1, was the first of many situations in remote parts of the world where I was shown suffering and chose not to look away. I’m not alone. Many of us are confronted with injustice every day and choose not to look away. This book tells the stories of people who had an experience with another animal that affected them so profoundly it caused them to act.
I wanted to write this book for several reasons: to profile the good work being done by people to help other species, to inspire others to act, to document the current state of exploitation of animals, and to illuminate the interconnectedness of all species.
These extraordinary people — most of whom I’m lucky enough to call friends, whose unexpected encounters and nonverbal communication with other species motivated them to action — are leaders in what I call the compassion movement: the collective quest to alleviate suffering for all forms of life. Rescuing Ladybugs will take you around the world to experience the awe-inspiring and enlightening connections these leaders have had with animals of all shapes and sizes, from the nearly invisible pteropod to the savanna elephant. You’ll learn how empathy motivated them to create sweeping changes that have ultimately benefited all species — including ours. All the stories are true. Some may be difficult to read, describing injustices, but I hope they fuel your compassion. My hope is that the stories will inspire and support your own intuitive guidance to do what’s right when confronted by wrong.
This anonymous quote, often attributed to Martin Luther King, speaks to that idea: “Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.” I believe that we know instinctively what’s right, and when we act on that instinct, we feel good; acting compassionately creates happiness in our own life.
The process involved in creating this book was challenging. My Australian publisher stipulated that, as part of a two-book deal, this had to be a memoir. It took me a year to figure out how to write a memoir that was meaningful, entertaining, and important. Throughout Rescuing Ladybugs, I share my personal journey with animals and tell some of the stories that have inspired me to action; these encounters often led to my connections with the amazing heroes in this book. As for how this book was put together, with a few exceptions, all the first-person stories were told to me directly through a combination of in-person, Skype, and email interviews, which I edited into single accounts. In a couple of stories, I combine my interviews with reprinted, previously published statements from other sources (and I cite those additions). In only one case is a personal account entirely from another source (Guy Stevens, from his book Manta). Every profile is introduced by a short story about how I met the person, and each includes a biography of the person’s work, followed by a question-and-answer with them. Every story has been fact-checked by the person who is profiled.
Rescuing Ladybugs is about our collective journey to create positive change in the world for all species by breaking the barriers that cage and separate us. It’s about the love that unites all species and shows how nurturing that connection helps all creatures to thrive. When we allow ourselves to experience this connection, we raise our consciousness, ignite our purpose, and become a force for good. The result is the awakening of our soul and the gift of an enlightened happiness that cannot be broken by the cruelty of a few.
The Joy in Compassion-Driven Intervention
There are times in your life when you’re presented with a choice: You can help another soul or you can look away. Such moments are pivotal — the decision you make changes lives forever, including yours. My game-changing moment came in March 1998 in Vientiane, Laos.
I stepped off a plane in Vientiane with my Australian boyfriend, Jon, and into another world. A rush of warm, humid air welcomed us, and instantly, the tension that came with entering a communist country seemed to dissipate.
Laos is landlocked by China, Vietnam, Myanmar, Thailand, and Cambodia. Poor and underdeveloped by Western standards, it’s rich with people who choose, because of their religion, not to strive for monetary gains. The majority of people are Buddhists and are raised to cultivate wisdom and kindness while practicing compassion for all living beings.
Despite its peaceful population, or perhaps because of it, Laos has been the center of political battles for centuries. The most recent conflict had brought me here: the communist takeover after the Vietnam War and the subsequent mass murders of up to one hundred thousand Hmong people by the Lao People’s Democratic Republic (LPDR).
I knew some of the refugees who’d made it out alive. They’d immigrated to the United States; many had opened nail salons, small grocery stores, and Vietnamese and Thai restaurants. While escaping, they’d lost family, friends, and even children. Moved by their bravery, I wanted to write a book that would lift the veil on Asian immigration to the United States while highlighting the human rights injustices in postwar Laos.
Thavisack Vixathep greeted us at the airport with a repeating handshake and toothy grin; he asked us to call him Tom. He was slim, around five feet tall, with short, shiny black hair. Tom was my government minder, an escort to make sure that as a journalist I didn’t overstay or overstep my welcome.
Tom led us to a blue Mercedes-Benz sedan. As we climbed inside, he warned me I was not permitted to ask questions about the Vietnam War, reeducation camps, forced repatriation, the former Royal Lao family (many of whom had been murdered), genocide, or refugee camps. I tensed. Jon rested his hand on mine.
The first stop on our guided tour was Pha That Luang, a Buddhist temple described in tour books as the most important monument in Laos. On the outside, the reflection of the sun on the temple’s gold-covered stupa and pillars was blinding. The feeling on the inside was just the opposite, calming and cool. In an alcove, the base of a gold leaf–covered statue of the sitting Buddha was adorned with fresh flowers and burning candles. In a far corner, a group of Buddhist monks with shaved heads, their bodies wrapped in orange cloth, sat on the floor in meditation.
I already felt a connection with Buddhism. Its teachings make sense to me, as they do to the nearly 500 million people around the world who consider themselves Buddhists. Followers of Buddhism, often called the religion of compassion, commit to a life of nonviolence toward all animals and to eliminating greed from their lives. As I watched the monks, I was excited to be in a country where so many people were leading conscious lives.
Away from the main attractions of government buildings and temples, the real Vientiane felt like a small town. Motorbikes carrying entire families sped past our car while little girls in school uniforms of white shirts and navy blue skirts gathered together on street corners, eating pineapple skewered on sticks like it was ice cream. Shuttered apartments — reminders of the French occupation of Laos in the early 1900s — looked out over brightly colored fruit stands at every turn. Electricity poles and wires littered the horizon, while open sewers and dirt roads were a reminder that little had changed for decades.
That evening, as the sting of the heat disappeared with the sun, Jon and I were left alone to stroll a few blocks from our hotel to the banks of the Mekong
