Mark your calendar: June 18–24 is Fish Are Friends, Not Food Week. (Thank you, "Finding Nemo," for the motto.) Although I no longer eat fish, my childhood was inconsistent with that catchphrase. On one hand, aquatic animals were indeed beloved companions. My goldfish, Bronzy, lovingly named after his shimmering bronze scales (creative, I know), would wait for me to come home from school each day, swimming up to greet me. On every trip to the coast, I’d admire the crabs on the beach, watching as they gently kicked the sand away in search of food. I read with fascination and wonder about Earth’s complex sea life—and yet I ignored any connection that these same beings were on my dinner plate.
I always had an affinity for animals, and a kind heart, as my mother would say. But people who care about animals do not eat them. Once I finally made that connection, I went pescatarian. I removed cows, turkeys, pigs and chickens from my diet, but as a Marylander, I proudly continued to eat crabs in a state famous for them. I thought I was doing no harm. I was saving the animals who mattered “most.”
No doubt, the birds and mammals killed for food experience inhumane, dreadful misery. You can see it on their relatable faces, and you can hear it in their screams of terror, crying out for mercy. But crabs, lobsters and salmon look nothing like humans. They don’t have voices we understand. So I dismissed these animals’ complexity. I gave little thought to their desire to live. I failed to recognize that these are sensitive, intelligent beings. They are individuals, too.
