Okja: Humane-washing and Cultural Crisis
Ever since it burst on-scene on May 19th, 2017, Okja has stoked a social media firestorm, inspiring countless pleas to not only watch the film, but also save real-life Okjas, trapped in factory farms and slaughterhouses around the world. While the poignancy of this film descends largely from the histrionic, whimsical performances of talented actors, from Tilda Swinton to Jake Gyllenhaal, Okja derives its true power from its apt, heart-wrenching response to a burgeoning cultural crisis—a world of avowed animal lovers increasingly confronted by the atrocities they daily support, all concealed by the deliberate humane-washing of a profoundly corrupt, violent, destructive, and inhumane industry.
Okja begins in sweeping fashion with the dramatic, overdone acting of Lucy Mirando, played by the ever-compelling Tilda Swinton. As she struts before an engaged, yet skeptical audience of company stockholders, she foretells with almost prophetic intensity the realization of a more just, sustainable future for not only the Mirando Corporation, but also the world—a revolution for the livestock industry heralded by her GM super pigs. With ecocarnistic fervor, she quickly adds that her super pigs will leave smaller environmental footprints, consume less feed, and produce less excretions. But most importantly of all, her super pigs “need to taste fucking good.” With her excessive makeup, gaudy clothing, and over-rehearsed, scripted speech, Lucy strives to conceal not only the painful legacy of her father, but also the unpleasant nature of Mirando’s farm operations themselves, glamorized beyond all recognition beneath the ebullient fanfare of her super pig competition.
The film then pans to a bucolic scene, high in the pine-forested mountains of South Korea. There, a young girl, Mija, lives with her grandpa and Okja, the super pig Mirando awarded to her family ten years ago. After falling asleep with Okja near a pristine water pool, she awakes to the calls of her starving grandpa, far up the mountain. In a desperate effort to run home with her fresh catch—a fish dislodged from the water pool by Okja’s belly-flop—she decides to take a risky shortcut. Upon reaching a treacherously steep glade, she slips on the gravel and nearly plummets over a cliff to her death. Okja manages to rescue Mija, but not after sacrificing herself for Mija. The dramatic scene in which Okja rescues Mija from certain death not only testifies to the deep emotional bond between Okja and her protector, Mija, but also presages the serious personal risks, misfortunes, and other setbacks Mija is willing to endure to rescue Okja later in the film.
Dr. Johnny Wilcox, the wacky, eccentric, and overbearing animal-scientist-turned-face-of-the-Mirando-corporation, soon summits the mountain with his entourage to collect Okja. Mija and Okja, having remarkably returned both alive and well, quickly find themselves separated once more, but not before Mija’s grandpa leads her to her parents’ graves. Expressing his desire Mija become a proper young lady, he gifts her a golden pig, which he bought using the money the Mirando corporation paid him in exchange for Okja. This golden pig symbolizes not only Okja, but also corporate greed and the reduction of someone’s life to mere monetary value. Rejecting her grandpa’s decision—and thus the devaluation of Okja’s life, even in golden effigy—she thrusts the golden pig against the ground, then runs back to her home among the mountains. But by the time she arrives, the Mirando Corporation has already swept Okja away.
Overwhelmed by this sudden, tragic loss, as well as her grandpa’s insidious betrayal, Mija races down the road after Okja. But she soon realizes that she cannot catch up to Okja’s captors. She returns home not to enjoy the solace of her favorite soup, prepared by her despairing grandpa, bust instead to recoup the necessary resources for traveling all the way to Seoul, where Mirando has deported Okja. As her grandpa confronts a still unresponsive, bitter, and fiercely determined Mija, she reveals her plans to travel to Seoul to rescue Okja. Ignoring her grandpa’s protestations, she busts her piggy bank by throwing it against the floor, after which she steals the golden pig from her drawer, stuffs her fanny pack with change, and scuffles with her grandpa. Dismayed by Mija’s obstinance, he proclaims Okja’s fate is to become hocks, tenderloins, and other comestibles. Rejecting this human-ordained fate and the corruption of money, Mija flees from her mountaintop home, throwing green bills to the wind her grandpa struggles frantically to regain.
While Mija is almost single-minded in her pursuit to rescue Okja, she soon finds herself in the company of Animal Liberation Front activists, who brilliantly expose Mirando’s GM cover-up, cruelty, and humane-washing. As Jay explains to Okja, the ALF liberates animals from places of abuse, exposes the violence behind animal-abusing industries, and obeys its 40-year credo—harm no one, whether human or nonhuman. Jay speaks openly of the atrocities committed against animals in the name of science or human lust for animal products. His words provide a compelling—indeed, damning—counter-narrative to the sanitized, humane-washed account of animal agriculture promulgated by Lucy Mirando and other corporate groups. Rather than “reinvent” a fundamentally corrupt, unjust industry, Jay advances a genuinely abolitionist vision of a just world, wherein no animal is forced to die in the name of comparatively trivial human interests, a world wherein all animals live safe, happy, and free from the tyranny of factory farms, slaughterhouses, and other animal-abusing facilities.
Before crashing the super pig competition, the AF correctly identifies the two competing yet complementary tendencies of the industry—business-as-usual and feel-good humane-washing. Lucy Mirando, driven by her obsession to improve the image of the Mirando Corporation, represents the latter tendency, while her tough, no-nonsense twin sister, Nancy, represents the former. Despite the apparent tension between these two opposing personalities, they share more than a tenebrous connection; indeed, both thrive in connection with each other. As Jay argues, the small, local farmers serve as no more than slick promotional tools who provide a “picturesque backdrop” to the myriad atrocities of the industry. The positive, feel-good brand image this deliberate humane-washing projects in turn bolsters sales. But as Nancy later remarks, business-as-usual can survive without all the “marketing crap” so long as prices remain low. That prices remain low due to the failure to adopt meaningful welfare policies reveals the fundamental corruption of an industry willing to peddle the humane myth in pursuit of their true bottom line—profit.
These two competing, yet mutually-reinforcing faces of the industry reach their most compelling standoff during the almost obnoxious fanfare of the super pig parade in New York City. Upon hacking Mirando’s screen, the ALF successfully exposes the violence behind the lurid fanfare, pink pig costumes, and jerky bars. The crowd rebels against this hidden cruelty, brought so abruptly, forcefully, and inescapably to their attention, by storming Lucy and assaulting Dr. Johnny. In the aftermath of this catastrophic PR failure, Nancy Mirando immediately asserts her control by dictating her strategy to a high-ranking board member, ruthlessly criticizing her sister, and demanding all company officials resume work haste-post-haste. This takeover reveals not only the failure of Lucy—and thus the humane-washing intended to lull consumers into a trance-like state of complacency—but also the sheer, albeit brutal, resilience of an industry driven by a ruthless focus on profit, whatever the cost to the animals, the environment, or human health.
In perhaps her most heartless move of all, Nancy Mirando maneuvers to kill every super pig, even Okja, whose life Lucy would likely have preserved if not for Mija’s sake, then for the sake of her “moving” publicity stunt. With the bolt gun pressed against Okja’s head, Mija pleads with the slaughterer to spare Okja’s life. This compassion represents an aberration amid the other otherwise ceaseless activity of the abattoir. But just as the slaughterhouse worker lifts his gun from Okja’s forehead, a freshly-arrived Nancy and her bustling retinue pressure the slaughterhouse workers into resuming operation. In desperation, Mija tosses her golden pig to Nancy. The cold, hard embodiment of business-as-usual, Nancy agrees to trade the golden pig for Okja’s life in a surprisingly human moment before hurrying away to her next appointment, but not before biting the grimy gold effigy that ricocheted off the filth-encrusted floor to ensure its monetary value.
While Mija and her band of ALF activists leave the slaughterhouse, the final minutes of Okja reveal the cultural crisis any animal-loving, yet animal-abusing nation ultimately faces. Perhaps no other character better encapsulates this moral schism than Dr. Johnny, who sobs about his love for animals even as he abuses Okja in a filthy laboratory. Dr. Johnny’s awareness of yet complicity in various crimes against animalkind only underscore the closing moments of the film, which depict dark, dingy masses of super pigs awaiting violent, unjust deaths juxtaposed against the bright, cheery world of Okja restored to her rightful home. As a film, Okja reveals much more than just the humane-washing of the industry or hypocrisy of any society that claims to love animals while supporting their abuse; instead, Okja provides one of the most compelling accounts yet for living in alignment with our core values of justice, love, respect, compassion, and nonviolence toward all, nonhumans included.
