Hypocrisy

RIP Harry’s Girl.

And all the other animals killed and tortured for “entertainment” purposes.

I’m a hypocrite.

And so are you.

This week brings Royal Ascot - the annual horse racing event held not far from where I grew up. I’d walked the course many times on family dog walks, and my brother learned how to play golf on the small course that used to sit within the barriers.

I was vegetarian then. I had been since my early school days. Going to school in Ascot made me mildly impervious to the satisfaction gleaned from the idea of “going to the races”. For me, it had been a source of irritation for my parents due to the traffic, and later as a teen working in local hotels and restaurants, it meant guaranteed tips and a lot of extra work serving those who were used to silver spoons and foie gras.

If you’re not familiar with the pomp and circumstance, most Brits treat it as just a day out and it gave them a reason to dress up in the sunshine. Like Henley Regatta - a lot of the entertainment was focused around boozing. Only with Ascot, everything was a lot more visceral. The bookies, the huge stadium, and the permanent queue for the loos. The “Royal” moniker is bestowed as it is always attended by a member of the royal family and the course itself borders the Crown Estate which runs all the way to Windsor and harbours livestock as well as the royal stables.

The picture below is me in 2009 on Ladies Day with my book club which ostensibly was to watch the races but became more about a test of volume of rosé consumption, than placing bets or seeing the horses on the track.

It wasn’t the only time I’d been. In fact, I went again the following year for my flatmate at the time’s birthday celebration. A less sloppy affair since his parents were also with us.

Each time, I can remember how I felt. Anxious. Uncomfortable. Like I wasn’t myself. At the time, I put it down to the clothes I was wearing. The stupidly spindly footwear choice that had my heels sinking into the grass. The too short skirt that I had regretted choosing the minute I first sat down and realised how much of my thigh was exposed. Too much make-up, the wrong shade of lipstick and a hat covered in feathers that wouldn’t stay on my head.

To mask my discomfort, on both occasions, I drank. A lot. This was expected of me in my 20s and I had developed a reputation for being “great fun” on a night out so I made sure I didn’t disappoint on these occasions. Thinking back, I wonder how much of the drunkenness on display this week is a trauma response to the obvious cruelty being witnessed by the crowd.

Thursday brings Ladies Day, and yet it comes hot off the heels of a poor 2-year-old mare, “Harry’s Girl”, killed the day before. It’s barbaric. The idea that this is entertainment in 2025 boggles my mind - it’s exploitation and no better than the lion pits of the Romans. It’s time for it to end.

Now a vegan for 9 years, the only time you will find me at Royal Ascot is throwing myself at a horse in an attempt to raise awareness about animal exploitation in the hope that at least I would have died for a good cause. Even this idea is not original - I owe it to the brilliant activist Emily Davidson, who was hit by the King’s horse at the Epsom Derby and died a few days later. This was not her first attempt to give her life for her cause, having been saved by some netting in a previous disruption, she wrote in her diary:

- I did it deliberately and with all my power, because I felt that by nothing but the sacrifice of human life would the nation be brought to realise the horrible torture our women face! If I had succeeded I am sure that forcible feeding* could not in all conscience have been resorted to again.[57]

(*The feeding refers to time she spent in prison, where she went on a hunger strike.)

Say what you like about women like Emily. Whilst her methods may be extreme to some, they pale in comparison to the extremes of violence that women are subjected to and animals have it even worse. They can’t speak for themselves, so they need us to be even more empathetic when considering how to treat animals.

For me, the guiding principle of how to behave towards anyone throughout my life has been: “Treat others as you would wish to be treated.”

Would you watch humans being ridden and flogged around a hot track whilst placing bets on the outcome? It’s macabre.

More and more, it seems this idea is fading away and being replaced by a notion to maximise your own happiness at any cost.

I cannot enjoy something knowing that it has cost another being what for me is unimaginable violence. When I think back over my life, I have been both the oppressed and the oppressor.

But by acknowledging this, accepting my flawed logic and vowing to continue to be the best version of me that I can, I can show up in the world in a way that leaves me peaceful, loving and whole - a far cry from the anxiety of my youth.

This is why I’m vegan and why I go on about it. Because I wish someone had told me.

So embrace being a hypocrite. Then, think about who you want to be. What do your actions and choices say about what kind of person you are? How can you be more peaceful? Being vegan has taught me so much - and I will keep on sharing those lessons and pivots.

For the animals. ❤️