She Took Poultry That Were Going to Die in a Commercial Farm. Could It Be Considered a Rescue or a Crime?
On a weekday afternoon in September's final days, Zoe Rosenberg emerged from a tribunal in Santa Rosa, California. Accompanied by her legal team, she walked quickly through the courthouse corridors, beyond dozens of prospective jurors.
Attached to her dark jacket was a miniature poultry pin, glinting on the lapel.
This marked the final stages of jury selection for the case against Rosenberg. She confronted two lesser charges for unauthorized entry and one for tampering with a vehicle, as well as one count of felony conspiracy. If the verdict goes against her, she could face up to 54 months in jail.
This isn't about who did it … It's about the motivation.
The central events of the case were agreed upon. Shortly after midnight on June 13, 2023, the group participants of the organization DxE headed to a slaughterhouse facility, a meat plant about 64 kilometers north of San Francisco. Disguised as workers, they came across a vehicle filled with countless poultry packed into crates. They rescued four hens, placed them in buckets and drove away.
The events were uncontested because Rosenberg and her fellow activists had later published film clips of what they had done. “This isn't about the perpetrator,” Rosenberg’s lawyer, Carraway, frequently remarks. “It’s a whydunit.”
Following their exit, the rescuers checked the chickens – which they called the rescued birds - in greater detail. Zoe claims they were covered in waste and showing injuries and sores.
Carraway would explain in the courtroom that Rosenberg’s intent was not to commit theft but to aid them. The panel would be required to judge, practically, the limits of compassion before it becomes a crime.
Raised by a vet, Rosenberg grew up on 16 hectares in the county area, California, in the company of cats, dogs, goats, guinea pigs and rabbits.
At age nine, the family got poultry at home. She remembers clearly their monikers effortlessly: the seven chickens. Until then, Rosenberg had shared the common assumption that birds lacked smarts, but interacting with them changed her views. “It became clear they have unique personalities and that their minds are sharp, and that they possess great worth.”
Two years later, She saw an digital recording of rescuers infiltrating a large poultry operation in the country and taking birds. She had never before gotten a glimpse a industrial agriculture facility, and she was appalled at the situation: thousands upon thousands of hens packed tightly into cages. This also introduced her to the idea of open rescue, the term activists use to describe operations in which they access commercial farms or labs and remove animals they deem to be in distress. They make no secret of their work, regularly releasing recordings of their operations.
After watching the video, She quickly decided that this was her calling, and she emailed the director of the organization responsible. (“They didn't know my age,” Zoe remembered.) Subsequently, in that year, she started the regional group of the organization, a recently formed non-profit.
Over the years, activist collectives have become known for using confrontational tactics – including initiatives by PETA linking animal products to tragic events or dramatic acts with simulated gore. The logic is simple: it takes shock to shake societal indifference about creature distress. Yet, it can lead to rejection: turning people off. In a society where eating meat is the norm, people often perceive these demonstrations as a personal attack – and feel judged, not persuaded.
DxE follows in this tradition; they have held “die-ins” outside a butcher shop in Berkeley and disrupted a Friday dinner at the popular eatery the venue.
Yet, their defining operation has been “open rescues”. In the view of the rescuers, an advantage of this approach is that it not only highlights to an injustice – it seeks, to some extent, to remedy the situation. It focuses on the business rather than blaming everyday people, and provides a view into the secret realm of meat production.
“Our legal battles are a method to present the issue to a group of peers of our fellow citizens, and to the public via news outlets,” said a group representative, an activist. “Should it be illegal, or is it moral, to rescue an animal in distress in a factory farm?”
Already, DxE activists note, there are “right to rescue” laws in California and multiple jurisdictions offering immunity if they forcibly enter a motor vehicle to remove an endangered animal. They contend that the same principle should extend to all creatures in need.
From 2014 onward, according to King, participants have participated in about 60 such operations. In the past few years, rescuers have removed young pigs from a Utah factory farm; two chickens from a transport vehicle outside a slaughterhouse in Merced county; and canines from a breeding and research facility in Wisconsin. Once the creatures are taken, the activists provide them with veterinary care and place them in new homes.
A farmer runs the agricultural business with his brother in the city. The farm has been in his family for many decades, he told me. The farm focuses on poultry with a large flock, kept in multiple structures. The farm, which is energized by solar power, also converts waste into compost.
In May 2018, protesters carried out a large-scale operation on Weber's land. Several hundred activists gathered to object. A subset invaded the farm and {broke into a chicken house|accessed a poultry building|entered a coop
