May
2000
Guest
Editorial: Confessions of a Novice Infiltrator
By Jeff Lydon
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For someone who doesn’t like to lie, I am
very good at it. That afternoon, I was spitting out lies like cherry
pits. My stomach was tight and my pulse fast. I thought that maybe they
knew I wasn’t telling the truth. I kept wiping my mouth, as if
it was covered with cherry juice. But I’m a good liar and they
didn’t know that I was someone else.
They were wardens at a game farm. I was an animal rights activist on
a reconnaissance mission—my first excursion into the world of infiltration,
sort of. It’s almost embarrassing to call it that, since it was
so low key. Nothing like some of the cloak-and-dagger operations other
activists have engineered. (As I’ve yet to publicize my findings—if
any are worth exploiting—the details of my work will have to wait
until I’m sure there’s no more mileage to be had out of the
relationships I’ve built.)
Working under cover is not my style. I’ve always left that kind
of activism to those better suited for it. In this instance, I was in
the right place at the right time. Generally, I prefer debate, demonstrations,
education—a vigorous public discourse. The animal rights movement
has the truth on its side. Our opponents in research, hunting, agribusiness
and entertainment must perpetually lie about what they’re doing
to our health, our environment and the animals themselves. If the AR
movement had the same political and economic leverage that its adversaries
have, such that we too could buy elected officials and mass media,
the
revolution would soon be won.
The point is, we only have to tell the truth to make a strong case.
That gives me a sense of power. Our conviction that animals have rights
is the child of knowledge, fact and compassion. But when I did my bit
as an infiltrator, I was speaking at around 45 lies an hour. The rationale
is simple: I lied to gain access to the truth so that I could show the
truth to more people, empowering them to choose wisely and to save animals.
The ends justify the means and we need to fight fire with fire. Simple.
Or is it? The folks I snowed at the game farm were descent people.
I’m
supposed to be the righteous one on the side of decency, but they treated
me well, while I treated them with the contempt of my subterfuge. Does
their iniquity toward animals justify this? Do I simply lack the guts
for this kind of work? Maybe, but there’s more to it than that.
As animal rights activists, we are emissaries of a revolution. Ultimately,
our integrity will speak louder for the animals than our rhetoric.
As
Howard Lyman likes to say, the most important part of activism is "to
walk the talk." If the movement’s greatest ally is the truth,
then my lying may have been a stumble along that walk.
Our adversaries have no integrity. That’s one thing that has given
them a strategic advantage, at least in the short run. But it’s
turning against them. As the paradigm shifts, their plain corruptness
is getting harder to hide, and the rank smell of their lies is seeping
into the mainstream, quickening the same cycles of awareness that industry
myths are meant to stifle. Slowly, the steady flow of fact is eroding
the walls of corporate propaganda. Soon, the wall will crumble, and
the general public will finally be able to see what’s really on
the other side. What the public will do with revelation is hard to
guess.
If we adopt the tactics of those we aim to change, fight fire with
fire, it may turn against us as well. Given that ours is a cause for
justice,
then any time we act in a way that compromises the most fundamental
tenant of justice—namely, truth—we ought to consider the
consequences, both long-term and short-term, local as well as global.
Not only because
of the risk of public or political backlash, but because of something
less tangible, if no less important: our integrity.
Gradually, our mass practice of truth-force (a concept after which this
publication is named) builds a kind of positively charged momentum,
the potential of which in practical terms is as yet incalculable. The
more who witness our integrity, who see us walk the talk, the more will
hear and heed our message. Living up to such ideals every day in every
act and every syllable may take more guts, and more patience, than anything
else we do.
This does not mean I think infiltration or other covert tactics ought
to be out of bounds for activists. The work infiltrators have done
for
the movement has been critical. The atrocities they’ve chronicled
and publicized have resulted in greater awareness, legislative change
and legal action against animal abusers. Infiltrators not only put themselves
at risk, but must silently bear the suffering of animals until the moment
comes for documenting and exposing cruelty. My modest foray into infiltration
has only deepened my admiration for the people who’ve done such
work.
It has also reminded me of what’s at stake when we engage in such
actions. Of how tempting it is to rationalize indiscriminate ethical
trespasses in the name of righteousness. If we wholly embrace the maxim
that the ends justify the means, we undermine our most natural advantage—our
simple moral clarity. When we compromise that, people will wonder what’s
the difference between us and them, and I will wonder the same thing.
Time will tell whether my own limited experience in infiltration was
well considered or will bear fruit. For now, my moral qualms are eased
by the dirt I dug up.
