I can’t remember the last time I ate a four legged animal. After witnessing the ceremonial sacrifice of a buffalo at a traditional Torajan funeral in Sulawesi, Indonesia, I can unequivocally assure you that Morrissey was right: Meat IS murder.
I was unprepared for the sudden slice and the prolonged suffering. The beautiful beast was punished for the pleasure of the party. He suffocated for at least fifteen minutes, miraculously lifting his near severed head several times, and violently smashing it to the ground. Large gravel rocks were launched meters in all directions as his seismic convulsions thrashed his spine back and forth. Four of his friends watched his slaughter. Each of them will meet the same end in the four remaining days of the funeral rites.
Eventually, exhausted, he lay still as his blood pooled between his legs. At least five men began flaying his flesh from the snow white fat that surrounded his muscles. His skin, like clothing, lay in a pile on the ground. I could see then that he was not, in fact dead yet. His heart was still beating. His jugular was pulsing, as the muscles at his shoulders twitched. He had been skinned alive.
The men took a break while another portion of the ceremony commenced. The flies collected as the sun steamed the fresh meat. They returned with axes to break his ribcage. His organs were separated from his bones. His stomach had been sliced, revealing fresh, compacted grass from his last meal.
I kept shooting, as seven sows screamed, bound to bamboo boards. None of the animals had been given water as they roasted in the heat. Unmitigated, unnecessary torture. A deer, a goat, a horse and a calf were tied to posts near the buffalos. The valuable, blue eyed, Albino was secured tightly by rope through it’s septum.
To eat an animal out of necessity is one matter. To subject it to suffering is another. Livestock in the states has a horrible life and a “humane” death. Here, the buffalo spend their lives wading in rice paddies and roaming the hills. It pays for that privilege with this agony. I’d prefer neither scenario.
I was not in a position to stop this. I replaced emotion with action. My job was to witness the horror and share it with those of you who choose to eat meat purchased pre-wrapped or plated with sides, without ever having dirtied your hands with the being’s blood. If these images horrify you, good.
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