Sorry for the absence! How have you guys been? What’s new??
I have been crazy busy this week getting ready to travel with Farm Animal Rights Movement on their 10 Billion Lives Tour! I wanna tell you guys about the tour and what work we’re doing and such, I think I’ll throw a post together about the tour for Friday! But regarding today’s post…
I am more excited to share today’s post than I’ve ever been during Conveniently Vegan’s (3 month!) run. GET. EXCITED!
So, when I first started working at Lagusta’s Luscious, my boss Lagusta told me about her friend, Liz, who did undercover investigations for a large animal protection organization. She said that she worked on a number of factory farms, and was wired with cameras and microphones during her entire time doing undercover investigations. She said that she even had to eat meat in front of her other employees to not look suspicious, along with a number of other things she had to do to hide the fact that she was actually working undercover and filming her entire employment. From her work as an undercover investigator, Liz received the Hidden Heroes award from Mercy For Animals, which was present to her by Moby and Joaquin Phoenix ( ❤ ).
After hearing about Liz, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Lagusta had said. The whole story just stayed with me in my head for days. Imagine even stepping foot in a factory farm, let alone having to work in one? Imagine being that courageous?!
I recently had the absolute pleasure of meeting Liz, so clearly I HAD to ask if I could interview her. Honestly, if there is one person in the entire world that I wish I could have a conversation with and pick their brain, I really think it would be her. So clearly I was very excited to talk to her about her undercover investigations.
Liz is relatable as hell. Whether you’re vegan or don’t even know what the word vegan means, chances are you are going to relate to most of her beliefs. It’s very clear that she believes in the good in all people, and I think that is a really, really great thing.
One thing that is so amazing about Liz is that she is extremely open-minded towards those who do not share the same ideas as her, particularly about veganism. As much as I admire people who stick to their guns and keep a strong mind as to what is right to them, you gotta admire someone who has such a strong set of morals, yet can see eye-to-eye with someone who does not share those same set. It just makes them all the more relatable!
So enough dilly dallying, let’s jump into this!
M: When did you go vegan and why?
L: I’ve been vegan for almost 10 years, I went vegan on my 22nd birthday actually. I was vegetarian for 4 years, from 18 to 22, and that was mostly for health reasons, and because I had been a little bit exposed to it as a culture and it just felt kind of right. I didn’t really explain it or judge it very well, I just did it and it worked fine for me. I actually used to tell people when I was a vegetarian, “Yeah, but it’s not because I love animals, I’m just doing it for health reasons,” I was an asshole! When I became vegan, it was because I had met someone, which is the biggest influencer of people, especially people that you want to date. So I had met this guy and I was so into him and he was like “I’m vegan and here’s why,” and he gave me the book Animal Liberation by Peter Singer and we watched the movie Earthlings in the same week and I was like okay, alright fine. And there is no going back, you know? I couldn’t turn off what I had seen or what I had read. And it just made sense, it clicked, I was actually really embarrassed. I was like “I cant believe I didn’t realize this sooner.” You can’t do that to yourself though, that’s a waste of time. So I went vegan for the protection of animals 9 and a half years ago.
M: How did you find the opportunity to work undercover?
L: I attended a conference, actually, a conference that was at in Portland in 2010. It was a short-lived conference called Let Live that was done by a group of really rad activists in Portland, and it only happened for a few years, which was unfortunate because I think it was one of the better animal rights conference that we ever put on as a movement. Really fun, really passionate group of people, and the last year that we did it was a year that the Director of Investigations of the organization I ended up doing investigations for gave a talk on their work. It was kind of like a state of the union for their investigator program. I’ve been aware of them for a long time and I had been intrigued by investigations, but I always thought that they were not for me and that I wasn’t going to be ready or it was a different language than the one that I was used to. It didn’t seem like something I could do, and then something about the circumstances in that room, something about the way they presented this work, I realized like, oh, this is just a job. People can actually do this. People do do this, and they don’t do it for high-minded ethical priorities. People do this as a job everyday thanklessly without receiving any medals or awards. It kind of clicked together a bunch of that stuff for me about how my activism doesn’t have to be so precious. It also helped me realize that my body is of itself a tool, and that I might have a very short window to have the impact that I would like to have, and if this is my window I’d better take it.
At the end of that talk, they made this funny little slick remark that just said “We’re always hiring!” and I was like yeah, I bet you are. So I approached him later and I told him that I was interested. At that point, they had never hired a female investigator. I was their first female investigator, not the first one ever in the field, but the first one for that organization and so there was, for me, some really intriguing options in that role. I think that it just became a natural fit. I knew that I wanted to work for them because I thought that they were getting the best results out of their investigations. I really respected their programming and their media strategy. And it just felt like a really good match. They really wring everything that they can out of every media opportunity. Every investigation, every single opportunity that they have to put photos in front of people and message it correctly is one that they’re going to take, which is what helped me feel safest with my work.
M: What was your first day as an undercover investigator like?
L: Of the investigations that I released, the most notable one was of a large factory hog farm, which was the Fourth largest hog producer in the country and the largest in the state of Iowa. I had worked other jobs before then, but this was probably the most significant of my initial investigations for the material that I gathered.
That first day going to work didn’t stress me out, I felt really confident. I had this sort of enthusiasm and clarity about my purpose there. I got through the first couple hours largely okay. It’s a lot all at once, the sense that you walk into, like the impact on your senses that you walk into immediately. It’s so intense. The smell, the sounds, the sights, the newness, the people. It’s all a lot. In that first morning, my job was over on the farrowing side. In gestation pig farms there’s two sides: there’s the gestation side with the pregnant pigs who live in gestation crates for their pregnancies, and then when they come to term they are moved over to the farrowing side where they actually give birth to piglets. The piglets live in these crates with the moms for 20 days or so and then the piglets are shipped off, and in that 20 days is when all of the worst crap happens to them. They get castrated if they’re male, they get tail docked, they got a ton of vaccinations and antibiotics, and then they get moved away to the next facility. So my job was over in farrowing to “take care of” a couple of rooms of those piglets and moms, which meant also dealing with prolapses from pregnancy and dealing with mothers who wouldn’t nurse, usually because they were infected or in pain, etc.
So on that first day, I made it through the first couple of hours, and then I was learning how to do the tail docking on the piglets, and these are like 2 day old piglets, tiny tiny. You hoist them up by one of their back legs and you take a pair of shears, like garden shears basically. It’s pretty dull, pretty old for the most part. And you just clip and tear the tail off through the cartilage. Tons of blood comes out, and then you flip them up in your hand and you give them a little shot of iron and then put them back. So they go back in there screaming and bleeding. I remember the first one I had to do on my own, I was holding this pig and he was screaming his head off, he’s going absolutely berserk, and the moms are freaking out, all the sows are just going out absolutely insane. When I went to cut the tail off, I could feel the crunch of the cartilage like vibrate through my hand, and I went completely dizzy. I became nauseous, and I did it but in my head I was like “oh my God am I going to throw up?” and I actually fake said that I had to run to the bathroom. I was like “I’m having an emergency.” I think that I was like “It’s a feminine emergency and I gotta run to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” and I booked it to the restroom.
I just sat down on the floor and just put my head down and just breathed. It took me probably 10 minutes before I felt like I wasn’t going to throw up again and before I could go back. So I gathered myself and I went back, and the rest of that day just got worse from there. We did huge amounts of vaccinations, which is a really intense process and very physically active, but also really terrifying for the piglets. Then we did castrations, and you know castrations are done without anesthetic, and they are really, really brutal, really violent operations. I saw prolapses, I saw piles of dead and dying piglets, and by the time I got to my car at the end of the day, I couldn’t make it out of the parking lot before I started crying.
First I called my boss and I was driving down the road and I’m like “okay, okay, okay, okay.” I just needed to vent and be supported and I was having a freak out. His response was exactly what it should have been, it was very professional and very cool. He was like “Yeah, I really hear you. It’s really hard. Can you go to work tomorrow?” and I was like “Give me a night to get over it, let me relax and I’ll let you know.” But then I called my mom and I was at this point sobbing, and I had to pull over because I couldn’t drive my car. I’m sobbing and I’m like dry heaving, just all of these awful sad moans, and I called her and I was like “They cut off their tails, and they’re castrating them, and they’re screaming and the moms are separated from their babies,” and I’m sobbing and I’m like “It’s all for fucking bacon!” I was just screaming that and my mom was right there with me. She was like “oh I’m so sorry.” She just knew, she knew how to comfort me.
So I put myself together and I went home to my hotel room, and I watched my footage from the day and cataloged it. I woke up the next day, and all that sadness crystallized into like a laser focus. I was like “fuck yeah, I’m coming for these pigs.” So it’s a difficult question because I think it’s a little bit of a blissful ignorance before you enter the field. The funniest part about that is that I was working at an egg Farm in Iowa, and it was time for me to leave that job. I was leaving and I was trying to figure out what my next move was going to be, and I remember passing this truck of piglets. I think I even have a photo that I took out of my car window. It’s like little guys, two of their noses together can fit through one of the holes in the truck. I remember just passing the truck and slowing down so I could so I could drive by them, and I remember saying “I’m coming for you, I’ll be there soon,” and then 2 weeks later I got the job at the hog farm.
M: What was it like wearing a wire and camera? Were you scared that anyone was ever going to find them?
L: I wasn’t super worried, mostly because no one’s really looking out for it, at least for me. I really got lucky. I took advantage of the fact that I was a woman and that there was so few female investigators at the time. I’ve trained more since then, and certainly more people have come even after that which is great, but I think I really took advantage of that sweet spot which was nice. I was cautious, but I was pretty nimble most of the time. That stuff is verbal and comes across in your attitude as well, and I was pretty good at that. I went through a lot of training. I went through a massive amount of very intense, very tedious, perfection inducing training from one particular investigator who has been doing this for almost 15 years. He’s one of the most talented, easily the most influential person in the movement I would say, for the investigations. We just did drill after drill after drill.
The most stressful part for me was having to trouble shoot when there were technical issues, which happened a lot. The wires are delicate, the instruments are not perfect. We have come a long way for sure, but part of having to be good at your job in the field is being comfortable and confident to troubleshoot your way through a camera malfunction. And that was always pretty stressful but again, it’s like with training and preparation, everything seemed to pretty much work out. The investigations that I released used a lot of still photo, so pretty frequently I was carrying a still camera disguised as something else. There were two memorable occasions when I almost lost them, one time in a manure pit and another time on the floor of the locker room. Those are the only times where I was like “I’m fucked,” but thankfully it never happened. There were some pretty frustrating days where I would reach the end of the day or my camera would malfunction or my spare battery wouldn’t be working, and there would be photos that I needed to capture that I would get home and realize that they didn’t get recorded. Or at the time even, I’d be realizing “oh fuck, this is the one time this particular event is going to happen and I can’t record it,” and that’s it.
M: What was your everyday procedure like?
L: It’s pretty much the same grind every day. It starts early, farm work, so usually it’s getting up between 4 and 5 AM. Making coffee, having breakfast, checking my equipment. I checked all my connections, I’d do a little test and check on my computer, record a little bit. Then getting all my gear ready and getting dressed takes like 40 minutes sometimes, just depending on what I’m carrying and what I’m shooting with. So doing all that and then typically driving 35 to 45 minutes, and then working 10 to 12 to 15 hours. So working very long days, and then coming home to my hotel room, then taking a shower, logging in all of my footage, like uploading all my footage on my hard drive, logging minute-by-minute witch is a pretty intense process. It includes a lot of linguistic description of what you’re actually seeing and who’s actually in the frame and what you might be hearing off camera and things like that minute-by-minute. Uploading it and charging all my gear for the next day and testing it again, and maybe if I have time, eating dinner in my hotel room, which was usually like whatever I could to microwave. Going to bed and starting over everyday.
M: What were your coworkers like? Were you friends with them?
L: Oh absolutely, I mean everyone is a human being. Everyone is just there, working towards the same goal. Everyone is just trying to go to work and have a quality of life, and go home and maintain that quality of life. I found more kinship with the people I worked with than I expected, and more than sometimes I found in the vegan community, for sure. Whether or not we have ideological differences, everybody there was working pretty much the same goal, which was to live in a way that allows them a little bit of comfort and some peace of mind. It’s so easy to pigeonhole farm workers that you see in these videos as demons or ignorant or callous and unfeeling, but they were all largely free of malice. They weren’t necessarily the most compassionate or careful or loving people, certainly I would say that, but I rarely encountered what I would consider malicious behavior towards animals that was sadistic. Most of the time, people were just doing the job that they thought had to be done.
I get the mental separation that occurs there, because I had to live it. Even I, towards the end of it, was like “Oh yeah, cutting tails off? Sometimes ya just gotta do that.” It really indoctrinates you, mentally. There’s a chain that says everybody has to eat, animals are food, this is how you produce food, this is my job. There’s a very cyclical chain that I can understand people adhering to it. I don’t excuse it as an ethical behavior, I understand the indoctrination, so to that extent, yeah I didn’t demonize the people that I worked with, and in fact, many of them I became friends with.
There was this one guy at the hog farm who would bring me candy every day. He would stop at the gas station on his way to work and pick up like a Snickers bar or some M&M’s or whatever. So charming. Really, really lovely. I actually worked with more than a few gay people, I worked with a lot of women. It was more diverse in the workplace than you would imagine.
Certainly things happened on farms that are representative of the shitty things that happen in our society as a whole, for sure, in terms of oppression, discrimination, etc., but I really value the time that I spent with the people at most places, because it gave me a more humanistic view and a more well-rounded view of the issue that we’re dealing with. It’s not helpful to scapegoat these workers because you know who’d scapegoat them are the executives at those animal agriculture companies.
The next case I worked for was for a leading poultry manufacturer, and the case that I worked for them actually led to cruelty charges and led to a criminal investigation. In that investigation, at the trial that we went to, the executives for the poultry manufacturer actually testified on behalf of the prosecution, meaning executives testified against their own employees saying “This isn’t what we do, you are in the wrong, our procedure is safe, do X, Y, and Z,” even though everybody in the room knows that it’s bullshit. Everybody knows that those guys aren’t just out there doing that work for their own benefit. They’re not doing it because it’s their idea of a great Tuesday afternoon, they’re doing it because somebody asked them to get the birds on the fucking truck. That was particularly offensive to me, but I hold people accountable for their individual actions, but I hold the culture more accountable for influencing the ways of that behavior. A lot of the workers are immigrants of color and people who are told that if you want to participate in society, this is your entry point, and it’s not our fault that your entry point is at the absolute lowest bottom rut. I think that there’s an animalization of those workers that is similar to the way that we treat non-human animals. Warehousing people in closed off communities, dramatically limiting their access to greater parts of civilization and culture, and then excusing ourselves for the responsibility to elevate them to a higher status.
M: Still on the topic of your co-workers, do you still talk to them?
L: No, not at all. As nice as it is, when the investigation is over, it’s over. The only people that I was still ever in touch with were the people that we prosecuted at the poultry manufacturer, and I had to see them again because we went to trial together. I went to trial against them, more specifically, but no. So far I haven’t ever seen or been contacted by anyone.
M: Do they currently know that you were undercover?
L: Yeah, when you leave abruptly, people pretty much figure it out. When you leave and then they’re like “What happened to Liz?” and then like three weeks later there’s an investigation there, they always know. If there was ever a case that I hadn’t released any footage from for some reason, I just had to leave and we didn’t have anything to release, then I could see people just being like “ oh, weird, bye girl” but that never happened.
M: Did any of your coworkers ever show any signs of not exactly loving the work that they were doing, or was it more of a let’s not talk about it kind of thing?
L: Definitely the latter. Nobody wants to do their job, everybody is like “Man, this blows but this is all we got.” For a lot of people it’s a “good job.” The job that I worked at the large factory hog farm was one of the highest paid jobs I’ve ever had in my entire adult life! I seriously swear to God, and I had excellent health insurance, I got bonuses every month for how many extra pigs we pushed out the door. It’s not all that bad. I hesitate to be quoted saying that, but some of those larger companies can afford to pay people a little bit more than you might get working at McDonald’s.
I’ve actually never worked in a slaughterhouse, I’ve only worked on farms. I’ve been inside slaughterhouses, but I’ve never worked the line on one before. It’s hard to get hired as a woman in that job. It’s physically really demanding and it’s pretty gruesome, and there’s usually a pretty male-dominated culture there. That being said, my experience doesn’t even begin cover the wide swath of experiences of other investigators, especially men who have been exposed to much more dangerous and perilous conditions than I was. The jobs that I had were all categorically awful, but nothing that I would consider beyond the pale of what humans should be expected to do. Even though the days were long and conditions were really awful, I still got a paycheck.
There was one farm that I worked at that refused to pay overtime, and refused to offer breaks after a certain point. That one was pretty awful, but they had already been embroiled in a legal battle against their employees so we didn’t even bring it up, because we knew that they were already getting attention for it.
M: How many farms did you work on in total during your undercover investigations?
L: I worked at 4 farms for one organization, and then I had done a little kind of freelance before then, but not for an organization. It’s kind of funny to think about it, but that was my little window, you know, when I was done I was really done. I thought I was going to go back home and kind of nest a little bit and wait it out and wait to feel like myself again. I did a little bit of one-offs, I would go to livestock auctions and I did a bunch of training a bunch of investigators in that time, but I never got that feeling. I never got back that bravado that you needed to walk into a place and occupy two identities at the same time.
M: Speaking of two identities, did you use your real name?
L: Oh yeah, cause we got hired legally. I used my real name, my real identification, all my real tax information, my real job information. It was all done legally. Part of the other reason that I really love working for the organization is that part of the strength of our work comes from the fact that they operate legally at all times, without question, because we have to be able to come to the table at that level. We can’t afford not to.
M: Lagusta had told me that your coworkers treated each other as family, and would bring meals to share with everyone. What was it like having to eat meat in order to not look suspicious?
L: There were only a couple of times I actually felt grossed out, and those times were mostly because the meat that they were serving came from the farm that I was working on. The entire idea of it just kind of turned my stomach a little. Overall, these are big Latino cultures that work on these farms, so they’re very matriarchal. The women take care of the group to a great extent, so a lot of times it was women bringing in food to share, shrimp ceviche, tamales, all kinds of stuff. It was always homemade, and it was always offered to everybody. Even when there wasn’t a group lunch that someone would bring, when you were sitting around tables in the break room, everyone would offer their food, and you’re expected to offer as well. And you’re expected to take. It’s rude, it’s really rude not to participate. Again, everyone is just trying to maintain a quality of life. Which is why when this guy started bringing me candy, I wasn’t going to say, “What’s on the ingredient list?” I was gracious. I was like “thank you!” And I really meant it! I really genuinely loved that gesture from him. There was a lot of food sharing, and a lot of camaraderie.
The most memorable time that I felt uneasy about the food was this pork tamale that a woman had brought in to share with everyone when I was working at the factory hog farm. It was partially the fact that it was pork and I was surrounded by the smell of hog feces at the time that it was being presented to me, but also that the bite that I took just wasn’t very good! It needed salt, it needed seasoning, it was dry, it wasn’t even really worth it! I hate to even put it in those terms but it wasn’t even delicious! I was getting this authentic tamale, and it wasn’t very good. It was bullshit! But, I did always remember and appreciate those instances.
There was a caretaking from those women that I took with me. And a great deal of and the men, who felt very protective of me, and I felt that way of them too. There was a guy who came to work one day and he told me that he had just had a fire in his apartment, and his boyfriend was home at the time trying to deal with it the aftermath. He was trying to explain this to me in Spanish and he had burned his hand trying to get the fire away, and I was like “are you okay, do you need to go to the hospital, what’s going on?” and he was like “no I’m fine.” But it was a really serious burn, a pretty gnarly event and I could tell that he was a little shell-shocked. He wasn’t really being forthcoming about the state of his apartment I was like fuck, I really want to help this guy, but you can’t get involved. But yeah, we were in it together, there for each other.
M: Did you find your experience undercover to be harder or easier than you anticipated?
L: Both I guess. The part that was actually harder for me was the isolation of living in hotel rooms for a year, and living in the middle of nowhere isolated from my family, my friends, and my community. Normally I’m a pretty solitary person, I feel really good about being alone, I prefer it. But the absence of routine started to drain me more than I expected. I have traveled for long periods of time, but after a year I just remember feeling like I was jumping out of my skin a little bit.
In other ways, it was easier and I was shocked at how quickly I became accustomed to really horrific events, really gruesome stuff. Stuff that stopped making me flinch. I was shocked at how easy it was to separate my mind from my emotions, or my soul from my body. That’s the switch that gets flipped when we’re kids. Kids love animals so much, kids are naturally really compassionate, compassionate to the point where sometimes killing a bug is going to make them cry. Kids are really empathetic creatures, and we kind of berate that out of them, especially in terms of diet, in terms of the food that we give them. We divorce them from the idea that your food is an animal. Kids are naturally funneled into this area where these are the ones we pet, these are the ones we eat, these are the ones at the zoo, etc. When I became vegan, I remember thinking that I was giving myself permission to flip that switch back the other way. I saw animals as a whole entity of creatures that were deserving of empathy and caretaking and compassion and all the rest. Working undercover, even though going into the field was spurred by that compassion that I felt, was the first thing that cleaved those parts of my brain again. As soon as I was in the field, I was like “oh yeah, it’s a job, this is what I do.” That’s again why say I completely understand why, but the people working in those facilities, that’s not the most shocking part of their day. It’s not the most horrific thing they’ve seen.
M: I guess that is also partly your brain just coping with everything that is going on.
L: Oh definitely, it was part of that for sure. I think part of me knew what made me so good was that I was stone cold. I think that might have also bled into my personal life in some ways, especially since then, made me a little bit inaccessible. But if that’s the trade-off, I’ll be fine, I mean truly.
M: Do think you have changed since your experience?
L: Yeah, I’m a lot less precious. I’m a lot less sensitive, honestly. When I was a younger vegan, I was much more “either you’re vegan or you’re not, either for us or you’re against us.” I was really hard-lined, and working undercover allowed me to see the grey areas a lot better in a way that has made me a much better person, but also made me a lot less tolerant of younger hard-line people. I’m not old, I’m 31, I’m not so fucking jaded, but I really have low tolerance for people who feel as though it’s this way or it’s this way. It’s not reality, to me it indicates the person’s complete failure to comprehend the real world, and that is not a political movement that we can build on. We have to build from compromise, we have to be able to meet people halfway. These farm workers? They don’t like what they’re doing either. They’re a massive population that maybe we can mobilize. Why aren’t we reaching out to them meaningfully? I just feel like we’ve refused the common ground so often in a way that has really held us back, and I think that’s what I’ve become better at since working undercover.
I think because of that attitude, there are other vegans that probably wouldn’t respect me as much. I’m not horrified at a barbecue, I don’t need a trigger warning to see a hot dog in a grocery store, I don’t cry at videos that I see. And again, I think some of that’s good, and some of that is probably not that great. Some of that probably makes me a person that’s not that great to relate to. I just can’t be any other way anymore.
M: Do you have anything else that you would like to say about your undercover work?
L: I would absolutely encourage everyone to do it. I really do. Everyone who thinks that they have something to contribute, at least look into it and see if you’re a good candidate because we need people. Investigations are some of the most crucial weapons that we have right now. I said this to Jasmine from Our Hen House, I think investigations are one of the most relevant things we can do right now, and I hope that through that work we can make them irrelevant. Now is the time to be doing that. Also, everyone lighten up. It’s really dire right now, and it feels that way a lot, but I feel like we’ve already lost if we’re consumed by grief all the time about the state of the world. I stopped being that person that on Mother’s Day posts photos of cows and calves together. I stopped being that person. Even though I worked at a poultry manufacturer over Thanksgiving, I don’t think I would ever be that person again that posts a picture of a turkey on Thanksgiving and a turkey in a sanctuary, because we are not helping people by shaming them.
There’s a great quote from this journalist Lindy West that I really like, and she said “You can’t hate someone for their own good,” and I truly believe that. I think that we should be implementing that as a movement as greatly as possible. We should be a movement of yes. That’s honestly, I think, the only way to reach real human beings who have good hearts. Everyone’s heart is good, everyone’s heart, for the most part, is in the right place. We just might disagree on the logistics of how to get there, but maybe we can at least have better discussions. Also, I have stopped even telling people that I am vegan. I stopped being the vegan friend that everyone knew and I was more of just “Liz” and they got to know me for me, they got to know who I am and then they found out I am vegan. I would just be like “oh it’s for me, do whatever you want.” Being someone’s secret vegan friend has been the best the biggest impact I could have ever had, I swear to God. It’s crazy. Once people get to know you and they’re like, “oh you’re cool” and then you hit them with this thing that’s unexpected and they’re like, “I wouldn’t have thought that this person would be this identity because they don’t talk about it.” It makes it a little mysterious, and a little intriguing. I encourage that, and I encourage dating people that aren’t vegan.
How seriously great is Liz?
I admire her ability to be so realistic, open-minded, and relatable. I told her during our interview that I thought it was funny that she say’s she doesn’t find herself to be relatable for others, because I personally think her set of beliefs are more relatable than most people’s. If you guys wanted to see her receive the Hidden Heroes award, here is a video from the awards ceremony below:
Liz currently owns Honor Society Coffee, which is a wholesale specialty coffee roaster in Seattle, Washington. (Check out her stuff, the packaging is gorgeous!)
So how did you guys like Liz? Isn’t she just the best? Plus, she has done SO MUCH for the animals, both through her undercover investigations and her attitude on veganism as a whole.
We need more Liz’s in the world fighting for the animals!
Have a great day everyone and talk soon 🙂