Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
July 12, 2002
Last week, my sister accompanied a friend to a dinner party at a local restaurant specializing in seafood. Everyone except her ordered either lobster or crab. When the food came and people began eating, my sister got nauseated and couldn’t finish her salad.
“Why?” I asked. “What happened?”
“They were all looking at us,” she said.
“Who was all looking at you?”
“Those lobsters and crabs. And then people ripped their bodies open and tore their legs off, all while talking about boiling them alive. It was awful.”
This may seem unbelievably naive on my sister’s part, but we grew up in a family that almost never ate anything resembling an actual animal. Fish came in sticks, beef in burgers and chicken in nuggets. And so my animal-loving sister had to move to Hawaii to get a dose of animal-eating reality.
I had a similar moment when I moved here, and it also involved lobsters.
It happened during a scuba diving class in 1984 in Kaneohe Bay. Our instructor poked her head under a rock ledge. Inside huddled a group of large spiny lobsters. As we peered in, they cowered together, waving their long antennae in alarm.
And with good reason. While we were busy admiring these animals, our dive teacher was donning gloves and getting out a net bag. She motioned for us to move out of the way, reached into the cave and pulled out her prize: a large spiny lobster.
We shared her gloves and passed the creature around the class. The big lobster was hard to hold on to because it kept snapping its strong tail in efforts to get away. And then came a major moment in my life: I heard the lobster cry.
I know animals don’t really cry, but this lobster made such a mournful sound, it brought tears to my eyes. (I later learned that when alarmed, spiny lobsters rub the base of their antenna against a patch near their eye and make a whining sound.)
Back on land, our instructor insisted on showing us how to kill and clean the lobster, saying that if we eat animals, we must be willing to catch and kill them.
I agreed with her — and have not ordered a lobster since.
Still, I’m not a vegetarian for several reasons. One is nearly unbearable cravings. I can go for a week or two, or even three, without eating animal flesh, but then my carnivorous cave-woman genes kick in, and I will kill for a burger.
Jimmy Buffet made this yearning famous in his song “Cheeseburger in Paradise” when he wanted “not zucchini, fettuccine or bulgur wheat, but a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat.”
Another reason I haven’t entirely sworn off meat is that people serve it to me unbidden. I travel annually to Bangladesh, and sometimes to other poor countries, where people around me are starving. When my hosts there bring out the meat as a special treat, I eat it.
The last reason I haven’t gone vegetarian is my belief in moderation. Since our species evolved eating meat, it seems wrong to drop that entire food group from my diet.
Since our family was not big on vegetables, either, my sister is struggling with her first crack at vegetarianism. When your staples have been fast food, ham sandwiches and chicken Caesars, the transition is hard.
I admire this busy woman’s efforts to save a few animals, including those that are marine animals. And I am inspired to try harder. And when I waver, I will remember: My lobster not only looked at me, it also cried.