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animal rights
Big Pork Lobby’s War on Farmers, Consumers, and Democracy
Inside the National Pork Producers Council absurd, years-long crusade to kill Prop 12, California’s landmark ballot initiative banning the sale of pork from pigs locked in extreme confinement.
Oct 03, 2025
When Patrick Hord, vice president of the National Pork Producers Council, testified before Congress this summer, he proudly described himself as a fourth-generation hog farmer who produces pork fully compliant with California’s Proposition 12. Then, almost in the same breath, he argued against the very law he already follows.
That contradiction captures the absurdity of the National Pork Producers Council (NPPC’s) years-long crusade to kill Prop 12, California’s landmark ballot initiative banning the sale of pork from pigs locked in extreme confinement. Passed by nearly 63% of voters in 2018 and upheld by the US Supreme Court in 2023, Prop 12 is both a democratic mandate and a proven market success. Farmers across the country have adapted to it, retailers have embraced it, and consumers continue to buy pork without complaint. Even giant corporations like Hormel, Tyson, and JBS have quietly moved on.
Yet the NPPC remains stuck, lobbying Congress to pass the so-called “EATS Act” or its rebranded cousins, which would not only overturn Prop 12 but could wipe out hundreds of democratically enacted state laws protecting animal welfare, food safety, public health, environmental safeguards, and consumer rights—undermining both states’ rights and voter-driven initiatives. They’ve fought in the courts, at the ballot box, and in Congress. They’ve lost every time. So the question is worth asking: Who are they even fighting for?
Prop 12: A Win for Farmers and Consumers
For all the NPPC’s fearmongering, Prop 12 has not devastated farmers. Quite the opposite: It has given them stability, opportunity, and new markets.
Thousands of farms, ranches, and gardens nationwide—including more than 500 hog farms—have publicly urged Congress to reject efforts to undermine Prop 12. Ahead of the Agriculture Committee’s hearing in July, more than 150 producers submitted testimony in support of the law. None of them were invited to testify in person, while 2 of the 6 invited witnesses were NPPC representatives.
Farmers deserve better than a trade group that wastes its energy on obstruction instead of building a stronger, more resilient future.
These farmers describe Prop 12 as a safeguard against corporate consolidation. One Missouri hog farmer called it “one of the best things, economically, that’s happened to us in a very long time.” The mid-size Clemens Food Group declared it is “vehemently opposed” to overturning the law. Others say the NPPC is “out of touch” and “struggling to justify its existence.” Many producers have invested in Prop 12-compliant barns and now rely on the premium market it created. Rolling back the law would directly harm their businesses.
And the NPPC’s doomsday predictions about shortages and skyrocketing prices? They simply never happened. Pork has been on California shelves throughout full enforcement, now over two years. Prices rose only about 9.5% since 2023—less than half the average 19% increase in overall food prices. Consumers barely noticed, except to feel better knowing their purchases align with basic decency.
It’s Time to Move Forward
The NPPC’s argument has collapsed not only among family farmers but also within the industry’s biggest corporations.
Tyson, JBS, and Seaboard all now offer Prop 12-compliant pork. Hormel has been selling it since 2022 and continues to supply California fully. Even Smithfield—despite its CEO’s grumbling about costs while pocketing nearly $15 million a year in salary—announced it would comply and has already converted barns.
Tellingly, none of these companies has publicly supported the NPPC’s EATS Act. They’ve moved on, because Prop 12 has opened a premium market and won the favor of retailers and food-service companies eager to meet consumer demand for crate-free pork. National chains now advertise their compliance as part of their corporate responsibility goals.
Demonstrating how out of touch the NPPC is with its customers, public support for Prop 12 remains strong within California, and a 2022 survey found that 80% of American voters would support a similar law in their state.
In other words: the sky never fell. The industry adapted. Consumers are satisfied. And the companies making billions are quietly profiting from progress.
Farmers Deserve Better
So why is the NPPC still fighting a battle it has already lost? At this point, its resistance looks less like advocacy and more like sore-losership.
Instead of helping producers secure contracts, access grants, or provide technical resources for optimizing operations under crate-free systems, the NPPC has funneled resources into endless lawsuits, lobbying campaigns, and even gimmicks like handing out free breakfast sandwiches to members of Congress. Imagine if that money had gone into farmer support, research on higher-welfare systems, or strengthening supply chains.
By clinging to pride instead of progress, the NPPC is standing in the way of the very farmers it claims to defend.
Worse, the NPPC’s message insults the very farmers it claims to represent. By insisting compliance is impossible—even while its own vice president complies without issue—the NPPC portrays pork producers as fragile, incapable of meeting basic updates to industry standards. That narrative undermines the credibility of hardworking farmers who have already adapted, and who see Prop 12 as an opportunity, not a threat.
The courts, the voters, the retailers, and even the producers themselves have accepted the law. The only ones still protesting are the NPPC-backed lobbyists. Farmers deserve better than a trade group that wastes its energy on obstruction instead of building a stronger, more resilient future.
NPPC’s Pride Over Progress
There’s a difference between losing and refusing to learn. Learni ng is honorable; doubling down on disproven claims is childish.
So who exactly is the NPPC fighting for?
- Not farmers—they’ve embraced Prop 12 as a market advantage.
- Not voters—they passed Prop 12 in a landslide and still support it.
- Not customers—they welcome the shift to higher standards.
- Not retailers, courts, or the country—every one of whom has accepted the law.
The only answer left is: themselves.
Prop 12 didn’t destroy the pork industry. It’s making it better, despite NPPC’s refusal to accept the future. What threatens the industry now isn’t higher welfare standards—it’s a lobbying group too stubborn to admit it was wrong. By clinging to pride instead of progress, the NPPC is standing in the way of the very farmers it claims to defend.
As one NPPC spokesman notoriously put it: “So our animals can’t turn around for the 2.5 years that they are in the stalls producing piglets. I don’t know who asked the sow if she wanted to turn around …” I guess we can’t expect much from an industry whose spokesperson says this.
The path forward is clear. Farmers, voters, and customers have already shown that higher standards are not only possible but profitable. The future of farming will be built on resilience, fairness, and humane practices—not on the stale politics of obstruction. It’s time to stop fighting progress and start leading with it.
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Remembering Jane Goodall, Who Taught the World How to Be More Humane
The world has lost one of the best of us. The animals have lost one of their greatest allies to have ever lived. We in the humane education movement have lost a groundbreaking advocate, and, for so many of us, a role model.
Oct 03, 2025
When I was a child growing up in the 60s and 70s, watching National Geographic specials on TV, I wanted to be Jane Goodall. Not like her. Her. I could imagine no better life than observing and learning about chimpanzees.
But only Jane Goodall could be Jane Goodall, and I eventually fell into a more traditional path, even going to law school. That didn’t last long. I dropped out by Thanksgiving; read a book by a scientist who taught a chimp named Sarah to communicate through symbolic language; and, with Jane Goodall in mind, went to volunteer in his lab.
When I got there, I was introduced to Sarah. She was isolated in an enclosure, no longer willing to participate in language studies, and prone to temper tantrums. I was advised to keep my distance. The next day, I visited her by myself and felt moved to twirl my finger in the air and say: “Turn around, and I’ll scratch your back.” Sure enough, Sarah turned around, sank down to the floor, and pressed her back against the bars of the cage so I could do so.
“What would Jane think?” I asked myself. I imagined that she would be both angry and heartbroken if she could witness Sarah’s diminished and miserable life. I left that lab a few weeks later. Shortly after that, I discovered my life’s work: humane education.
Most of all, she left us hope, something she talked about frequently, reminding us that hope is generated by our individual and collective acts of positive change.
Little did I know that Jane was about to leave her scientific career behind to be a humane educator herself, realizing with such profound resolve that she needed to try to protect chimps and other animals, vulnerable human communities, and the ecosystems that sustain us all, and the best way to do this was through education. She created Roots and Shoots, a humane education program that has impacted millions of children across the globe. Then she went on to become the most famous, respected, and influential humane educator in the world. Most people probably wouldn’t know to use the term humane educator in association with her. The New York Times’ remembrances of her in the past twenty-four hours didn’t use it, but humane education is exactly what she spent the last half-century of her life doing.
Jane Goodall traveled approximately 300 days out of the year, tirelessly teaching about how we can build a humane, regenerative, peaceable world for animals, people, and the environment. She was on a speaking tour when she died on Oct. 1, 2025, at the age of 91. She was brilliant, kind, funny, and dedicated beyond measure to the work of teaching and spreading a message of compassion in action.
I got to meet Jane a couple of times and speak alongside her, including on the same keynote stage at a humane education conference that the Institute for Humane Education co-led with Roots and Shoots and HEART. Jane’s blurb of my book The World Becomes What We Teach: Educating a Generation of Solutionaries is the primary reason the book became a #1 best seller on Amazon in the philosophy and social aspects of education, and it was among the greatest honors of my life that she wrote the foreword to my recent book, The Solutionary Way. She shared an essay I wrote on her social media, garnering tens of thousands of views. For all I know, you may be reading this because Jane propelled our humane education work forward.
It was a dream come true that I got to publicly share with Jane and the world just how much she meant to me. Apple TV+ launched its programming with the “Dear…” series, highlighting global icons through the people they’d influenced. “Dear Jane” was episode seven, and I was one of those people. I got to tell Jane just how much she had meant to me and how she had shaped my life. I got to thank her.
The world has lost one of the best of us. The animals have lost one of their greatest allies to have ever lived. We in the humane education movement have lost a groundbreaking advocate, and, for so many of us, a role model. But Jane left us everything we need to carry on her legacy. She left us Roots and Shoots, a humane education program any of us can implement; countless videos to learn from; books and stories to read and put into practice in our lives and to spread through our own efforts as humane educators and changemakers. Most of all, she left us hope, something she talked about frequently, reminding us that hope is generated by our individual and collective acts of positive change.
Jane once wrote: “You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
Millions have been impacted by Jane Goodall. Countless people have experienced the joy and honor of hearing her speak and meeting her, and they have their own stories to tell about how she affected them. I hope we’ll all tell our stories. And if Jane Goodall impacted you; if you are heartbroken about her passing, I hope you’ll ask yourself what kind of difference you want to make and then go make that difference. Imagine the world we could create if we all did that.
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I Rescued 4 Chickens From Abuse; Now I’m the One Facing a Felony Trial
I refuse to accept that helping a few baby birds makes me a criminal, let alone a dangerous one.
Sep 09, 2025
As I write this, a GPS ankle monitor shows law enforcement exactly where I am. This invasive device has been strapped to my leg for nearly two years. It has come with me to family dinners, to doctors’ appointments, to university classes, and more. I have been forced to wear it in order to remain free pending a criminal trial, which begins next week. I face nearly half a decade in jail.
My trial is expected to last several weeks, though there is no doubt that I did what prosecutors say. My alleged crime? Taking less than $25 worth of chicken. This wouldn’t normally lead to felony charges or a government-monitored GPS tracking device. But, you see, the four chickens I took were alive.
In the city of Petaluma, about an hour north of San Francisco, nestled between a Subway and a Starbucks, lies a heavily guarded fortress. Nearly every night of the week, more than 40,000 live birds are driven through its gates. In the mornings, their deceased and dismembered bodies are wrapped in plastic, decorated with claims about sustainability, animal welfare, and a lack of antibiotics. Finally, they’re stamped with the brand names “Rocky the Free Range Chicken” and “Rosie the Organic Chicken.” By the time their bodies reenter the outside world, shipped to grocery stores like Safeway and Trader Joe’s, the birds have been thoroughly objectified, their suffering repackaged as ethical consumption.
This fortress is the Petaluma Poultry slaughterhouse, a subsidiary of Perdue, one of the nation’s largest poultry producers. In important ways, Perdue’s Petaluma Poultry represents the worst of animal agriculture. Its branding is frighteningly deceptive, the company a master of manipulative marketing. Petaluma Poultry touts the supposed “luxuries” its chickens enjoy, posting seemingly staged videos of birds frolicking in the grass while, in reality, the birds live and die in factory farm conditions. Factory farming is widely known to be horrific, and companies like Petaluma Poultry represent a major obstacle to stopping it: They advertise animal suffering and slaughter as moral goods.
I know how birds at Petaluma live and die because I have been inside its facilities. In 2023, as an investigator with Direct Action Everywhere, I entered multiple Petaluma Poultry facilities. On these factory farms, I found chickens crowded together in filthy barns. One facility had mortality rates more than double the industry standard. Birds were suffering from severe neglect and dying from blood infections caused by multidrug-resistant bacteria. An investigation of the slaughterhouse found similar trends. One night, in April 2023, over 1,000 chickens from one shipment were condemned post-slaughter when workers opened them up and found their bodies full of infection.
Since 1993, Perdue has claimed its chickens “grow up healthy.” Nothing could be further from the truth. Of the multiple facilities I’ve been inside, I haven’t seen a single chicken I’d describe with such a word. Chickens in the meat industry are systemically unhealthy. They’ve been genetically manipulated to grow three times faster and larger than natural. Their legs collapse as they struggle to hold their own weight. Their hearts fail, and their feet develop pressure sores. The poor health of the birds in Petaluma Poultry facilities is exacerbated by their poor housing conditions and lack of medical care.
In court, I will view myself simply as a representative, a body and a voice, for all of the chickens who have been wronged by Perdue, and by the animal agriculture industry as a whole.
Much of what I have documented at Petaluma Poultry’s facilities is criminal animal cruelty in the state of California. However, repeated reports to law enforcement, over multiple years, have not resulted in any enforcement. Haunted by the knowledge of the immense violence within, I entered Perdue’s Petaluma Poultry slaughterhouse on June 13, 2023. Partially disguised as a worker, I stepped into the cool night and approached a truck stacked high with crates crammed full with baby chickens. I rescued four of them, including one I named Poppy, who had an injured toe, a body covered in scratches, and intestines filled with parasites. I got all four birds veterinary care and shared their stories, asking members of the public to join me in calling for immediate action from law enforcement.
The rescue of four little hens finally sparked law enforcement intervention. However, instead of investigating years of reported criminal animal cruelty, law enforcement set off on a mission to gather evidence on what was likely the first act of compassion to be carried out within the slaughterhouse’s carefully constructed walls—and to charge me with crimes.
Months after the rescue, as I was walking toward the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office to once again file a report of documented animal cruelty at Petaluma Poultry, I was placed in handcuffs and arrested on seven counts of felony conspiracy. I was told about warrants obtained to access my cell-phone data and other records. Though some charges have since been dismissed or consolidated, I still face one felony, three misdemeanors, and nearly five years in jail. I have been forced to wear a GPS ankle monitor and adhere to other harsh pretrial release conditions for nearly two years because the government is afraid I might rescue more birds.
Why? It’s certainly not the monetary value of the birds. The value of a relatively healthy chicken raised in agriculture is only a few dollars, and the routine deaths of thousands before they even reach slaughter is deemed the cost of business. Moreover, there are so many animals in these facilities, it is unlikely anyone would have even noticed four chickens were gone if I had not publicized it. Instead, what is threatening is the idea inherent in my actions: that animals are individuals with lives worth living.
I’m a 23-year-old university student. I’ve been rescuing animals from abuse since the age of 11, when I founded my nonprofit, Happy Hen Animal Sanctuary. In the past, I’ve been able to work with law enforcement. Together, we’ve rescued roosters from illegal cockfighting rings and placed farmed animals in loving forever homes. But now, for saving four chickens, my entire future is at stake.
As I’ve gone to court over the past 20 months, represented by the Animal Activist Legal Defense Project, it has become obvious that the prosecutors are trying to make an example out of me to scare other concerned members of the public. But that’s okay. Let me be an example. Let me be an example of courage in the face of repression and of compassion in the face of violence. Let me be an example of just how impossible it will be to stop the movement for animal rights.
I will not apologize for my actions. I will not hang my head in shame. I refuse to accept that helping a few baby birds makes me a criminal, let alone a dangerous one. To apologize would be to say that Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea deserved the cruelty inflicted on them. It would be to say they deserved to shiver in a crate, covered in scrapes and bruises, as they were eaten alive by parasites. Any apology would be a lie. I am not sorry I saved their lives.
Next week, I will be taking this case to trial. In court, I will view myself simply as a representative, a body and a voice, for all of the chickens who have been wronged by Perdue, and by the animal agriculture industry as a whole. I will tell the jury about the birds I rescued, and the birds failed by Sonoma County law enforcement.
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