American Acquiescence to Dog Fighting and Michael Vick

Let me begin by saying that I find dog fighting disgusting and reprehensible. Taking a fellow animal--and one with which we share a surprisingly similar genetic makeup--and training it to attack, maim, and kill other members of its species, all for the pleasure thrill of our fellow humans, seems immoral per se. That's particularly true when considering the catastrophic injuries often suffered by those dogs, some of whom are also beaten, electrocuted, drowned, hanged, or shot. Put another way, dog fighting doesn't say much for the human animal, other than that we, just like the dogs we train to maim and kill, can be a sickeningly violent and sadistic species.

But maybe I am wrong to prejudge dog fighting so harshly. After-all, as numerous articles over the last day have revealed, thousands of Americans participate in dog fighting each year, suggesting that many of my fellow Americans disagree with my outsiders' take. In fact, dogfighting is, as the Washington Post's Paul Duggan writes, a popular and longstanding American blood sport. It became a prominent betting pastime in the mid-1800s, and while many state laws subsequently banned it, those laws have often lacked serious enforcement (what a surprise). Consequently, dog fighting has remained a celebrated ritual in some rural communities and urban settings.

So if dog fighting is popular, even beloved, in some pockets of the country, with the government largely unable or unwilling to stop it, are those who grow up around it less culpable for engaging in it? Imagine, for a moment, the following: your dad and older brother are big fans of dog fighting and you grow up watching it with them, watching them genuinely love the "sport," much like you watch them genuinely love rooting for your local NFL franchise. How would that experience shape you as a person?

One strong possibility, it seems, would be for you to gradually regard dog fighting as acceptable behavior and something fun to watch--after-all, who do we look up more to than dad and big brother? And the grotesqueness of it would probably be obscured, with the dogs' injuries and fatalities rationalized away. While not normally an oracle of wisdom, New York Knicks guard Stephon Marbury alludes to this line of thought when talking about Michael Vick:

From what I hear, dog-fighting is a sport. It’s just behind closed doors and I think it’s tough that we build Michael Vick up and then we break him down. I think he’s one of the superb athletes and he’s a good human being. I think he fell into a bad situation.

So let's say, for the sake of argument, that Vick grew up watching dogfighting with family and friends, and thus has always regarded it as acceptable, even if he knew, as evidenced by his keeping his involvement largely secret, that folks like me and probably you loathe it. Would that change, in any way, how we explain his participation in dog fighting? And will our outrage toward Vick's connection to dogfighting lead us to crack down on this longstanding, hitherto unimpeded "American blood sport," or has our outrage been more motivated by Vick himself, with the dogs merely soon-to-be forgotten role players in the story? If so, what might that say about us?

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