11 years ago, in December of 2014, I made a promise to someone I loved. Her name was Georgia. A few months earlier, Georgia was released to my animal sanctuary by a factory farm in the Central Valley. I was 12 years old at the time. Georgia had previously spent her entire life living in the confines of a filthy shed. She had never seen the sky, she had never felt the sun on her back or soft grass beneath her feet. Her life had been turned into a commodity, her body a machine to serve a company's interests.

When we rescued Georgia, she got to experience basic freedoms for the first time. She got to explore the world, dig in the dirt, and bathe in the sun. But, we could never truly give her the freedom she deserved. We could not free her from her body.

Georgia had not just been exploited and abused, her very body had been genetically manipulated to maximize production and profit. As a result, Georgia developed a painful and life-threatening condition that caused her to lay eggs into her abdomen instead of out her vent. This condition ultimately cost her her life.

As Georgia was dying, I made her a promise. I promised her that I would never stop fighting for her, that I would speak up and take action until no more chickens have to experience what she did, or until I breathe my own last breath.

Over the past 11 years, as I have grown up and experienced various trials and tribulations, there have been moments I have wanted to give up on my fight for animals. There have been moments I have felt broken down, afraid, and, quite honestly, just tired. So tired of living in a world filled with so much apathy and pain. But, I haven't given up, because in those moments, I think back to Georgia and the promise I made to her. I will not break that promise today or any day.

The true reality of what animals are facing cannot be overstated. Chickens in particular are subjected to unimaginable torment at the hands of corporations.

Since my arrest, approximately 20 million baby chickens have been killed just at Perdue's Petaluma Poultry slaughterhouse alone. Many tens of thousands more have failed to reach the slaughterhouse, instead slowly dying from abuse and neglect on Petaluma Poultry's factory farms during the first few weeks of their lives.

None of these chickens had names. They died behind closed doors and their stories died with them. To some authorities, their deaths were meaningless, just a cost of doing business, but they were individuals nonetheless.

My prosecutors outrageously claim the animal-cruelty allegations at Petaluma Poultry are fabricated, yet they successfully fought to keep the jury from being allowed to see photos of the slaughterhouse's condemnation records. These documents show birds often arrive covered in bruises, suffering from joint infections, and even blood infections. Perhaps most concerning, documents show birds are sometimes boiled alive and condemned as cadavers during the slaughter process. The prosecutors also successfully kept the jury from seeing a report from Sonoma County’s own Animal Services department referring a Petaluma Poultry factory farm as a suspect for criminal animal cruelty. We also have necropsy results and countless photos and videos. Any compassionate person who sees a baby chicken with gaping wounds, soaked from head to toe in diarrhea, should understand that what that chicken is going through is wrong.

What has come to be at the heart of this case is the question of whether or not the suffering these chickens experience at Petaluma Poultry is real. I maintain that it is, and I don't think this should have ever been a matter of contention. I remain ready and willing to meet with any law enforcement officer or official, and during such a meeting I am prepared to present eight years worth of evidence of animal cruelty at Petaluma Poultry’s facilities.

When I saved Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea, it was undoubtedly a small act. One of the most troubling parts of animal-rescue work is that, far too often, we cannot save them all. But the thing that made this act a little more powerful, beyond the impact it had on their individual lives, was that it was a rare opportunity to put a face to some of the chickens who suffer and die at the hands of Perdue. It was not a publicity stunt; it was a rare opportunity for even a few stories to be heard.

The world has since learned how Poppy was struggling to breathe, choking on mucus as she fought a respiratory infection that she likely developed in the filth and crowding of a Petaluma Poultry factory farm. People have learned how Ivy and Azalea were covered in feces, wounds, and scratches, how Aster's chest was bruised and her feet were swollen with pus. Similarly important, we have been able to tell the story of how everyday individuals came together to make their lives better. We wrapped their swollen limbs, treated their infections, and provided them with a loving home where they are given the care and respect they always deserved. What we did for these four birds was not extraordinary. It was simple, but for them, it meant everything. When people hear these stories, I hope they understand that they, too, can act, in ways big or small, to change someone's life.

I would like to take a moment to acknowledge all of the chickens who have made it out of Perdue's Petaluma Poultry facilities alive in the last few years thanks to the work of animal rescuers. Their names are: Rose, Lexi, Sandee, Kowshik, Ying, Yang, Petunia, Vincent, Poppy, Aster, Ivy, Azalea, Peony, Cynthia, Lotus, Edward, Heather, Magnolia, Hazel, Marigold, Camellia, Hydrangea, Holly, Sage, Iris, Zinia, Daisy, Fern.

I am grateful every day for their rescues. But, as I stand here, I am filled with remorse for every animal I have failed to save. When I walked away with Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea, thousands of individuals were left behind to suffer and die.

To the little baby chick who is currently writhing in pain on the floor of a Perdue factory farm, the young rooster being violently slammed into a Perdue transport crate, and the terrified hen about to enter Perdue's scalding tank while fully conscious, I am sorry. I am sorry that you have to bear the brunt of some of the worst acts of our species. I am sorry that I am not there with you now, to help you before your final breaths leave your tired bodies. But, like I did for Georgia, I will also make you a promise: a promise to never stop fighting, to never stop speaking the truth, to never give up as long as this violence continues.

I hope that many of the people here today will make you a similar promise. And I hope that people will join me in not just making this promise, but living by it. And when they feel scared, when they feel overwhelmed by the weight of all that is wrong with this world, I hope they will think back to the promise they made today. Like my promise to Georgia, they can let it be their reminder of why they must keep going, no matter what, until every animal is safe, happy, and free.