Arwa Mahdawi wrote a piece in the Guardian today that got my aging grey cells jingling. I enjoy reading Arwa’s stuff, she’s an interesting writer and often makes a lot of sense. Her essay was about the advertising campaigns of PETA – ‘People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’.
I remember this shower of nutters from my time with the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They were constantly trying to infiltrate the ruling Council of the Society so they could take it over. They harangued their members into joining the RSPCA, which gave them the right to vote at the annual general meeting, then turned up en masse every year and tried to vote their representatives onto the Council. Thankfully, at least while I worked there, they never succeeded.
Arwa Mahdawi, herself a vegetarian, was lambasting these crazed “animal lovers” for the disgusting adverts they produce in an effort to persuade everyone to give up eating meat (note the above image from PETA’s latest public offering):
Peta’s latest act of tofu terrorism is a new ad centred around masculinity. “Traditional masculinity is DEAD,” it announces. “The secret to male sexual stamina is veggies.” It brought this thesis to life with a puerile video featuring men vigorously waving vegetable genitalia. Nothing has ever made me want to eat a carrot less. Or an aubergine. Congrats, Peta: you’ve put me off fruit and veg. I’m craving a hamberder, as I believe the meat-treats are called in the White House.
Peta’s ads are so distasteful that I sometimes wonder whether the organisation is a genius invention by the meat industry, designed to make animal rights activists look ridiculous. In December, it irritated the internet with a plea to stop using phrases such as “bring home the bacon” or “flog a dead horse” because they trivialise violence against animals. Peta also has a good record of irritating feminists with misogynistic advertising that treats women like pieces of meat.
If there’s one thing I detest it’s pressure groups. Well, actually, there’re quite a few things I detest but that’s for another day. Pressure groups spend all their time trying to force, coerce, or harangue folk into accepting what their own warped belief systems are festering. Christians probably rank near the top of the list, and those blasted Jehovah’s Witnesses that come waking you up at two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon trying to flog their sodding Watch Towers.
We men can’t open our computers these days without being told we’re all crazed, lecherous, sex-fiends out to ravish and rape any woman who dares set foot out her front door. #MeToo, which incidentally, I once supported, has now become just another platform for the men-hating, vitriolic, Germaine Greers of this world. She once wrote, “women have no idea how much men hate them,” which is just about the most generalised load of bollocks to spew forth from any rampant feminist’s orifice.
There have been sicko perverts around, like Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby, since the dawn of time. The curse of social media, however, is relatively recent and solely responsible for the upsurge in misandry (it’s like misogyny, but the other way round) that is causing men to fear going closer than half a mile from any woman, for fear of the dreaded scream…
“Sexual Harassment!!!! His coat brushed my sleeve as he past, officer. I think he wanted to rape me!”
No! For Gawd’s sake, he was just late for work and rushing to catch the 8.45 from Paddington.
Of course there’re crapbags out there. Women need protection from them. No reasonable man would argue with that. But, ladies, don’t judge us all by the Weinsteins of this world.
#MeToo began as a worthy cause, but has metamorphosed into a monster pressure group. Its vocal supporters would have women believe that all men are lechers. Well, I have to admit, yes we are. In a sense, they’re quite right. I doubt there’s a red-blooded, heterosexual, male out there who after a couple of pints wouldn’t readily admit (though not to his wife!) that on the train, the bus, in the supermarket, or anywhere else where ladies gather, when entering such establishments his eye doesn’t immediately roam to the prettiest wenches around. I’ll freely admit to the occasional glimpse at forbidden fruit. I may be seventy-three (nearly), and my hair a delicate shade of white, but as the old adage dictates: there may be snow on the roof, but there’s still a fire in the cellar.
That doesn’t make us all dangerous rapists. It just makes us – well, men. And yes, we have a responsibility to respect, and protect, all the ladies – whether seventeen or seventy – with whom we share this planet. 99.99% of us will do that. So, please, don’t let the fanatic feminist brigade condemn us all for the few rotten apples floating around in the barrel.
RJ’s dictionary definition: Pressure group ~ a bandwagon jumped on to enable one to feel superior to others.
As for PETA, their core ideal may be good. And the ethical treatment of animals is a cause I could support one hundred percent, but not when it’s corrupted into the rotten political structure that exists under the title of, ‘People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’.
 “There’s one thing that really puts me off veganism: Peta” Guardian, 20th January 2019