It’s the morning before I turn myself in to begin my jail sentence for rescuing four suffering chickens from a Perdue slaughterhouse. I sit by the Strawberry Creek in Berkeley. Tonight, I’ll be sitting in the Sonoma County jail booking room having my basic freedoms stripped away from me. 

As I ponder my impending incarceration, I fear for my health. The medical provider at the jail, WellPath, has been sued over 1,400 times for medical neglect and malpractice. They’ve been responsible for many inmate deaths. In fact, when I was first arrested for this case two years ago, I bailed out because they were trying to forcibly remove my insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor. I have type 1 diabetes and if I were to ever go off these devices, it would require very close specialist supervision to ensure my safety. My care would become more complex and hard to manage as I transition to manual injections and finger pricks. 

Given WellPath’s history and what we know regarding jails’ protocols for type 1 diabetes care, I have no faith I’ll be in good hands or anything close. Just last year a type 1 diabetic died in a jail in San Diego after they ignored the alarms on his insulin pump for over 24 hours. Jails fail inmates even when they’re using the technology that makes managing the disease easier and safer. 

There are many questions about my care that remain unanswered and, concerningly, the jail has given contradictory answers on multiple occasions when asked if I will be allowed to keep my insulin pump. 

In some ways, as I consider these terrifying possibilities, I actually feel more at peace. It reinforces that what I did to save Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea was absolutely worth it. 

At Perdue’s Petaluma Poultry facilities, animals often die from medical neglect. On their factory farm on Hunter Lane in Santa Rosa, we saw paperwork that showed more than 10% of the 12,000 birds in one shed had died before reaching just five weeks of age. That is how severely these chickens were being denied their basic needs. 

There were dead birds among the living, birds who’d undoubtedly been left to slowly suffer from whatever disease or injury they’d sustained. As I consider my own fear of being denied care, I imagine the fear these birds must have felt. It’s hard to fathom the terror of knowing the life is slowly draining from your body as you are forced to accept that no matter what you do, no aid is going to come.

While I was at this factory farm, I rescued two baby chickens who were otherwise destined to become rotting bodies on the ground. I provided them the aid so many others never get. Vincent and Petunia were rushed to the hospital where they received five days of intensive care that Perdue never would have even considered providing them. Vincent would go on to live two more years, a life filled with joy and love at an animal sanctuary. Petunia is still alive today. 

Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea are alive today as well. They healed when we treated their infections and wrapped their swollen limbs. That is the power of rescue. That is why we can’t give up.

My prosecutors are hoping my jail sentence will scare you. They’re hoping you’ll consider rescuing an animal and then think of me and change your mind. No. Think of me if you will, but then do it. Nothing the criminal justice system can do to us will ever truly compare to what these animals go through. It is our moral duty to save them from the hells they’re living in.

No matter what happens while I’m in jail, I’m counting on all of you to continue this work and the animals are, too. Animal rescue is one of the greatest necessities of our time, so please, go and bring light to these dark places. Bring liberation to life.