A Woman Removed Poultry Facing Death in a Commercial Farm. Was It a Rescue or a Illegal Deed?
On a September afternoon in late September, the University of California, Berkeley attendee emerged from a tribunal in California's Santa Rosa. Flanked by her lawyers, she walked quickly through the courthouse corridors, past more than 100 jury candidates.
Pinned to her black blazer was a miniature poultry pin, sparkling on her jacket.
It was one of the last days of jury selection for her legal proceedings. She confronted two misdemeanor charges for trespassing and one count of vehicle interference, as well as a felony conspiracy indictment. Should she be found guilty, she could spend up to four and a half years in jail.
It’s not a whodunit … It's about the motivation.
The central events of the legal matter were uncontested. In the early hours on June 13, 2023, Rosenberg and several other members of the collective DxE traveled to Petaluma Poultry, a slaughterhouse about a short drive north of the city. Disguised as workers, they found a transport truck filled with numerous birds confined in cages. They took four birds, secured them in pails and departed.
These facts were not in dispute because the group members had shared film clips of the incident. “The identity isn't in question,” her attorney, Carraway, frequently remarks. “The reason is key.”
Once they departed the facility, the rescuers checked the birds – whom they named Poppy, Ivy, Aster, and Azalea - more thoroughly. She stated they were soiled with excrement and suffering from wounds and abrasions.
Her attorney clarified in court that Zoe's purpose was not to commit theft but to provide assistance. The jurors would be tasked with deciding, in effect, where empathy ends before it becomes a crime.
Raised by a vet, Rosenberg grew up on 16 hectares in the county area, California, surrounded by various pets and farm animals.
When she was nine, the household acquired back-yard chickens. She recalls easily their names without pausing: the seven chickens. Previously, Rosenberg had shared the common assumption that chickens were not too bright, but getting to know them changed her views. “It became clear they have individual traits and that they’re so smart and curious, and that their existence matters deeply.”
Two years later, Rosenberg watched an digital recording of protesters accessing a large poultry operation in Australia and taking birds. It was the first time seen inside a factory farm, and she was shocked by the conditions: numerous poultry crammed in small spaces. It was also her introduction to the concept of “open rescue”, the phrase employed by advocates to explain actions in which they access commercial farms or research facilities and remove animals they deem to be in distress. They publicize their actions, regularly releasing recordings of their operations.
Once she saw it, She quickly decided that was something she wanted to do, and she emailed the director of the organization responsible. (“My youth was unknown,” she noted.) Subsequently, in the mid-2010s, she started the San Luis Obispo chapter of the organization, a then new non-profit.
Throughout time, activist collectives have become known for using direct actions – like Peta’s campaign equating eating meat with historical atrocities or stunts that involve splattering fur with fake blood. The idea is clear: shock value is required to shake societal indifference about animal suffering. However, it frequently backfires: driving individuals away. In cultures centered on animal products, people often perceive these demonstrations as a direct criticism – and sense blame, not enlightenment.
The group continues this approach; they have staged protests near a meat market in the city and caused a disturbance at the popular eatery Chez Panisse.
However, their hallmark action has been documented interventions. In the view of the rescuers, a benefit of this method is that it goes beyond raising awareness to an unfairness – it tries, modestly, to correct it. It also targets the agricultural sector rather than implicating individual consumers, and offers a glimpse into the hidden world of meat production.
“The trials we face are a method to pose the question to a diverse panel of our fellow citizens, and to society via coverage,” said a group representative, the spokesperson. “Should it be illegal, or is it justified, to help a being who’s dying in a industrial facility?”
Already, DxE activists note, there are “right to rescue” laws in the state and numerous states granting people criminal and civil protection if they break into a car to remove an endangered animal. Their argument is that the comparable reasoning should apply to all animals in distress.
Since 2014, as stated by the representative, members of the group have participated in about 60 such operations. In the past few years, the group has saved young pigs from a Utah factory farm; several hens from a company truck at a facility in the county; and pets from a scientific site in WI. Following the rescue, the group offers medical attention and find them shelters.
A farmer runs his family's farm with his brother in Petaluma. The property has been inherited for many decades, he told me. They produce eggs with a large flock, housed in about two dozen buildings. The operation, which is sustainable through renewables, also converts waste into compost.
During May of 2018, the group conducted a significant event on the property. Several hundred activists appeared to demonstrate. A fraction of these invaded the farm and {broke into a chicken house|accessed a poultry building|entered a coop
