BEATING THE COLLYWOBBLES... By Ingrid Newkirk

Ingrid Newkirk is the co-founder and President of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. With over 800,000 members, PETA is the largest animal rights organization in the world. Major corporations, institutions and government agencies have all changed their treatment or use of animals as a result of PETA's campaigns.

I'm often on the road, promoting the idea that even for the simplest things in life—like choosing ingredients for a cake or buying a pair of shoes—you can make either kind or cruel choices. I urge people never to hesitate to speak up against outrages and to live their values to the fullest. It's my dream that everyone who wants kindness to be regarded as a key value and greed to disappear into the ether will be able to look back on their lives and feel good about having made a mark—having changed hearts and minds for the better.

In my talks, I urge everyone to relish the fact that we live in a democracy, that we really can seize opportunities to have our opinions count—that we have the privilege of being active members of an evolving society. "All that evil needs to triumph," I remind the audience, "is for enough good people to do nothing!"

I tell anyone who'll listen that even in a totally free society, you can easily find yourself behaving as if you lived in an oppressive dictatorship because it seems too awkward, inconvenient, or scary to stand up for what you believe in. It can be far more comfortable to repress yourself—who wants to risk looking foolish? And who wants to be the first to stand up for justice? So most people stay as quiet as church mice, even when they're aching to change the world or to right a wrong. That, I thought, couldn't possibly happen to pushy old me.

"If you care about suffering," I hear myself saying for the umpteenth time, "if you care about animals or simply about stopping injustice to those who can't defend themselves, never be silent when someone passes by in a fur coat. Say something. Anything. It doesn't have to be rude. Tell that person that you used to wear fur (if you did) until you found out about mother animals caught in steel traps who chew off their paws to get back to feed their babies. Tell them that they look great but that their beauty is ruined by the idea that they're the sort of person who is indifferent to cruelty. If you say nothing, you allow people to think that there's nothing wrong with wearing fur, and others will see them and—thinking that it's acceptable—contribute to the suffering and death of more animals by buying more fur."

I usually give an encouraging example of why each person needs to try to overcome his or her fears. One of my favorites is the story of a university study in which a researcher and an accomplice went out to try and persuade people to sign a petition. The researcher would approach someone walking across the quad and say, "Excuse me, would you like to sign a petition against racism?" He would explain that someone on campus had received a letter containing a racist slur. At this point, the accomplice would sidle up and say either, "I'll sign," or, "Wait a minute, how do we know that the person who received that letter didn't make a slur themselves?" The study showed that people were far more likely to sign if the decoy signed the petition first and quite unlikely to sign if she raised doubts. My point, of course, is that if you sit quietly, someone else will come along and lead the crowd.

So there I was, waiting to change planes on one of these talk-circuit trips, when it happened: A huge, intimidating, muscular fellow arrived noisily and sat down a little way away from me. He threw the newspapers from the seat onto the ground and let them lie there for a lesser individual to pick up. He was wearing camouflage pants and a shirt with a picture of a deer's head on it. The deer was obviously dead, her tongue protruding from the side of her mouth. Next to the head was a picture of a rifle and the slogan: "Let's go hunting!"

Of course, I am no stranger to speaking up—but on this occasion, for some reason, it was different. I was dog-tired, the seating area was crowded with strangers, and I was in a town where hunting was so popular that children got off from school on the first day of deer season. To make matters worse—perhaps from lack of sleep—I felt really nervous.

"Why did he have to sit down here?" I fumed. It was obviously a test. I could never again tell people to speak up at every opportunity if I remained silent while this man advertised to the world that blowing deer to smithereens was perfectly natural behavior. I had to weigh in and say something, but what?

I sat there thinking. I felt that he'd never listen if I tried to explain that geese mate for life, that all animals are protective and loving of their young, and that all animals feel the pain of the arrow, the bullet, or the knife; fear pursuit; and cling to their lives. I wished that he would let me tell him the story of the noble buck who stayed by his blind partner's side to guide her through the woods to escape from hunters and was finally killed beside her. But that all required an investment of time that he wouldn't allow.

Just then, inspiration hit me. "What do men care about?" I stashed my PETA bag and went over to him.

Really loudly, so that everyone nearby looked up, I said, "Hi! I just had to say that I think you are SO brave to wear that shirt!" The hunter looked up at me, not quite sure how to take this.

"Why's that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Putting on my best smile, I said, "Well, after that TV special, I'm sure you realize that everyone is talking about how hunters may shoot animals to try to compensate for their own sexual inadequacy." Somehow, I kept smiling.

The hunter glowered. "Well, that's a bunch of b**s***!" he said.

I kept smiling.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "I had a hunter boyfriend once, and he was definitely compensating for being a big fat zero in bed!"

You could have heard a pin drop. It was so quiet in that waiting area—you might have thought I was giving stock tips.

I walked away, sat down, and left the hunter to his thoughts.

If I had to bet, I'd say that it's doubtful he'll wear that T-shirt to advertise hunting again, unless he's with his buddies deep in the woods in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn't the best thing I'd done, and it wasn't the most brilliant or persuasive argument, but I had been true to my own advice. The deer couldn't stick up for themselves, so I had given it my best "shot."