FROM THE EDITOR

WELCOME TO another issue of your favourite mag (we trust). It’s our winter issue and we
hope it makes you all warm and fuzzy.

We have a sort of rock mafia special going on in this one. Jaylene Musgrave talked to a bunch of musical vegans intent on world domination, or maybe just on being featured in VV. Adalita from Magic Dirt, Chris and Regan from The Black Stars, and Nimbin dweller Diana Anaid chat about veganism in all its glory. Not to be outdone, your industrious editor talked to singer/songwriter Melania Jack, just to raise the V-count.

We feature an extract from Melanie Joy’s book Strategic Action For Animals, which explains that many people, according to the author, “are deeply disturbed by and feel guilty about eating meat, and yet at the same time fear not eating it”. If you’ve ever thought you could be kinder and more understanding towards carnivores, don’t skip this article. In these desperate days we need all the silver-tongued activists we can get.

Michael Morris has put together a critique of the Harry Potter books, dealing specifically with animal use and abuse at Hogwarts, in a comparison with C.S. Lewis’s Narnia and Tolkien’s Middle Earth. A fascinating and unusual approach, we think you’ll find.

Regular contributor David Horton continues his fascination with altruism and non-violence in “Rushing To The Rescue”. But can we rush fast enough, David – that is the question. Lyndal Greenslade asks many confronting questions in “Marshmallow Cocoons”, the main one being: why are humans so afraid of change and of asking something more of themselves? Butterflies Katz swears the future is vegan, and I hope she’s right. She’s been doing it a long time and can’t find the flaw. Neither can I.

Our “Mind The Media” section in this issue is four pages long. Bear with us – it’s important. It means the V-word has been more in the world news in the last three months than at any other time we’re aware of. And we’re nothing if not aware. Oscar Wilde would be pleased; the only thing worse than being talked about really is not being talked about, even if much of it is nasty. If this keeps up the entire mag will be minding the media.

It can’t have escaped anyone’s notice that these days the majority of humans look as if they’re wearing fat suits. And now we’ve got Dr John McDougall telling us vegans to pull up our socks (if we can bend that far). Dr John is asking vegans to eat properly and ditch the junk, because we need to look and feel our best if we’re going to persuade the world we have all the answers. Think about that next time you’re scoffing down soy ice cream.

Speaking of food, my partner is an obscenely creative cook and takes good care of me, especially just before magazine deadline when I’m not quite all there. When he’s not whipping up black bean and sweet potato burritos, he’s stirring a herby pot of organic veg soup or perfecting a batch of savoury-yeasty brown-rice burgers. One rainy day he presented me with a bowl of something hot for lunch. I asked him what it was. Slurry, he said. Too thick for a soup, too thin for a curry. It tasted pretty nice, but he won’t be writing up restaurant menus any time soon.

There’s actually a British MP who’s gone all out and is supporting the call for one meatless day a week. Barack Obama is being pestered by US veg groups to make “Meatless Mondays” the norm, and PETA has written to Kevin Rudd. The world as we know it is in its death throes and we have to fight for just one crummy meatless day a week. My patience is being sorely tried.

As I mentioned, diatribes from meat eaters are all over the net and have been much in the papers of late. And I have to say their protests and arguments are looking mighty ragged. I believe that over the next few years we’ll be engaged in fighting the last battle. Then we win. Ah, sweet irony.

HERE AT WEBSTERS CREEK we’ve had a vast amount of rain. Yes, we did choose to live in rainforest country. But mud and leeches and lack of sun get everyone down after a while, including the wild folk. The berries and flowers are sparse and obviously a bit flavourless without the sunshine.

Our resident family of honeyeaters would surely have succumbed to starvation if it had not been for our banana supplies. Only in a town like Nimbin would you find homegrown bananas, not to mention the best pumpkins in the world, being sold cheap from a wheelbarrow in the hardware store. What would we do without those bananas? Our own banana trees get raided by parrots while the fruit is still green, because of course we always forget – or can’t bring ourselves – to bag the bunches.

But back to the honeyeaters: they are so pushy. If you forget to put some banana out on the ledge you get yelled at in a high-pitched tone. Do you know how unnerving it is to have half a dozen thin serious honeyeaters peering in through the window at you? There are many generations now and they’re all called Harriet. Some we’ve held in our hands as babies due to their getting trapped inside the house and needing rescuing. Young people are so trusting, and their small bodies are so soft and vulnerable.

I’ve learned a few things about birds over the years, from living with them and being a wildlife carer. They might not speak our language but they certainly do manage to convey their meaning. Hand-raised doves shake their heads from side to side when they’ve had enough food, or just turn their backs on you. If they feel they could eat a little more, they touch their beaks to the syringe and nod. You’d have to be awfully thick not to understand that.

Sienna

Read more from the editor in our June–August issue, out in the last week of May.