheart,” and Jackie “The Queen” are among Farm Sanctuary’s adoptable turkeys this year. The fee to adopt the flock is only $150.00.
“Thanksgiving and turkeys have become synonymous, but sadly, not in a way that celebrates them. At Farm Sanctuary, we’re trying to change that,” stated Farm Sanctuary’s CEO, Megan Watkins. “By highlighting the unique personalities of these birds, while also exposing the abuse that they face in an unjust food system, we inspire people to start new compassionate traditions, like adopting a rescued turkey for Thanksgiving instead of eating one.”
Farm Sanctuary will send everyone who adopts a turkey an adoption certificate that reminds people that turkeys are living, feeling beings, who deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion.
“Spreading awareness about the benefits of a plant-based diet is among the many critical issues WAN and Peace 4 Animals strive to address on a daily basis, and we welcome the opportunity to support other like-minded organizations such as Farm Sanctuary to amplify this important message,” shared Cleary. “It is more important than ever to spread compassion this year. Adopting a turkey instead of eating one on Thanksgiving is a life-changing step in the right direction towards a more compassionate world.”
Please join Peace 4 Animals, WAN, and Farm Sanctuary in making this Thanksgiving a compassionate one for ALL by sponsoring a TurkeyHERE!
For further information or to schedule a time to speak with said Katie Cleary, Founder and President of Peace 4 Animals and World Animal News, please contact Lauren Lewis at email@example.com or (818) 970-0052
One of the most fantastic attractions in Africa and one of the most spectacular waterfalls globally, Victoria Falls is located on the Zambezi River, the fourth largest stream in Africa, which defines the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe.
Victoria Falls is the only waterfall globally with a distance of more than a kilometer and a height of more than a hundred meters. It is also considered to be the most massive fall in the world.
The sound of Victoria Falls can be heard from a distance of 40 kilometers, while the spray and mist from the falling water are rising to a height of over 400 meters and can be seen from a distance of 50 kilometers. No wonder that the local tribes used to call the waterfall Mosi-o-Tunya “The smoke that thunders.”
Scottish missionary and famous explorer of Africa David Livingstone (1813-1873) named it after Queen Victoria. Livingstone, the first European to cross Africa from south to north, discovered this awe-inspiring waterfall in 1855 while preaching Christianity in Africa. That is why Livingstone wasn’t very pleased with his discovery: it was just an obstacle on his way.
Despite the inconveniences, he was fascinated by the beauty of the falls. In 1857 Livingstone wrote that no one in England could even imagine the beauty of this scene. Religious Livingstone also noted that most probably angels are admiring the scenery while flying nearby. Soldiers accompanied him, but only two of them took the risk of approaching the waterfalls with Livingstone. For centuries local African tribes had a sacral fear from the waterfall.
People hardly visited the waterfall up until 1905, when a railway to Bulawayo was constructed. Since then, Victoria Falls quickly gained popularity until the end of the British colonial rule. At the end of the 1960s, the number of tourists started to decrease due to Zimbabwe’s guerrilla struggle. After Zimbabwe gained independence, the region has been in relative peace, and Victoria Falls started to attract a new wave of tourism.
By the end of 1990, nearly 300,000 people were visiting the falls each year. Victoria Falls is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The citizens of both Zambia and Zimbabwe no longer fear “the smoke that thunders” and are successfully developing tourism on both sides of the river.
The falls were formed in a zone of crustal faults. On the crest of the fall, numerous islands divide the main flow into several branches. During floods, the water flow capacity reaches half a million liters of water per minute.
The water level varies throughout the year; it is at its peak in April, at the end of the rainy season when, on average, 500,000,000 liters of water flow. It is at its lowest level in October and early November.
Interestingly, during the dry season, the Zambezi River’s water level drops sharply, and it becomes possible to walk through some parts of the waterfall. However, during the rest of the year, Victoria Falls is a roaring machine that strikes anyone with its power.
I was always going to do something around justice. Growing up in Brisbane at the tail end of the Joh Bjelke-Peterson era, I couldn’t not be politicised. When I was eight, I brought home the commemorative coin issued for Expo 88 (a $A625m fair in Brisbane that celebrated the bicentennial of the First Fleet’s arrival on Australian shores) and I remember conversations with my family about feeling so separate from these celebrations.
That same year at school I did a show-and-tell with a hand-sewn Aboriginal flag gifted to my parents and I talked about how the red of the flag can have two meanings – it’s the earth and the blood of the people. That was my first politicised act – and I share that story with my kids now. For many Aboriginal people, the words ‘social work’ trigger the legacy of child removal and everything that came with that. I wouldn’t have got through my social work studies 17 years ago if I hadn’t studied alongside Aunty Shirley Law who knew my great-grandmother Nanna Etty Meredith in Cherbourg (a mission ‘home’ to Aboriginal people forcibly removed from their own land). We were able to go through our degree together deconstructing everything that we learnt and she helped me bring my world view to my studies, and an understanding that social work was a colonised discipline that had a problematic relationship with Aboriginal communities.
After graduating, I worked in Cape York with some young fellas in the youth justice system, many of them also in state care through child protection. The system failed them and their families on every angle. I still have contact with a lot of them and some live with serious mental illness that wasn’t picked up back then. Instead, they were put in detention. I was one of 13 Aboriginal youth workers sacked one day – my dad was another – because we were told the funding was dependent on the stats. Our young people weren’t offending and we were picking up kids at risk of joining the criminal justice system, and they were concerned the funding wouldn’t come through. Through this experience, I learnt how to navigate the union and understand my rights as a worker, and I was reinstated. But that experience has always stuck with me – there’s an industry, a whole workforce based on Aboriginal disadvantage.
I was introduced to the practice of narrative therapy while working on ‘Drop the rock’ – a jobs and training program in Aboriginal communities that supported mental health service delivery. I realised that narrative therapy provided a framework that supported what I was already doing in practice. I completed a Masters in Narrative Therapy and Community Work in 2014 and I’ve seen many other Aboriginal people gravitate to the course since then – my mother and husband included.As we get into the theory of narrative therapy, my students say: “We already do all this”. It’s how we yarn – we use language that externalises the problem. The problem is the problem, which is narrative therapy’s catchphrase. The person, the family, the community aren’t the problem.
Narrative therapy positions people as the experts on their own lives. It emphasises their agency to make decisions for themselves in a way that fits their identity, their hopes and intentions. This approach helps me to look at the problem as separate to the person and really think about where it has come from and then to consider what people already know about resisting the problem.
For Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, problems have come about from colonisation. So with clients, we re-author – we move away from a medicalised, pathologised discourse to a story that tells of our survival and resistance. Narrative therapy helps people to tell their strong stories and identify the skills and knowledge that they already have that can help them make the problem smaller. Social workers as a whole are hardworking, but many don’t have a deep understanding of racism. This is on both a theoretical and a systemic level; nor have they questioned their own privilege or their unconscious bias. In some cases, a practitioner’s racism can be overt and damaging to the person they are supposed to be helping.
We need to see more Aboriginal practitioners – in social work but other health disciplines as well. I’m one of only two Aboriginal social workers at the hospital where I work in Cairns. Often half of the 60 beds in the emergency department are filled with Aboriginal people – but we only make up 12 per cent of the local population. It’s not just about attracting Aboriginal students to these degrees – the curriculum also needs to change. We’re seeing that now in the University of Melbourne’s social work curriculum: there is specific teaching about Indigenous history – pre-contact and colonisation, through until now. There’s emphasis on authentic engagement with communities and the importance of critical self-reflection. And in the field, this helps social workers – Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal – to practice counter-racism and work to change the system as our profession now requires.
Aboriginal community workers are the backbone of change and they have incomparable on-the-ground experience because they aren’t separate from the issues they are working with. There’s a reluctance to centre that as expert wisdom.To decolonise social work, we must talk about land rights. Eve Tuck, a Canadian-based Unangax̂ scholar in the field of Indigenous studies, says that ‘Decolonisation isn’t a metaphor’. It’s not a word you can throw around to show your ‘wokeness’. It’s not about improving an organisation’s ‘cultural responsiveness capabilities’. It is about repatriating land to the original, rightful owners. We know how to use land – that’s our expert wisdom. Land is a source of health, spirituality and connection, and – used properly – there are wellbeing, economic, housing and environmental benefits for all. Now is the time for a paradigm shift. There’s a current world view that you can give heritage listing to a colonial-era shack but it’s OK to destroy sites that are sacred to Aboriginal people or to deforest millions of hectares of habitat for livestock grazing. We don’t have to invent a paradigm – the one that we need has existed since time began. It must start with acknowledging Aboriginal people’s expert knowledge and centring them as decision makers on their land. – As told to Susanna Cornelius
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