Commentary: Michael Vick, dog fighting and the ASPCA

by Bubba Demler

Before I elaborate, let me just get this out of the way: guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Maximum penalty. Prison term. Fine. Ban from the NFL. You name it. Just so we know whose side I'm on, if it's a possibility for punishment, I say go for it.
This, however, is not going to be a rant about the evils of Michael Vick and the monster that he has become. Nor will it be a call for vigilante justice and his maiming and inevitable death by hanging, electrocution, pack of pit bulls or rape stand. I don't know about you, but I'm quite tired of reading rambling threats in which the authors sound more like monsters than the monsters themselves.
Rather, this is to be a discussion of the why and the how of our reactions as a society to the Michael Vicks of this world.
Just so there are no illusions as to what you are about to read, please don't expect me to tell you how to think, or feel, about dog fighting. Statistics show that the majority of us as Americans and as humans feel the same. It is vile, horrifying, disgusting, terrifying, and tragic. And our reactions as humans have been similar: disgust, horror, outrage, and fear. But are we acting fearful? Do we even know what we are so afraid of? Do we even know that we are afraid?
When the Michael Vick fiasco first surfaced, I was livid. I signed all the petitions, wrote letters to NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, to the CEOs of Nike, Kraft, Coke, and Rawlings, to my friends, family, and people I don't even know. I was incensed when Vick lied and ducked accusations. I inhaled all of the PETA and HSUS propaganda, watching heart-wrenching videos of dogs and puppies mauled and bleeding, and I shed more than my fair share of tears. I was enraged, I was heartbroken, and I was out for blood.
Don't you DARE defend a monster of this magnitude, I silently threatened. Don't you DARE make comparisons between what he did, between the senseless violence against those poor defenseless animals and the rapists and murderers in our prison systems. Don't you DAREdon't you dare. Or do you?
The proponents of this argument do have a point. When was the last time that our society banded together in such impressive numbers to decry violence against humanity? If a woman is raped in South Carolina, are there protests in Oregon? If a man is shot in the Bronx, does anyone even care in L.A.? Or have we become so desensitized to violence again human beings that it takes a tragedy of some magnitude-multiple human lives lost-for anyone to even notice.
I guess the same could be said for animals. Or maybe the opposite. Michael Vick is responsible for the ending of 8 canine lives at least. But why such outrage over 8, when thousands of animals are "humanely" euthanized every day in shelters across the United States? I would attribute that to the manner in which they died-drowning, electrocution, beating, hanging-except that if anyone has ever spoken firsthand with a volunteer in an animal shelter where gassing is still the method of choice, you would realize that the method of choice isn't exactly favorable either. At least not to the animals, anyway.
I'm not going to tackle the issue of animal overpopulation in our nation. I hate the thought of animals trapped in cages without an affectionate hand or a kind word for comfort in their last days on earth. I hate the thought of killing them. I hate that although born to be companions to us more than anything else, they spend their last moments in terror alone. But I have no solution to offer, and so I will leave it alone. For the moment, anyway.
Let's go back to our desensitization when it comes to violence against humanity. Think about the last film drama you watched. When there is violence depicted against people, we are often torn. We hold our breath and hope against hope that the hero will come out in one piece. And when he doesn't, our disappointment is great. But while silently hoping for the survival of one, we are often simultaneously rooting for the death of another: the villain, in the most gruesome way possible. Human death, at times, makes us laugh and cheer. Human death is a part of life, and as such, it is to be expected.
Now think about the last time you saw a film in which an animal dies. A lovable pet, a loyal friend. You probably bawled your eyes out-I know I did. In fact, I would bet that a majority of the times in which a book or film brought tears to my eyes, it was because an animal life was sacrificed. And I know I'm not the only one.
Now perhaps I am a special case. I admit it - I like dogs more than I like most people. Not only my dog ALL dogs. But since I am in the minority there, and perhaps rightfully so, I'll attribute this tendency to side with the animal as a result of the animal's inherent innocence. The same goes for children. We all know that adult humans, without exception, have committed some sin deserving of punishment whatever it may be. Humans are flawed. We hurt each other, and do so knowingly. And so it is not as tragic, perhaps, when we meet our end. But when a life is cut short without reason, and the life is so short to begin with-well, nothing is more sad.
But the dogs that died were monsters, you say. Killing machines. Lives born to violence, and ended in violence. It is inevitable. It is fair. It is only an animal.
But they weren't monsters, really. They were killed because they weren't mean enough. Because they didn't draw blood. Because they didn't want to fight. Because they would rather have licked your hand than bite it.
And maybe you don't buy into the whole "born aggressive" thing anyway. Maybe you think that "aggressive" dogs, like pit bulls and rottweilers, are a product of their environment, and that you shouldn't blame the dog because of how it was raised.
But wait haven't we heard that argument just recently, in a whole other context? According to Whoopi Goldberg, Michael Vick is just a product of his environment as well. So if we are going to claim, "It's not their fault!" when it comes to pit bulls, don't we have to acquiesce to Michael Vick as well?
I think not. I think that an adult man, who is independent and conscious of his decisions, should be held accountable for his actions. I also think that it would be ridiculous to draw such comparisons between a man and a dog, as I have just done, at all. It really isn't fair to the dogs.
Michael Vick was a role model. He was a football hero. He had it made, he got out of control, and now he may have lost everything. Or so one can hope. I don't buy a single word of his "apology" nor do I find his actions or his greed in any way forgivable. Most people will never get the chance in their whole lives to be in the position that Vick was in. Most people will never be more than a commonplace hero, and most will never make millions. Most will never rise to the occasion and succeed beyond their wildest imaginings, as Vick did. But I can guarantee one thing and that is that if they did, most people would not squander their opportunities as Michael Vick did.
And so we have drawn no conclusions here or have we? I hate that I have allowed myself to be dragged into the three-ring-circus of media frenzy surrounding the Vick allegations. My reaction has fueled the fire, and that fire has ignited outrage nationwide. Even in my indignation, I hate that I have let him get under my skin. But I am not alone in feeling this way, and I think that I finally know why. I am afraid.
I am afraid of what the existence of animal cruelty as a sport says about the society of which I am a part. I am afraid of my own small dog being stolen or lost, and ending up as bait in an unfathomably bloody nightmare. I am angry that whenever I see a pit bull I have to haul my pet away in fear, knowing all the while that I am contributing to an unhealthy stereotype and ultimately, to the death of more innocent dogs. I am angry that this is just one more issue that has ultimately served to divide us as "races" once again, making a simple issue of humanity into a "white" thing, or a "black" thing. I am afraid that I will never be able to watch a football game again, without hearing about consequences that have nothing to do with the action on the field. I am afraid of that which I don't understand. I am afraid of callousness, I am afraid of ruthlessness. I am afraid of disregard for precious life. And most of all, I am afraid of violence. And so, I think, are you.