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The Poetics of Meat, Mad Cows, and Human-Animal Illness
One of the most stubborn limits of disability studies is that which encircles "the human." We think we know what kinds of beings are exposed to ableism and stigma, as well as to the more liberatory possibilities of disability politics. With the exception of a service animal here and there, the subjects and social dynamics with which disability studies is concerned are almost always assumed to belong to homo sapiens. At the same time, however, the history of disability and illness is a history of human encounters with animals, from pig-derived insulin to seizure-sniffing dogs to gorillas trained in American Sign Language. Though our concepts of disability, access, illness, and health regularly cross species bounds, the foundational "social model" of disability still privileges human-focused definitions of the social.1
Symptomatic of this limitation is the predominance of Temple Grandin as the go-to example of interspecies disability, in both disability and animal studies. Grandin operates, on the one hand, as a touchstone through which theorists try to think disability and "the nonhuman" together; on the other hand, scholars in both fields have taken the famed animal welfarist to task for her assertion that autism makes her uniquely capable of understanding and relating to nonhuman animals.2 The disability community largely critiques Grandin's characterization of autism as essentialist, and animal liberationists (both disabled and nondisabled) question why her supposedly exceptional empathy for nonhuman animals has led her to design slaughterhouse equipment rather than become an abattoir abolitionist.3 And so, she provides a convenient scapegoat for those who, rightfully wary of the vile history of comparison between disabled humans and nonhuman animals, bristle at the very notion that disability should have any meaning beyond the human. In comparing autistic and nonhuman consciousness, this logic goes, Grandin devalues both autistic and nonhuman life, and so disability and animality should remain safely distinct.
Underlying this anxiety is the assumption that speaking of disability and animality in relation to one another necessarily means making comparisons or analogies between the two. This has had the unfortunate effect of obscuring how ableism and speciesism operate in mutually reinforcing, materially intertwined ways as Sunaura Taylor argues in Beasts of Burden: Animal and Disability Liberation. For instance, the health/illness binary not only devalues sick and disabled humans, but also renders nonhuman lives disposable in service of a fantasy of human health. When livestock are killed off due to disability or illness, both the agricultural industry and its detractors deploy the stigma of unhealthiness to their own rhetorical ends: for animal liberationists, "[t]he downed, sick – or even potentially sick – animal becomes the symbol of what is unhealthy, dirty, and dangerous about industrialized animal farming," while at the same time, factory farms kill disabled animals en masse in order to appear that they prioritize "safety, health, and even compassion."4 Both claims are founded on the assumption that an animal's compulsory and violent death is a desirable alternative to its living with a disability.
It is understandable, then, that disability studies has been mostly uninterested in engaging with these debates. Compounding the ableist rhetoric on all sides is the problem of suffering that has been a matter of controversy in disability studies for quite some time. Disability advocates have been reluctant to embrace solidarity with nonhuman animals whose bodily conditions are the products of grave mistreatment, as doing so might enforce harmful associations of disability with pain and misery. "It is hard even to begin to consider what disability means in these instances," Taylor says, "because of how inseparable it is from captivity, abuse, neglect, breeding, and, yes, suffering."5 While she suggests that viewing the lives of livestock through a critical disability lens can help us "to ask who these animals are behind their suffering" and "to consider how the very vulnerability and difference that these animals inhabit may in fact model new ways of knowing and being," the how of this imperative remains an open question.6 Given that industrial agricultural facilities are some of the most well-hidden private operations in the American landscape, most people's only lenses into it are through the expository work of animal activists, whose singular message is indeed animal suffering.7 Moreover, as Jasbir Puar has argued, population-scale systems of intentional debilitation (such as industrial farming) pose a challenge to disability studies' tendency to celebrate disabled embodiment.8 What would it mean to look for other modes of disabled life in this context, and how would one even go about such a thing?
One way toward answers to these questions, I propose, is through poetry. Even if most of us have very limited access to these beings' day-to-day experiences, poetry makes it possible to reckon with, rethink, and repurpose the language we might use to imagine them. This possibility is among the core animating impulses of The Cow, Ariana Reines's 2006 breakthrough collection of lyric, prose, and documentary poetry organized around modern systems of factory farming and medical-industrial discourse. The cows in this text fit into none of the imaginaries most readily available to describe livestock life: they are neither the contented cows of dairy industry ad copy, nor the histrionically abjected victims of PETA pamphlets, nor the quiet hill-dwellers of the pastoral. They are, rather, the focus of less familiar but more mundane realms of language production, such as veterinary guidebooks, architectural plans, and industry instruction manuals. By reproducing and representing these texts as poetry in themselves – often without even using line breaks to stylize them as such – The Cow appropriates the language of its world and ironizes it by exposing the objectifying logics that structure both industrial livestock-processing equipment and poetic address. Refracted through one another, poetry and meat production are revealed to entail a "processing" of life into digestible form, from which life is nonetheless always escaping, emerging, insisting upon itself.9
Through this processing, the material details of the cows' lives and deaths come into focus with scientific precision: they are quadruple-stomached, pregnant, eating, lowing, breathing, being inseminated, obtaining pelvic fractures, having portholes put into their bodies, lying down, refusing to walk, going "mad," crying out, and ultimately becoming food. Poetry, in its lack of demand for narrative or argument, enables the representation of these animals' lives in language without contorting them into narrative prostheses – that is, the flattening of disabled figures into plot devices – or reducing them to the spectacle of their deaths.10 Even as the text foregrounds the debilitation that accompanies the cows' conditions, it also emphasizes the extent to which they still manage to resist humans' claims to epistemological and physical mastery. Humans do not fully understand the function of each stomach, Reines points out, nor do we always know why a cow might lie down and refuse to get up, disrupting production on the farm. "THE CAUSE OF THE RECUMBENCY IS, MORE OFTEN THAN NOT, ELUSIVE EVEN TO AN EXPERIENCED CLINICIAN," Reines copies from The Merck Veterinary Manual, highlighting a moment in which "downer" cows resist the protocol of human control by very nature of their disabilities.11 Disability, here, has meaning and possibility other than suffering, even as it may well be connected to it. It is possible, The Cow suggests, to consider what disability affords not beyond or "behind" suffering but through and alongside it, without reducing one to the other.
When a body passes through the factory farm and slaughterhouse, it also, just as importantly, passes through categories of subject and object, animacy and inanimacy, and life and death, culminating in its ultimate transformation from "cow" to "meat" – the linguistic shift that allows humans to cognitively sidestep the implications of digesting a sentient being. Poetry, in The Cow, does not simply represent, narrate, or analyze this process; it is the process. But, as we will see, the cows' disabled bodies become not only the victims or tragic symbols of this process, but also the disrupters and drivers of poetic form. In response to the objectifying linguistic processes of the slaughterhouse, Reines takes Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE), or "mad cow disease," as a formal guide: like the proteins that carry the illness, The Cow's syntax addresses bodies by moving through them, turning them into grammatical objects that nonetheless have agency. The Cow reckons with and at times relishes the knowledge laid bare by this interspecies illness: that no human can remain safely outside the various mechanisms – grammatical, mechanical, spiritual – that they might use to relegate others to the position of objects. After all, no matter how powerful a subject you might be today, if you eat a contaminated piece of beef tomorrow, you will become the object of a) a pathogen, and b) a whole society's fear and hysteria. And yet, while ableist fears of madness may result in the denial of subjectivity to humans and nonhuman animals perceived as mad – specifically, through the mass "termination" of potentially BSE-infected cows and the institutional control of people who experience psychosis – these beings nonetheless remain agents, capable of acting on and with others.12 The text responds to this reality by incorporating a poetic "I" that is always vulnerable to having its capacities altered through zoonotic illness and its related objectifying processes, and thus vulnerable to having its status as a human subject thrown into question. In this way, the text invests in what Taylor refers to as "new ways of knowing and being" that emerge alongside or even out of debilitation and suffering, without obscuring them. Languageless beings deemed too mad, too disabled to live might not only suffer, The Cow suggests, but also model ways of resisting the linguistic systems that transform them into objects.
Reading The Cow through this lens complicates the metaphorical apparatus through which critics tend to read it, wherein the debilitation of female cows in factory farms indexes similar forms of suffering inflicted on human women through sexual violence.13 Though the text indeed traces the "resemblances" in the language around these phenomena, its sustained attention to the nontransferable language of food production makes it difficult to interpret Reines's engagement with nonhuman life as purely allegorical.14 So, too, does the book's self-conscious "conflation" of "cow with cattle car," which reaches beyond analogy to suggest that the role of cattle cars in the Holocaust "humanizes, necessarily, the suffering of the beasts for which cattle cars were made."15 Both of these metaphorical resonances – and the compromised status of metaphor in general – are essential to Reines' project, though I will not have the space to grapple fully with them here. I will focus, rather, on moments in which the text not only asks readers to imagine what other registers its language of animal disability might point to, but also investigates how language participates in systems of human and nonhuman disablement in the first place.
Moreover, reading The Cow in terms of its careful attention to the material lives of disabled livestock not only challenges critical interpretations of this particular text, but also extends contemporary disability poetics into new conceptual territory. Asking what disabled animal bodies might have to do with poetic form aligns with the recent turn toward formalism in literary disability studies: that is, a growing body of scholarship that asks what an aesthetics of disability might look like beyond simply texts that are "about" disability or that have a disabled author.16 Michael Bérubé's The Secret Life of Stories, for instance, considers how cognitive disability can shape the structure of narrative, and books like Rebecca Sanchez's Deafening Modernism and Julia Miele Rodas's Autistic Disturbances trace the influence of Deaf and autistic language on the poetics of writers who are not identified with those categories. The Cow suggests that this field of inquiry need not be limited to human disability; even as the text does not purport to be about disability and in fact never uses the word, its poetics are driven by the processes of human objectification that produced "mad cow disease," a form of species-crossing disablement. Still, it is not surprising that so far this critical turn has been anthropocentric in its concerns. To most people, it seems simply nonsensical to suggest that there could be such a thing as a nonhuman disability poetics, given that language is widely presumed to belong only to human beings. But The Cow gives the lie to this assumption – not by appealing to arguments that nonhuman animals have languages of their own, but by excavating the poetic processes through which so-called human language materially alters and is altered by both nonhuman and human bodies.
Still underexplored in this body of scholarship, moreover, is a consideration of illness aesthetics. Illness has long existed in somewhat uneasy relation to disability, challenging the social model's definition of disability as purely a problem of social and built environments rather than a problem of biological impairment.17 A poetics of illness, The Cow shows, may well incorporate language of abjection and of biology that other theories of disability poetics have been reluctant to claim. The text's pathogenic poetics suggest that, in order to understand the meaning and significance of illness to our world and the way we represent it, the lenses of built environments, stigma, and human identity categories account for only part of the picture.18 Though examining the formal properties of a pathogen – a biological cause of impairment – may seem anathema to disability studies' commitment to the social, The Cow shows that the biological elements of illness can contain immense potential for intervention in the most fundamental organizing principles of society. Here, zoonotic illness demands a new grammar, unsettling the violent subject-object hierarchies that prop up not only distinctions like cow/meat and consumer/consumed, but also health/illness and human/animal – the very distinctions through which dehumanizing ableist rhetoric has historically cast disabled people as non- or subhuman.
Unhealthy Objects
In the context of the industrial slaughterhouse, there is no easy separation of material objects from grammatical ones. The outcome of the slaughter process is the transformation of an agential bovine subject into an acted-upon object. The Cow both reproduces this material-grammatical processing and throws wrenches into it by imbuing the objects of industrial slaughter with an enduring capacity for agency. As we will see, this necessitates dislodging ableist grammatical hierarchies in which health corresponds to agency. In a poem tellingly titled "ITEM," Reines establishes a relationship between cows' object status and the presumption of health by reflecting on the disjunctive relationship between the "feed" that cows are made to eat in industrial farming settings and those farms' claims about the health of their products:
In the stall she is fed FEED. FEED has many things in it, for example, corn, lots of corn, and, until, recently, but maybe still, rendered animal. Rendered animal, for extra protein. The antibiotics make it possible for the cow to digest the corn, which, without antibiotics, would kill her, but which, with antibiotics, makes her fat, which is to say, TENDER. Marbled. HEALTH.19
This version of the cow as item is contrasted with an image of a "healthy cow" that appears earlier in the poem, which is a cow who produces between 20 and 35 gallons of saliva each day in order to moisten and digest grass. This healthy cow "does not eat protein, she makes it. Her stomach turns grass into her body."20 Note the grammatical difference between these two descriptions: when the cow is healthy, she is a subject who makes protein, and when she is unhealthy – yet ironically represents the supposed HEALTH humans would gain through her flesh – she is an object who "is fed" feed that "would kill her."
This shift reflects the underlying grammar of agricultural production, in which humans are able to create industries around animal exploitation largely due to the ease with which we objectify animal bodies, rendering them discardable. Animal liberationist Carol J. Adams has argued that renaming animal flesh "meat" constitutes the "objectification of consumption through language," a process in which "[l]anguage distances us from animals by naming them as objects."21 This obfuscation of animal subjectivity enables nonhuman animals to become the "absent referents" of metaphors for human oppression, where complaints that women are treated "like animals," for instance, tacitly accept the abuse of animals on the other side of the analogy.22 This critique could easily extend to disability discourse: when we talk about violence done to humans who have been treated "like lab rats" by the ableist medical establishment, what are we saying about lab rats themselves? For many people, to acknowledge animal illness or vulnerability is a matter of cognitive dissonance, even or especially when humans have ourselves induced that illness – an object, after all, is not supposed to have health.
That's not because objects can't be alive, but because the concept of health plays a powerful role in determining a being's capacity for agency. A healthy being is thought to possess the energy to assert its subject position in the world, and thus to take action, whereas an unhealthy being is supposedly in a state of needing to be acted upon – treated, healed, cured. This much is evident in early disability activism's insistence on a distinction between disability and illness, in which disabled people, unlike sick people, were considered self-determining, autonomous, and agential. As Susan Wendell notes in her influential essay arguing for the inclusion of chronic illness in disability discourse, this distinction was not without reason, as the undue pathologization of people with disabilities often resulted in their being put in positions where "medical personnel controlled every aspect of their lives" despite their capacity to live independently.23 If being perceived as ill means being stripped of bodily autonomy, as it often still does for people with mental or other heavily stigmatized illnesses, then the distinction between "healthy disability" and "unhealthy disability" becomes a distinction between the potential for personhood and total objectification.
This hierarchy is a crucial element of The Cow's grappling with the language of objectification: not just in metaphorical terms of how meat production is like the objectification of some humans, but also in terms of how any body's – human or nonhuman – symbolic capacity for "health" can determine its status within the subject/object conventions of human grammar. Where disability studies has recognized that linking health to the capacity to act has disastrous consequences for people who are deemed unhealthy, Reines traces the implications of this logic to the realm of the nonhuman, revealing how the concept of health actually produces the conditions of animal agency or nonagency that it pretends to describe. Presaging Mel Y. Chen's characterization of linguistic hierarchies in terms of bodies' relative "animacies," The Cow shows how ableist and anthropomorphic conceptions of health as animating and agential determine whether a body is a subject or an object within language, and by extension within the hierarchies of the social world.24 Indeed, as the above passage shows, the linguistic shift from "cow" to "meat" that takes place as the body passes through the slaughter process thus first involves a shift in health status: the unhealthy cow's subjectivity is negated so that it can become the purportedly healthy object of human consumption. Once the cow is an object, its health can be defined only in terms of the human subject, the consumer. Reines reveals, however, how these symbolic hierarchies have disabling effects for both human and nonhuman animals. The irony of calling meat HEALTH, after all, is that the protein the cow receives through rendered animal matter – the very thing that enables an appearance of health – is also the origin of BSE, which spread to humans as variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (vCJD) via their consumption of infected meat. This phenomenon, along with the crisis of antibiotic resistance, has made clear that meat can mean "HEALTH" without being healthy for either humans or the animals it came from. In other words, having health and meaning health are two different things. The HEALTH of red and marbled flesh is, simply, a picture of health that refers to no one.
Prion Poetics
This tension between having and meaning health throws the factory farm's grammar of health into crisis, destabilizing the hierarchies of agency that define industrial agriculture. Nowhere is this clearer, The Cow suggests, than in the rendering process. Rendered meat comes, often, from the bodies of animals that were ill or "downed": that is, unable or unwilling to walk to slaughter for any reason. Downed animals that are disabled but not necessarily sick, then, are still thought to mean "unhealthy" meat, and are put to the same death and destruction as animals downed due to BSE or other illness. Meanwhile, those animals who are actually sick have been made unhealthy by the human demand for meat that appears to mean "health." The objectification of consumption that comes with considering flesh "meat" thus empties all meaning from the language of health, and Reines seeks to interrupt this corporate-controlled bankrupting of language.25 What can language make happen, The Cow asks, when it dares to render those subjects who are subject to rendering? Is it even possible to do so without reproducing the same objectifying processes of the rendering machines – without reducing sick and disabled animal lives to the very suffering and death that are used to justify their destruction?
Somewhat surprisingly, "mad cow disease" offers a way of approaching these questions. Illness becomes a resistant force within the grammar of the text, particularly when it comes to disrupting the linguistic structures that transform animal subjects into objects. BSE poses the potential for intimate exchange between human and meat, in which the infectious mechanisms of prions – atypically folded proteins that induce other, typical proteins to take on their shape – make it materially difficult to separate the consumer from the object being consumed. Making meat the object of poetic address not only means addressing the cow's suffering and lack of agency; it also means addressing how animal illness can and does act upon humans in a way that upsets their stable role as consumer-subjects. Indeed, the animal's illness continues to insist on its capacity for agency even after it is transformed into meat. "Something gets out from under the end," Reines writes. "Disease. Brains and shit."26
In order to address an animal object that is mainly acted-upon and objectified while alive, but agential when dead, Reines must employ a new kind of grammar. It takes root in the moment of the animal's final process of being made into an object, in which the transformation of the cow's body is coterminous with its linguistic transformation into meat and, finally, waste. Lifting language from the advertising copy for a machine used to render pathogen-contaminated animal carcasses, she writes:
THE WR2 TISSUE DIGESTOR SYSTEM EFFECTIVELY AND RELIABLY ADDRESSES INFECTIOUS ANIMAL CARCASSES AND INACTIVATES PRIONS. THIS TECHNOLOGY IS USED SUCCESSFULLY WORLDWIDE.
To address a carcass is to liquefy it. This is real poetry. . . .
* IDEAL FOR ALL ANIMALS INCLUDING LARGE HORSES, COWS, MOST ZOO ANIMALS, PATHOLOGIC WASTE, AND ANATOMIC WASTE.
* IDEAL FOR VETERINARY SCHOOLS, LARGE PHARMACEUTICAL COMPANIES, LARGE RESEARCH CENTERS, UNIVERSITY AND MEDICAL SCHOOL FACILITIES, COLLEGES OF AGRICULTURE, AND GOVERNMENT AGENCIES.
This is real poetry because it's a vat of signification. What is made to pass through. It's language, it looks and sounds like language. Dissolve me. . . .
A machine that digests the planet's great digestors. Whose illness eats their brains because they were forced to eat one another. Who are become a risky aliment. Signification is antique and staid. Fuck me.27
The linguistic transformation from the cow's lifelong objectification to its final physical conversion into an object is indeed "real poetry," as Reines's repeated nods to Gertrude Stein's meat-obsessed object poetics attests.28 But unlike Stein, Reines is not only interested in addressing the meat as a discrete object on her table. Rather, she updates Stein's object poetics by introducing a third party – the BSE pathogen – to the scene of poetic address. When a piece of meat is made up of the folded-over proteins that can infect a human, the distances between cow, meat, and human start to contract. Moreover, as a protein, rather than a virus or bacterial agent, a prion is not easily identifiable as subject or object. Lacking both DNA and RNA, prions – even more than viruses – challenge our assumptions about what constitutes life.29 Like viruses, prions do not reproduce independently: they begin with a spontaneously mutated protein that then converts other already extant proteins into its own atypical shape, first in one animal's brain and possibly, later, in others'. Thus, a prion is inseparable from the body in which it resides, even though it moves among bodies and species; in fact, because it is the animal's own protein, the immune system does not recognize it as a threat to be fought off.30 The brain both acts and is acted upon, addresses and is addressed.
Reines demonstrates how this phenomenon unsettles the language of consumption by adopting a grammatical apparatus that mimics the movement of a prion. Consider the final two stanzas quoted above, which follow a very particular pattern:
1) A subject is introduced: "real poetry," then "A machine."
2) The following sentences, which we might expect to elaborate on or modify the subject, instead describe its object. "What is made to pass through" "looks and sounds like language" in the first; the "great digestors" "Whose illness eats their brains" "become a risky aliment" in the second. It is as if the subject is immediately consumed by its object, as an animal brain might be consumed by the ingestion of contaminated, rendered meat.
3) A first person is abruptly introduced in the final sentence, as both the implied speaker of an imperative and its object. The verb attached to it immediately challenges its bodily and/or ontological integrity: "Dissolve me"; "Fuck me." Another consumer comes to the table, just to become consumed.
The grammatical thrust of these stanzas is to collapse the subject-object relation like a prion does in its chain of unusual foldings. To consider the cow in Reines's medical-historical moment is to consider its relationship to human subjectivity in a new way, where choosing to eat meat might physically dissolve the brain, that organ where we so often like to imagine the subject is housed. The imperative form is fitting, then, as the poetic subject "I" is absent even as it is necessarily present and speaking. The first-person becomes, like a prion, an object with agency. The speaker, the human subject, is digested along with the "planet's great digestors," drawn into a churning mesh of consumption that gives the lie to industrial agriculture's mythos of human control over the lives and deaths of animals.
Beside Suffering
This, it must be acknowledged, is a limited form of resistance. In The Cow, we don't see nonhuman resistance as it is sometimes championed: animals valiantly resisting their objectification by escaping enclosure or lashing out at their confiners.31 Reines instead attends to thousands upon thousands of animals who never take action in these ways, and likely never have the opportunity. How might we imagine their lives, their ways of being and knowing, meaning more than violent objectification? As we have seen, one answer is in their capacity to upend language as it typically operates to consolidate human power. Still, in suggesting that The Cow's prion poetics create a disruption in the objectification process that animates industrial processing, I do not wish to claim that a pathogen itself is liberatory, nor its resulting illness. What I find compelling about the prion as a poetic form is simply that it opens up a new way of considering disabled animals, beyond the terms of subjugation unilaterally engineered by humans. The point is not that BSE is a desirable condition, but that its spread resists the typically one-directional, top-down flow of industrial disablement from humans to nonhuman animals. In short, it forces humans to face their entanglement with and dependence on the animals they consume. This is evident in the widespread adoption of "mad cow disease" to refer to human cases; even in common parlance, the illness draws attention to the animal typically obscured by "meat." Suggesting even, perhaps, that humans undergo a sort of becoming-cow through the act of consumption, BSE destabilizes the notion that humans can ever claim totalizing control over the animals they systematically debilitate – a notion central to the operation of industrial agriculture that strives for complete vertical integration, or to "own and engineer every stage of the [animal's] life-and-death cycle."32
Meanwhile, Reines offers another answer to the question of how to imagine these animals: sacrifice, or the offering up of one's body for the purpose of sustaining a larger system of life. She sometimes imbues the cow with a voluntary, even erotic impulse toward death: "There is something certain creatures long for. To be hacked up and macerated. That's having it come out and go into another's body"33 ; "Herd me here into the glorious ever and ever above."34 Though these lines would rankle animal liberationists, for whom the logic of sacrifice has long been synonymous with apologia for animal cruelty, I would nonetheless argue that this framing offers a challenge to the objectifying logic of the slaughter industry. It complicates the cows' default status as devoid of agency, purely objectified and acted-upon – that ironic nexus of health and incapacity that enables cows to become meat.
Reines's notion of sacrifice is not simply aligned with traditional models, in which an animal's life is offered up to some more important and powerful force (either human or divine). Instead, it imagines sacrifice as a way of accounting for the interdependence of all life. In this sense, we might think of The Cow as cripping sacrifice, wherein "the human" is characterized by anti-ableist values like vulnerability and dependence on nonhuman life rather than by the unilateral power to control cycles of life and death. The fact that the human species' survival inevitably depends on the harming and killing of nonhuman others, as Donna Haraway has long argued, means we are dependent on, rather than superior to, nonhuman life.35 And so, sacrifice in The Cow typically corresponds not to power and entitlement, but to indebtedness and humility. For instance, in a multilayered passage whose repeated pronoun "her" conflates a cow and the speaker's mother, Reines foregrounds the speaker's debt to both beings' embodied sacrifices: "There is a whole body that went before me: it was her."36 As Frank Guan has written, the cow, for Reines, "takes on grand proportions, becoming to modernity what male figures such as Ymir (in Norse myth) or Purusha (in Vedic myth) were to their respective ancient cultures: a vast, original, dead being whose corpse forms the material of the present world."37 This sacrificial role is not romanticized, but rather is the source of the speaker's deep ambivalence about "the guilt of knowing the world's evil and still wanting to live in it," and of her resistance to the notion that a "world" can exist at all if it is founded on such violence.38 She knows that the notion of animal sacrifice in the context of factory farming is perverse, impossible to honor, but also maybe the only way – pending the abolition of industrial farming – to recognize the cow as anything other than an object. Sacrifice is language for how a cow can continue to mean and to matter in the violence of the present, even after it becomes meat.
While animal liberationists might well still argue that sacrifice is violently anthropocentric no matter what, The Cow offers an interspecies disability perspective that complicates this picture. The disabilities and illnesses that cows experience in the text – being downed by birthing complications and/or sick with BSE – unfold alongside a narrative of human disability that includes bodily dependence on the products of slaughter. The story of Reines's mother's schizophrenia and homelessness is impossible to disentangle from cows' conditions: not only does madness characterize both human and bovine experiences of vulnerability, but the mother's neurodivergence is characterized by an obsession with vCJD. Despite the mother's profound consciousness of the risks and ethical stakes of eating meat, her cravings for it complicate any animal liberationist utopia that Reines's depictions of slaughterhouse violence may make readers long for – that is, a world in which no human eats meat. As disability activists regularly point out, the dietary needs that accompany certain chronic conditions, including mental illnesses, make this ideal impossible – especially when compounded by poverty.39 In one key scene, the malnourishing conditions of the mother's life define her dependence on the systems of production and consumption with which the book is concerned:
"One day my mother and I met by the river, presumably to have lunch but neither of us had any money…. I need a steak, she said. I just feel so sluggish. I need the iron, I need the protein. What about Mad Cow I said. Well, yes, she said. How do you get it anyway, I said. Prions, she said. My mother was trained at Bryn Mawr, Jefferson Medical College, and Sloan-Kettering and she used to practice medicine. Prions are abnormally-formed proteins and they are extremely resilient, she said. And even though hundreds of thousands of heads of cattle have been slaughtered and incinerated, there are cow derivatives in absolutely everything. In lipstick, in plastic. And there is no way to know. I want a steak. So I gave her six or seven dollars and she went to Western Beef."40
In addition to the mother's anemia – which may be the product of poverty and/or bodily disposition – the mention of Western Beef, a discount supermarket chain in New York City, calls to mind the vast health and environmental inequalities that mark the rapidly gentrifying city. In the face of a real estate market that herds poor people into food deserts, leaving those with the least money most dependent on cheap plastic goods and factory-farmed discount meat, refusing those offerings is profoundly difficult, especially when one feels ill. Meanwhile, the prevalence of cow derivatives suggests that the disabling potential of the agricultural industry is so widespread that, even with significant financial resources, it would be nearly impossible to extricate oneself from it.
In the face of such sweeping disenfranchisement, the mother's demand for possibly contaminated steak rejects the ideology of health as a matter of consumer choice, knowing that "mad cow disease" exists because companies wanted meat to mean "HEALTH" to buyers. Meanwhile, the steak provides necessary sustenance and healing for a woman who is herself unhealthy and disabled, and forms the basis of an act of caregiving. The speaker's decision to buy her mother a steak, despite not having any money herself, is akin to the kind of crip caregiving that disability activist Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha describes, in which "[n]o institutions help us to survive – we survive because of each other" in sharing economies defined by "pass[ing] the same twenty dollars back and forth between each other."41 While the intertwined and unevenly distributed vulnerabilities of the bodies involved in this sort of exchange are evident, so is the capacity for survival that precariously positioned humans can offer each other, and arguably even that animals of prey can offer meat-eating animals. "Mad Cow" here is not simply the sign of an odious industry, but a site of rare encounter between consumer and consumed: when the mother demands steak, she does not distance herself from the cow that preceded and inheres in it. She recognizes the "thousands of heads of cattle that have been slaughtered and incinerated," and assumes a level of risk – if not commensurate with that sacrifice, at least beholden to it.
The life-sustaining potential of the cow in this context does not ameliorate or justify the brutalization of livestock in factory settings, but it does place the animals within a network of meaning-making that exceeds passive suffering. Following Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, we might think of sacrifice and sustenance not as beyond suffering, which would suggest "an imminently perfected critical or revolutionary practice," but rather beside it, which suggests "a wide range of desiring, identifying, representing, repelling, paralleling, differentiating, rivaling . . . and other relations."42 Sacrifice and sustenance are inseparable from animal suffering, which remains the most urgent element of livestock life. But through their vulnerable position as creatures of prey, cows make it possible for endangered others to live.
Meanwhile, the mother's own vulnerability as a disabled woman – in the form of her pathologized fixation on Mad Cow – models an encounter with meat that is unalienated from the cow. Indeed, the mother's non-neurotypical thinking forms the basis for the text's prion poetics, in which the linguistic shift to meat – even to lipstick or plastic – does not obscure the cow's continuous capacity to act and make meaning. Her risk-avowing relationship to meat resembles the first-person imperatives of the rendering process; saying "I need a steak" while knowing it may be full of prions is another way of saying "Dissolve me." The simultaneous evocation and elision of subjectivity in these demands reflects the myth of consumer choice: excluded from the bourgeois politics of ethical consumption, the mother's demand for a steak is a demand to be dissolved into a system of risk and violence in which she is already embedded. Disrupting the violence of industrial agriculture cannot simply involve the dietary choices of a concerned "I," or even a mass of concerned "I's"; it must first and foremost address the structural factors that make such "subjective" choices illusory. The resistant potential of the prion as a form, then, is that it dissolves the very notions of subject-object relation, human health, and consumer choice (represented by "HEALTH") that produced the illness in the first place. By invoking this form of interspecies disablement as a formal device, Reines further undoes the possibility of easy rhetorical distancing around animal consumption.
Even as Reines is known for her insistence on a more explicit "I" throughout this text and elsewhere, it is always an I embedded in and dispersed across an interspecies system of violent objectification and consumption. It not the stable I that is implied by the poets and critics who reject it, who believe the I is enough of an individual subject to be separated out from the poem. "While American poetry dissolved its I," Reines writes, "the starvational and massacred bodies of all the world larded newspapers with their blood and guts. Shit. LYRIC." This is not just a reference to nonhuman violence, but also to World War II, which illuminated the compromised political investments of some of those poets most antagonistic to the lyric.43 The Cow thus draws a parallel between viewing the I as separable from the poetic object and viewing oneself (and poetry) as separate from forms of violence that extend the logic of livestock objectification to human beings. Neither view accounts for complicity nor for shared vulnerability.
By contrast, Reines's attention to the health and illness of nonhuman animals as they signify, bolster, and threaten human health enables her to consider the cow as a subject whose objectification has implications for human life. Reines's question is not how to address objects, as the machine manuals claim to instruct; instead, it is what happens to the object, and to us, when we do. One answer she foregrounds is illness, but to interpret illness only through a typical animal activist lens, as an indictment of the filth and evil of industrial agriculture, is to miss half the picture. Though BSE may be among the illnesses most associated with suffering and death, poetry offers a space in which sick bodies can matter alongside these objectifying elements of their existence. Illness and disability do not, it turns out, empty the cow of agency, but in fact insist upon its capacity to act on both language and bodies even after the cow's life has ended. BSE demands recognition on the part of human subjects who would otherwise refuse to consider the cow when eating meat – not only recognition of the process of objectification that produced it, but also of the possibility of continued entwinement between bovine and human subjects. Yes, this is a terrifying prospect in the context of fatal illness. But it also implores those who benefit from the systemic disablement of animals to reckon with conditions of animal life that their language is otherwise designed to obscure.
Reines's incorporation of the human subject into her object poetics does not only have implications for interspecies ethics, however. To consider how the sick cow can act in relation with others is to acknowledge the limits of how we think about sickness more broadly. An unhealthy "I" is, after all, a contradiction in a world where sick and mad people are regularly viewed as incapable of self-possession, stripped of autonomy, and required to be acted upon. A poetics that inhabits the position of such an "I" insists that to be ill is to live with that contradiction: to have both the capacity to act and the experience of being acted upon, whether by illness itself or by those who use it to justify the subjugation, incarceration, and abuse of other humans. From this place of contradiction and vulnerability emerges, in The Cow, the possibility of complicated, non-utopian relations of sustenance and intimacy that address the world as it is currently structured. While the poems are not optimistic about the world that makes them possible, and generally decline to imagine brighter futures beyond it, there are still moments of pleasure and possibility within it; poetry may be a liquidator, but it can also be a "Tender hand making a place where a world could get birthed."44 This is a decidedly different kind of tenderness than the "TENDER. Marbled. HEALTH" of a piece of meat: not an idealized life force, but a tool for softening the distinctions that keep the various objects of industrial capitalism alienated from each other. In the world of the present, when most cows are not breaking free from the abattoirs and medical institutions traumatize patients as much as they heal, Reines's language of agential objects nonetheless makes space for disabled and nonhuman bodies to act and encounter one another beside these systems' logics of suffering and alienation.45 Not beyond, not eclipsing, but together in uneasy dependence and recognition.
Among the many "resemblances" between human and animal disablement in The Cow, Reines writes, "Maybe a situation can find a way to be a family against your will."46 Though it may be preferable, for the purposes of eating and of politics, for marginalized and vulnerable humans not to seek common cause with nonhumans, those who are similarly situated in the debilitating grammar of industrial-capitalist consumption might still find something like kinship. For instance: a disabled mother with no money asks her daughter with no money to buy her a cheap piece of steak that will help her survive, if it doesn't carry a prion that kills her. Though all of the parties to this scene have been objectified, each acts upon the others. Their relations are far from equitable, easy, or ethically uncompromised. But in this scene of address, they come together as a situation: not alone in suffering, and not only in suffering, but in defiance of a language that would deny their capacity to act. This, too, is real poetry – and maybe even the beginning of a world.
This model describes a politicized view of disability in which, in the words of Adrienne Asch, "the physical, cognitive, sensory, and emotional make-up of the individual [is] not 'the problem,' but [is] a problem only because social institutions and human-made environments [are] created without taking into account the characteristics of all people." Adrienne Asch, "Critical Race Theory, Feminism, and Disability: Reflections on Social Justice and Personal Identity," Ohio State Law Journal, no. 1 (2001): 398. ↩
See Cary Wolfe, "Learning from Temple Grandin: Animal Studies, Disability Studies, and Who Comes After the Subject," New Formations 64, no. 1 (2008): 110-23; and Kari Weil, Thinking Animals: Why Animal Studies Now? (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 118–19. ↩
See Vasile Stănescu and Debs Stănescu, "Lost in Translation: Temple Grandin, Humane Meat, and the Myth of Consent," and Vittoria Lion, "Disrupting Temple Grandin: Resisting a 'Humane' Face for Autistic and Animal Oppression," both in Disasbility and Animality: Crip Perspectives in Critical Animal Studies, eds. Stephanie Jenkins, Kelly Struthers Montford and Chloë Taylor (Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2020), 161–81 and 182–211. See also Lydia X. Z. Brown, "Critiquing Temple Grandin," Autistic Hoya (blog), August 10, 2013, www.autistichoya.com/2013/08/critiquing-temple-grandin.html. ↩
Sunaura Taylor, Beasts of Burden: Animal and Disability Liberation (New York: New Press, 2017), 37. ↩
Taylor, Beasts, 40. ↩
For a discussion of this genre of activist imagery, see Yvette Watt, "Animal Factories: Exposing Sites of Capture," in Captured: The Animal Within Culture, ed. Melissa Boyde (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 75–83. ↩
Jasbir Puar, The Right to Maim: Debility, Capacity, Disability (Durham: Duke University Press, 2017). ↩
"I account for myself by virtue of a process." Ariana Reines, The Cow (Albany, NY: Fence Books, 2006), 24. ↩
See David T. Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder, Narrative Prosthesis: Disability and the Dependencies of Discourse (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000). ↩
Reines, The Cow, 79. ↩
I use the term madness here, rather than mental illness, not simply in deference to the colloquiual term "mad cow," but rather in alignment with mad studies scholars' reclamation of the term. Similar to "crip" in the disability context, the originally pejorative term "mad" has been taken up as an alternative to biomedical definitions of neurodiverse experiences. See Peter Beresford, "'Mad', Mad Studies and Advancing Inclusive Resistance," Disability & Society 35, no. 8 (September 13, 2020): 1337–42. ↩
See Chelsea Rebekah Grimmer, "Reading Against the Absent Referent: Bare Life, Gender, and The Cow," Pacific Coast Philology 51, no. 1 (April 4, 2016): 66–87. ↩
"Does a resemblance really mean anything. The world rhymes too much." Reines, The Cow, 107. ↩
Reines, The Cow, 100. ↩
Examples of this mode of scholarship include Tobin Siebers, Disability Aesthetics (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2010); Rebecca Sanchez, Deafening Modernism: Embodied Language and Visual Poetics in American Literature (New York: New York University Press, 2015); Ato Quayson, Aesthetic Nervousness: Disability and the Crisis of Representation (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007); James Berger, The Disarticulate: Language, Disability, and the Narratives of Modernity (New York: New York University Press, 2014); Michael Bérubé, The Secret Life of Stories: From Don Quixote to Harry Potter, How Understanding Intellectual Disability Transforms the Way We Read (New York: New York University Press, 2016); and Julia Miele Rodas, Autistic Disturbances: Theorizing Autism Poetics from the DSM to Robinson Crusoe (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2018). ↩
Susan Wendell writes, "[S]ome unhealthy disabled people, as well as some healthy people with disabilities, experience physical or psychological burdens that no amount of social justice can eliminate . . . There is danger that acknowledging these facts might provide support for those who prefer the individualized, medicalized picture of disability." Wendell, "Unhealthy Disabled," 18. ↩
For a more extended discussion of the need for cultural analysis to engage with biology, see Elizabeth A. Wilson, Gut Feminism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2015). ↩
Carol J. Adams, The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory (London: Continuum, 2010), 92. ↩
Adams, The Sexual Politics, 56–67. ↩
Susan Wendell, "Unhealthy Disabled: Treating Chronic Illnesses as Disabilities," Hypatia 16, no. 4 (2001): 17. ↩
Mel Y. Chen, Animacies: Biopolitics, Racial Mattering, and Queer Affect (Durham: Duke University Press, 2012). ↩
This is an ongoing project for Reines; see her comments on advertising as "satanic poetry" in her interview with Christian Lund, and her discussion with Ben Lerner of the Bush-era corporate "you." Louisiana Channel, Ariana Reines Interview: The Impulse of Poetry, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r13mN0xGHzk&feature=youtu.be; Ben Lerner and Ariana Reines, "Ben Lerner and Ariana Reines," BOMB, 2014. ↩
Reines, The Cow, 55-56. ↩
Tender Buttons' massive central poem "ROASTBEEF" – at least twice as long as any other poem in the collection except "ROOMS" – is followed by poems on "MUTTON," "MILK," "FISH," "CHICKEN," and "SALMON," suggesting that Stein was especially interested in meat's unusual and fraught status as an object. The following passage in "ROASTBEEF," which Reines would later crib wholesale as the title of a poem in The Cow, attests to this: "Please be the beef, please beef, pleasure is not wailing. Please beef, please be carved clear, please be a case of consideration."[i] Taken literally, why would a poem beg beef to be beef? The answer immediately follows: humans beg for the transformation of cow into beef so that they might take pleasure from it without having to hear the cow's wailing that preceded, produced, and maybe even persists in it. Unlike a cow, the object "beef" is "carved clear" of its suffering, and as a result becomes considerable as food. In other words, for meat to be "a consideration," one must not consider the cow. Or, if one must, it can only be a cursory consideration, with the violence of slaughter quickly put out of the mind. ↩
See Nigel Brown and David Bhella, "Are Viruses Alive?," Microbiology Today, May 10, 2016, https://microbiologysociety.org/publication/past-issues/what-is-life/article/are-viruses-alive-what-is-life.html. ↩
U.S. Food and Drug Administration, "All About BSE (Mad Cow Disease)," FDA, May 10, 2019, http://www.fda.gov/animal-veterinary/animal-health-literacy/all-about-bse-mad-cow-disease. ↩
Taylor, Beasts, 63–67. See also Jason Hribal, Fear of the Animal Planet: The Hidden History of Animal Resistance (Oakland: AK Press, 2011). ↩
Alex Blanchette, Porkopolis: American Animality, Standardized Life, and the Factory Farm (Durham: Duke University Press, 2020), 15. ↩
This notion especially animates Haraway's arguments in When Species Meet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008) and Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Durham: Duke University Press, 2016). ↩
Frank Guan, "How She Got Over: On Ariana Reines," N+1, April 30, 2015, https://nplusonemag.com/online-only/book-review/how-she-got-over/. ↩
Michele Kaplan, "Is Veganism Ableist? A Disabled Vegan Perspective," Vegan Feminist Network (blog), September 7, 2016, http://veganfeministnetwork.com/is-veganism-ableist-a-disabled-vegan-perspective/. ↩
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice (Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2018), 137. ↩
Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003), 8. ↩
For instance – and relevant to Reines' poetic genealogy – Gertrude Stein translated the speeches of Marcel Phillipe Pétain, the Vichy head of state, into English. Beyond that fact, the exact nature and motives of her connection to the government is a matter of much debate. Critical accounts of Stein's involvement include Barbara Will, Unlikely Collaboration: Gertrude Stein, Bernard Faÿ, and the Vichy Dilemma (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011) and Emily Greenhouse, "Gertrude Stein and Vichy: The Overlooked History," The New Yorker, May 4, 2012. Charles Bernstein has argued vociferously against the outrage over Stein's affiliations, most recently in "Gertrude and Alice in Vichyland," Jacket2, May 30, 2017. ↩
In a passage that seems to address the mother's experience in a psychiatric ward, Reines details the various dehumanizations of the institution but ends with the fact of the mother's agency: "You try to at least cultivate a language of dependency but you also keep on saying you don't want the pills. You put yourself to sleep naturally." Reines, The Cow, 103. ↩
Image: "mountain countree summr," by bill bissett (2020).


Posts By / baileyr
Systematic Review: Exploring use of mobile health technology for people who are homeless
BU research, Research Centres, Research news baileyr
Dr Heaslip, Dr Green, Stephen Richer (Nursing Science) and Dr Huseyin Dogan (SciTech) with Dr Simkhada (Visiting Faculty) have recently published a paper Use of Technology to Promote Health and Wellbeing of People Who Are Homeless: A Systematic Review examining current published literature around the subjects of homelessness, mobile technology usage and its impact on health.
The review noted that literature indicated that whilst a large percentage of people who are homeless owned a mobile phone or smart phone (around 80%). There were many barriers to the use of mobile technology when you are homeless and these include: physical damage to phones, theft, inability to charge phones, lack of data and the limited availability of Wi-Fi connections. The health impacts of mobile usage are largely associated with 'social connectedness'. This not only included staying in touch with family and friends but also maintaining a connection to popular culture, social media, news, music and films. Current research indicated that this sense of social connection was considered of high importance by individuals who are homeless. As well as a social connection, people who are homeless found technology as having other potential health benefits, such as signposting to available support, reminders for appointments, prompts for taking medication, health information and online health advice.
Going forward, we are currently analysing data from an extensive 100 participant, 29 item questionnaire that has been carried out with people who are homeless locally as well as analysing qualitative data from focus groups and one to one interview (n=16 participants). This arm of our research aims to assess the availability, accessibility and utility of services for people who are homeless in the local area as well as further exploring the opportunities and challenges in utilising mobile phones to access health and social care services. Results will be published in due course and detailed in our next blog.
Tags: Health homelessness Marginalised voices mobile health social exclusion vulnerable groups
Can technology help to address the shocking health statistics of our homeless population?
BU research, BU2025, Research news baileyr
Bournemouth University is investigating potential technological solutions to assist those sleeping rough to access healthcare services and self-manage complex healthcare needs
Homelessness in the UK is on the increase (Open Government 2018). Health outcomes for those that are homeless are far poorer than of the general population with an mean age of death of 45 years (men) and 43 years (women) compared to 76 ( men) and 81 years (women) for those living in homes (Office for National Statistics 2019). The South West region had the third highest number of rough sleepers in 2018 (Homeless link 2017) and this project will take place in Bournemouth and the surrounding area.
Using technology to access healthcare is nothing new; accessing virtual consultations with your GP or using one of the wide range of apps to access information and advice on is increasingly common, particularly during the current pandemic. However, this does require access to appropriate technology and internet along with the knowledge of how to use it.
Although there is a growing use of technologies amongst homeless people (McInnes et al 2015) to connect with their peers, there is no current research exploring the role of technology in assisting people who sleep rough in locating and accessing appropriate local services.
In partnership with colleagues from the Providence surgery, Dorset Healthcare NHS Foundation Trust, the Big Issue and Streetwise; Staff at Bournemouth University are conducting a research project with the aim of developing a freely available app enabling navigation and access to resources to self-manage complex health and social care needs.
Dr Vanessa Heaslip
Vanessa is an Associate Professor in the Department of Nursing Science at Bournemouth University and is the Principle Investigator for this project. Her research interests are in the field of vulnerability and vulnerable groups in society whose voices are not traditionally heard in the academic and professional discourse.
Dr Sue Green
A Registered Nurse with experience in acute and continuing care environments, Sue has been at the forefront of the development of clinical academic careers for nurses. Sue's research programme focuses on aspects of clinical nutrition. She has a long standing interest in the process of nutritional screening and its effect on care.
Dr Huseyin Dogan
A Principal Lecturer in Computing at Bournemouth University (BU). Dr Dogan's research focuses on Human Factors, Assistive Technology, Digital Health and Systems Engineering. He is the Co-Founder and Co-Chair of the Human Computer Interaction (HCI) research group.
Dr Bibha Simkhada
Bibha works at Huddersfield University in the School of Health and Human Sciences. Her research interest includes Technology in Healthcare, Ageing research mainly in Dementia, Health and Wellbeing of BAME population and women's health. She has methodological expertise on narrative and systematic review and qualitative research.
Stephen Richer
Stephen is a part time PhD student and working part time as the project research assistant. His background is in Mental Health Nursing and he has worked in numerous roles within the NHS and for various mental health charities.
Rachel Bailey
Rachel is a Research Administrator at Bournemouth University. She also works as a Youth Advisor for a local charity and previously worked in FE delivering Careers Advice.
As the research project progresses, this blog will be updated on our methods, progress and results.
We are keen to hear from any local organisations working with the homeless that could assist with research. Please contact Stephen Richer sricher@bournemouth.ac.uk
Tags: BU research homelessness technology


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ZETA / PARFOIS
Parfois. Parfois is a Portuguese women's accessoriesbrand, with fashion accessories such as handbags, jewelry, wallets, sunglasses, belts, scarves, watches, hair accessories, etc. Parfois started as a fashion accessory brand in 1994, opening its first store in Oporto, Portugal.PARFOIS is a fast growing women's accessories brand, targeting early adopters and followers of fashion trends in accessories such as jewelry, handbags, wallets, watches, sunglasses, belts ans scarves. More recently PARFOIS has also been expanding on its offer of women's clothing. With dedicated design teams in Porto and Barcelona, PARFOIS presents new styles in its stores every week! PARFOIS combines a modern fashion look with good value for money and is unique in its clear and dynamic visual merchandising, creating a pleasant atmosphere in every store. PARFOIS started as a fashion accessory brand in 1994 with the first store in Porto, Portugal's 2nd largest city. Today PARFOIS has over 900 stores in over 80 countries, including: Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Germany, Poland, Austria, Ireland, United Kingdom, Czech Republic, Hungary, Romania, Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine, Russia, Albania, Armenia, Bulgaria, Croatia, Slovenia, Slovakia, Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Kosovo, Georgia, Cyprus, Malta, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Oman, Bahrain, Kuwait, Jordan, Lebanon, Qatar, Morocco, Egypt, Tunisia, Angola, Mozambique, Philippines, Peru, Venezuela, Guatemala, Panama, Dominican Republic, Algeria, Aruba, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Belgium, China, Costa Rica, Cote D'Ivoire, Ecuador, Greece, Guadalupe, Honduras, Hong Kong, Iran, Kazakhstan, Martinique, Mauritanie, Mauritius, Mexico, Montenegro, Netherlands, Palestine, Paraguay, Lithuania, Congo, Réunion, Sweden, Switzerland, United States of America, Uzbekistan, Vietnam, and Yemen.
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Year : 2006 | Volume : 51 | Issue : 1 | Page : 73
M Hafez, L Sharaf, FA Seafan
M Hafez
The role of inheritance of susceptibility in lichen planus was studied by genetic analysis of data from 71 families of probands with lichen planus. 12 families were multiplex and the other 59 were simplex. The incidence of the disease among relatives of probands was significantly higher than that in the general population and the frequency diminished with the descend in the degree of relationship between relatives and probands. Pedigrees of the families of probands did not consist of any single-gene inheritance. The results shown by the curve of liability of the relatives, the frequency in the first degree relatives and the relative frequency points to a polygenic-environmental interaction. The heritability of liability for lichen planus which measures the relative contribution of genetic factors in etiology was found to be 56 percent for first-degree relatives. The etiology of lichen planus is still not properly known. Several pathogenetic theories have been proposed despite limited supportive evidences. The main theories are: infective, autoimmune, psychogenic and genetic. The aim of this work is to throw a beam of light on the genetic role in the pathogenesis of lichen planus.
Hafez M
Sharaf L
Seafan F A


Gwynfe is a small village in the Brecon Beacons National Park, situated to the west of the A4069 road about halfway between Llangadog and Brynamman. All Saints Church, which is located in the village, was erected in about 1898 to replace a smaller mediaeval chapel and contains a single war memorial plaque, dedicated to the memory of one local man, John Gwynfor Jones, of Pantybedw, who fell during World War Two.
John Gwynfor Jones, Private, 4036611, Parachute Regiment. John was the son of John and Sarah Jones, of Pantybedw, Gwynfe. He enlisted into the King's Shropshire Light Infantry and was part of a number of men posted to the 7th Battalion, Parachute Regiment which was part of the 3rd Parachute Brigade, 6th Airborne Division, on 3 July 1944, to make up losses suffered following the D-Day landings. John fought with the battalion throughout the remainder of the Normandy campaign and in September returned to Britain where he qualified as a parachutist, and returned to action during the Ardennes campaign. On 24 March 1945 John took part in the final mass allied parachute and glider assault of World War II, Operation Varsity, and by 7 April his battalion reached Petershagen, between Osnabrück and Hanover, before advancing towards Neustadt by motor transport. John was among a number of men killed during heavy fighting around Wunstorf Airport at some time during the night. He was 28 years old and is buried in Becklingen War Cemetery. Neustadt and its river crossing over the Rhine were successfully captured during the following days, enabling the Allies to advance into the heartland of Germany.


ROV Dives Deep for Gorgonians
We go remote-control deep-sea fishing with the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
By Trevor Thieme | Published Sep 13, 2002 9:38 PM
Stop!" shouts Veronica Franklin, pointing to a video monitor. "There's one right there." Nudging his joystick forward, pilot Mark Talkovic guides the VW-Beetle-size submersible toward a silt-covered rock where a lone predatory tunicate stands slackjawed in the deep ocean current. It's the first item on today's shopping list, and it will make a fine addition to the Monterey Bay Aquarium's one-of-a-kind exhibit, Mysteries of the Deep.
I'm sitting in the control room of the Point Lobos research vessel, a converted oil supply ship operated by the aquarium's sister organization, the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI). Video monitors, stacked floor to ceiling, detail the operation of the ship's remotely operated vehicle (ROV) Ventana 1,400 feet below, and provide a rare window into a world where oddball creatures thrive in freezing temperatures, low oxygen, high pressure, and complete darkness. And on this chilly summer dawn, it's our mission to bring a few of them home.
The submersible handles like a Neptunian helicopter, jostling back and forth in the ocean currents as Talkovic variously fires six thrusters to keep it steady. And then there's the fiber-optic and copper-wire umbilical cord, which streams data and control commands between the sub and the boat, to keep track of. But perhaps the biggest challenge is depth perception-an ROV pilot relies on a two-dimensional video feed to navigate in a three-dimensional environment. But Talkovic and his co-pilot, D.J. Osborne, make it look easy. Jumping into a chair next to Talkovic, Osborne grabs hold of the articulated joystick that controls the sub's robotic arm and deftly plucks the tunicate like a delicate wildflower. A powerful high-definition camera provides a stunning view of the transparent creature, which snatches its prey like an aquatic Venus flytrap. One down, six to go.
As with most of the exhibit's 50 or so species, you won't find predatory tunicates on display anywhere else in the world-all other aquariums collect critters closer to the surface. It took 10 years of research and design to develop the black tanks, gel lamps, chilling units, oxygen-reducing pumps, and know-how that keep the deep-sea animals alive. And they've made some startling discoveries in the process. Before the exhibit opened in March 1999, for example, no one knew that the male spotted ratfish uses an organ on its forehead to latch onto the female during a particularly energetic copulation. "Daily observations help us piece together a story," says Franklin, the aquarium's senior aquarist. "It's a rare glimpse into what's out there-akin to exploring the moon."
Access to MBARI's high-tech equipment is just one factor that makes the exhibit possible, and possibly not the most important one. At least as vital is the unique underwater geography of Monterey Bay. Starting just a few hundred meters off shore, the sea floor fissures into an underwater canyon, reaching depths of up to 2 miles and stretching a mile from rim to rim. It's one of the few places on Earth with such depths so close to land, and it gives scientists a rare opportunity to bring deep-sea specimens home alive.
Before heading back to shore we make a last stop, for gorgonians-colorful stick-like corals with stinging polyps and a penchant for brine shrimp. We gather our quota quickly, which gives me the chance to make a collection of my own. Ignoring a black cod and a flapjack octopus, I nab a more docile sulfur sponge and throw it in the collection bin. Mysteries of the Deep will run until September 2003, so you have plenty of time to check out my sponge. It's yellow, doesn't move much, and looks a little beat-up. You can't miss it.
MT. ST. HELENS
The eruption melted the mountain´s snowcap; when this meltwater mixed with ash and dirt, it formed destructively voluminous mudflows. One such â€lahar†reached the Columbia River, 70 miles away, and blocked its shipping channel with millions of cubic yards of sediment.
Lava breaks through the cooling crust to continue the formation of a new tributary. Most shield volcanoes, including Kilauea, erupt low-silicon basalt, which results in a more fluid lava.
Lava tubes, created by recurring 10 -to 100-yard lava flows that build up walls and eventually form a roof over the flow, act much like a river delta, allowing the molten rock to quickly reach the ocean.
Before Fir and mountain hemlock trees covered the base of the volcano. The blast flattened 230 square miles of forest. Shown here, before and after images seen from Johnston Ridge.
The ash from the May 18, 1980, eruption of Mount St. Helens traveled at least 12 miles high and eventually moved eastward at 60 mph, layering eastern Washington and Idaho.
Lava plunging into the Pacific at dusk.
Lava enters the ocean surface in a whirl of steam from evaporating water. Only cooled lava crust remains behind on the ridge to support later eruptions.
On March 8 of this year, a small explosion rocked Mount St. Helens. Airplane pilots verified that the resultant smoke and ash reached an altitude of 36,000 feet.
Nothing holds back the molten rock´s fiery trip to the sea on Kilauea´s active eastern rift-not fences, forests or highways.
monterey bay aquarium research


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BERTAZZONI KITCHENS
Bertazzoni Offers Complete Kitchen Suites of Ranges, Refrigeration, Dishwashers and Ventilation Products in all three Design Series: Professional, Master and Heritage.
Professional Series Bertazzoni Kitchen
Master Series Kitchen
Heritage Series Kitchen
This week, we would like to focus our attention on the heart of the Bertazzoni kitchen, the ranges.
Before we highlight the unique design elements of each series it is important to note that each of these series are built on the latest professional range platform that has earned Bertazzoni numerous accolades.
Just a few of the standout features that each of these series boasts are:
Each Range can be Installed Truly Flush into a Standard 24″ Cabinet
Achieves the Fastest Time to Boil – 5:58 Seconds to be Exact
Offers the Largest Usable Oven Space in its Class
Soft Close Oven Door with Edge-to-Edge Inner Glass Panel
Most Even Oven Temperature in its Class
Available in All Gas and Dual Fuel Configurations
Offers 24″, 30″, 36″ and 40″ Widths to Choose from in Most Series
Available in up to 9 Unique Colors Throughout the Series
Watch This Three Minute Overview
Now, let's walk through the three different design series that Bertazzoni offers. Professional Series, Master Series & Heritage Series.
The beautifully designed Professional Series offers best-in-category capacity, flexibility and usability: professional performance for your kitchen at home. Its distinctive style features with elegant knobs, ergonomically designed handles and sophisticated finishes. These iconic elements blend design with an innovative approach to function, underpinned by our renowned engineering. This signature style has won many design awards since its introduction. The complete Professional Series kitchen suite includes built-in ovens, cooktops, fridges, dishwashers and ventilation systems, alongside a large choice of ranges.
Iconic Designer Controls
Reflecting the Professionals Series' signature look, it features distinguished iconic designer control knobs. Ergonomically-designed and intuitive to use, the beveled lines provide a highly comfortable tactile experience while lending a contemporary undertone to the entire range appearance.
Coordinated Handle Design
Amplifying the designer look of the Professional Series, the handles on each appliance are ergonomic and pleasant to use. Reflecting the squared-off lines that are a key design feature of the Series, they immediately create a coordinated look across all Professional Series appliances in the kitchen.
Coordinated Design
The Professional Series range offers the perfect solution for every kind of machine specially designed for the integrated kitchen. Every control panel, display, control, handle and oven window of both the built-in ovens and specialty ovens are made to align perfectly in vertical and horizontal configurations. The choice of technology makes the series versatile and flexible, while the styling offers an exciting clean and elegant look that balances built-in elements with ranges. It makes it simple to design the perfect kitchen and the result is simply beautiful.
The Professional Series offers a choice of hi-gloss color finishes inspired by and identical to the flawless paintwork found on powerful Italian luxury sport cars. Bertazzoni designers found further muse in the Emilia-Romagna region to create the bold and vibrant Colors of Italy collection. As well as being very beautiful, they are also very durable and stain and fade resistant.
Practical elegance, integrated vision and beautiful efficiency. With all the qualities you expect from Bertazzoni, the Master Series blends the best of a commercial kitchen-inspired ambiance, engineered with advanced technology and fine Italian style. It offers a wide choice of ranges, together with a comprehensive suite of machines matched by design to complete your kitchen.
Designed to recall the style of commercial kitchens, the traditional, large round full metal knobs are satisfying to the touch and intuitive to use – They are designed to make it clear whether they are on or off at a glance.
Ergonomically-Designed Handle
The Master Series handle has been designed to help you create a bold, coordinated look across every appliance in the kitchen. The ergonomic shape of the bar section radius sits comfortably in the hand, ideally supporting the opening and closing motion of the range door.
As well as being supremely practical, the Bertazzoni Master Series is also exceptionally good-looking. It has a style that's all its own, with a sophisticated color palette that transforms your kitchen into a work of art. Large, round metal knobs and commercial style handles define all the appliances, which are engineered for performance and beautifully styled. The pieces of the suite integrate seamlessly with each other and with your kitchen.
Finished in elegant Bertazzoni texture colors, the Master Series offers a striking and sophisticated look for your kitchen. This matt finish is tougher and more durable than conventional paint, as well as stain and scratch resistant. Available in a choice of the Colors of Italy collection, inspired by the landscape, fruit and vegetables and unique light of the Emilia-Romagna region.
The magnificent Heritage Series is built around cooking ranges that would be recognized by Napoleone Bertazzoni in the early 1900s – but they contain the innovative engineering and technology of the 21st century. Authentic in exterior design yet advanced on the interior, these are modern classics, driven by innovation and engineering, with full respect to Bertazzoni's heritage; something the company is proud to recognize and celebrate. The new Heritage Series ranges feature an exclusive "Bertazzoni Serie Limitata" serial number plate, making each piece unique.
Inspired by tradition
Inspired by the original wood burning stoves that our founder created at the start of the last century, the Heritage Series ranges are controlled by striking rounded chrome knobs. Familiar and comfortable to use, they are a key part of the design character of the series.
A much-loved design
The bright chrome handles found on the Heritage Series are replicas of the handrail found on the original Bertazzoni stoves. The look works across all the series appliances to bring a traditional finish to the kitchen.
The New Heritage Series ranges are available in a bold stainless steel, textured matt black and the new Avorio gloss finish, and completed by carefully considered stainless steel and chromed details. The classic, elegant finish of our matt black brings a sophisticated and pleasing look to your kitchen. Powder coating is one of the most popular processes used to protect metal, especially for kitchen machines. It is particularly suited to create stunning matt finishes and it is also practical, durable other than stain and scratch resistant. The beautiful new Avorio glossy enamel was inspired by the original wood-burning stoves that Antonio and Napoleone Bertazzoni built in the 1930s. The enameling process creates a very durable finish and makes cooking surfaces easy-to-clean. After almost a century the Bertazzoni designer decided to celebrate the brand heritage by introducing this enamel inspired ivory color on the new models of the Heritage Series ranges.
We want to make you aware of an incredible and limited time promotion that will save you or your clients thousands of dollars until the end of June.
The program is simple and offers two flexible ways to save.
Buy Bertazzoni Cooking (any Bertazzoni Range or Wall Oven and Cooktop) & Selected Free Ventilation or 50% The Dishwasher
Add a Bertazzoni French Door or Built-in Refrigerator to your kitchen and Receive Free Ventilation AND the Dishwasher at No Charge.
This program is only valid until the end of June.
We went ahead and built-out 14 of the best-selling Bertazzoni packages and have applied the appropriate rebate savings for each. Click Here to View all 14 Best Selling Bertazzoni Packages
If you have any questions, need help bailing your dream kitchen or would like to a referral to the closet participating dealer to you we would love to hear from you.
Call: M – F 8am – 5pm (800) 863-7133
Email: showroom@purcellmurray.com
Or stop by our showroom in San Franciscos Design District and see the product live in our pressure free non-selling showroom.
235 Kansas Street, San Francisco, CA 94103
Watch This Brief Culinary Video as We Bring Bertazzoni To Life in Our Showroom
The Bertazzoni Origin Story
Back in the 19th century Francesco Bertazzoni made precision weighing machines for the local cheese-makers in Emilia-Romagna, northern Italy. Observing trains arriving in Guastalla, Italy, from Germany, he noticed they were heated by a new type of wood-burning stove – used to cooked for the train crew as well as heating the carriages. This innovation appealed to his entrepreneurial instincts and his love of food, family and engineering. His approach has been passed down through six Bertazzoni generations and remains at the heart of what they do today.
With its roots in the manufacturing of appliances for the enjoyment of food, Bertazzoni knows where its heart and soul lie. For Italians – perhaps more than in any other culture – there is a natural fusion of design and engineering. Precision engineering ensures your products function perfectly – but an inherent affinity with design means Bertazzoni products also look stylish and elegant. Form and function become one. Bertazzoni has always been a leader in production techniques, applying the most modern methods in its factories throughout the company's evolution. They take inspiration from the world-class engineering and craftsmanship that is ingrained in the Emilia-Romagna region.
Bertazzoni believes that a kitchen is at the heart of every home. But it is also true that food is at the heart of every kitchen. The company is located in the Po Valley in the north of Italy, in the region called Emilia-Romagna traditionally known as the bread basket since Roman times. It is steeped in the ingredients and recipes that have made Italian cooking famous worldwide, from Parmigiano Reggiano to prosciutto di Parma and balsamico di Modena (balsamic vinegar), not to mention the fine wines, local pasta varieties and an abundance of fresh produce. All the ingredients you need for the perfect meal.
If you'd like us to contact you about new products and offers, share your email below. Or, for updates more relevant to you, give us a little more information.
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The 2015 Baltic International Bank Tennis Cup to Bring Together Players from 26 Countries
News - October 6, 2015
During the period October 19 to 26, the international tournament Baltic International Bank Tennis Cup 2015 will be held at the Ādazhi Tennis Centre courts. The participants will compete in U14 age group. More than 300 players from 26 countries have applied to participate in the tournament. 48 players will compete in tryouts (qualifying tournament) organised for both girls and boys teams. 32 players in each group will battle in the main tournament.
The Chairperson of the Council of Baltic International Bank Valeri Belokon said: "It is important to pinpoint rising talents among the many participants, invest in promising players and help them achieve success. Banking and high-achievement sports share a lot of similar philosophy. That's why Bank is investing EUR 17 thousand to sponsor this year's junior tournament and to give Latvia's talented tennis players the opportunity to evaluate their own capabilities compared with their same-age peers and the chance to experience international-level tennis."
"Latvia will be represented by young talented tennis players such as Roberts Jaričevskis, Kārlis Ozoliņš, Patrīcija Špaka and Anna Jakovļeva that have already proven themselves abroad. As tennis continues to grow in popularity spurred by the achievements of our best players, we believe that the tennis industry is expected to further develop in the foreseeable future, and the young players will proudly carry and promote Latvia's name throughout the world," the Secretary General of the Latvian Tennis Union (LTS) Kārlis Lejnieks told.
"For young Latvian tennis players, tournament represents the opportunity to carve a great future in the international sports arena, increase the strength of their achievement motivation and develop their multiple skills. 12 Latvian youngsters will participate in the main tournament. We know that the competition is not going to be an easy one. The sportsmen will play in a fierce competition against very strong players from Lithuania, Estonia, Germany, Romania, Belarus and Russia," the tournament organiser and a professional tennis coach Biruta Grīnberga.


SIAL adds Asian art to master's spread
Melanie Gerlis
31st March 2016 23:00 GMT
Undeterred by a possible dip in the market, Sotheby's Institute of Art, London (SIAL), has launched a master's degree in Modern and contemporary Asian art to help turn out "highly employable" experts in the field. "There will be an increasing need for graduates with Asian art expertise to enter museums, public and private galleries, art fairs, auction houses and biennials," Jos Hackforth-Jones, the director of SIAL, says. The 12-month master's (from £24,900 plus travel costs) begins in September and combines an object-based approach with a practical focus on the art market. It will be led by Katie Hill, a specialist in contemporary Chinese art. Master's degrees that SIAL already offers cover art business, contemporary art, and fine and decorative art and design. They are validated by the UK's University of Manchester.
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LegalReader.com · Legal News, Analysis, & Commentary
Amusement Parks are Exempted from Federal Regulation, Raising Safety Concerns
Sara E. Teller — August 28, 2018
Photo by Grace Ho on Unsplash
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Immobile American amusement parks are exempted from federal regulation. In the 1980s, operators successfully lobbied to keep parks from federal oversight by the Consumer Product Safety Commission. Most are overseen by the states, but those in six U.S. states have no oversight at all – Alabama, Mississippi, Montana, Nevada, Wyoming, and Utah. And, the majority of the time, the states rely on the companies operating the parks to report any accidents.
In 1999, Senator Edward J. Markey, a Massachusetts Democrat, sought to bring federal oversight, calling it a "gigantic 'regulatory black hole' for park visitors." Although he introduced legislation to support increased regulatory measures, Disney and its competitors successfully lobbied against the effort. "It seeks to address a problem that does not exist," the head of the International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions suggested in 2008.
"In our experience, robust state regulations are the most effective and proactive way to ensure ride safety," said Greg Hale, chief safety officer for Disney Parks, adding, "We have long been a key industry leader in developing and advocating for rigorous safety standards."
Photo by Jenny Marvin on Unsplash
Mobile parks with rides that can be moved from place to place, like carnivals and state fairs, are not exempted from federal oversight. However, accidents also occur in those that are immobile, and many believe they should be subjected to the same standards.
Luke Gibbs knows this all too well. His wife, Rachel, was permanently injured after her scarf was caught in a go-kart axle at an amusement park in Michigan, snapping her windpipe. The injury left her with permanent brain damage, and she now lives in a long-term care facility in southwest London.
"Originally I was coming every other day to see Rachel, but you start to accept that her condition is as it is," Gibbs, 43, said. "One doctor at the very early stages said once you are in a permanent vegetative state, you're in that level of consciousness, it wouldn't matter whether I visited constantly, or whether I visited once every 10 years or 100 years."
Management at the amusement park, AJ's Family Fun Center, near Grand Rapids, never expressed remorse about the event. A 2007 internal memorandum warned employees to "never admit fault for accidents," adding, "our common phrase is 'AJ's is an at your own risk Fun Park.'" Court and state records showed insufficient safety measures. They also showed the go-karts were purchased nine years earlier from a Tennessee park, which cautioned that most "have seasons worth of use on the clutch, bearings, and seals."
This wasn't the only tragedy that occurred in recent years. After a teenager died and seven were injured in 2017 in an accident at the Ohio State Fair, a federal investigation was performed. The full findings have not been released. In 2016, a 10-year-old boy was decapitated at a Kansas water work and a woman fell to her death from a Texas roller coaster in 2013.
Susan L. Storey, a spokeswoman for the parks association, said "guidance for the safe operation of rides comes from well-defined international standards," adding that "rides may also be subjected to layers of third-party examination and inspection including state, local, insurance, and other independent evaluations."
It was estimated there were 29,400 ride injuries requiring emergency treatment in 2017 at all types of parks, as well as inflatable attractions and coin-operated rides at shopping malls. The fact that they are exempted from federal oversight troubles some advocates.
"Many states will give you what the parks are telling them," said Kathy Fackler, whose son was injured at a park in the 1990s. "Even in the states that have good programs, the compliance is all over the map."
A Family Lives in Limbo After an Amusement Park Accident
Who Regulates Our Nation's Amusement Parks?
Why there aren't U.S. regulations for amusement parks
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About Sara E. Teller
Sara is a credited freelance writer, editor, contributor, and essayist, as well as a novelist and poet with nearly twenty years of experience. A seasoned publishing professional, she's worked for newspapers, magazines and book publishers in content digitization, editorial, acquisitions and intellectual property. Sara has been an invited speaker at a Careers in Publishing & Authorship event at Michigan State University and a Reading and Writing Instructor at Sylvan Learning Center. She has an MBA degree with a concentration in Marketing and an MA in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, graduating with a 4.2/4.0 GPA. She is also a member of Chi Sigma Iota and a 2020 recipient of the Donald D. Davis scholarship recognizing social responsibility. Sara is certified in children's book writing, HTML coding and social media marketing. Her fifth book, PTSD: Healing from the Inside Out, was released in September 2019 and is available on Amazon. You can find her others books there, too, including Narcissistic Abuse: A Survival Guide, released in December 2017.
Read more articles by Sara E. Teller
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