Last Chance for Animals’Chris DeRose
by Kit Pavarenti
While Chris DeRose and I sip herbal tea and dine on hummus and tabouleh in a Burbank restaurant, he casually mentions that he still carries tazir scars from a civil disobedience arrest five years earlier. In his 15th year of direct action activism, the 45-year-old founder and president of Last Chance for Animals (LCA) is hard put to find enough skin area to accommodate his many layers of battle wounds.
DeRose, his dark hair worn long, his intensity modified only by an occasional dazzling smile, is a commanding presence even in a neighborhood that sees more than its share of movie star celebrities. He’s the kind of guy who, if you don’t recognize him right away, you feel like you should.
We chat about the upcoming World Week for Laboratory Animal Liberation, which begins April 24 [see LCA’s ad, page 2]. Right now, LCA is preparing for its ninth year as host of the annual event conceived and founded by Javier Burgos of Students United Protesting Research on Sentient Subjects (SUPRESS), whom DeRose considers a pioneer and prominent leader in the anti-vivisection movement. A week-long coordinated series of demonstrations and rallies, it draws international attention to the plight of vivisected animals.
“It’s an even that every activist in the country can – and should – become personally involved in,” he says.
“Regardless of where they live, anyone can find out about grassroots antivivisection groups in their area.”
Within the animal rights movement he is an activist leader of high public profile, identifiable to the public in various guises: actor, investigative reporter, radical, zealot, and hero. He’s one of the few close comrades of the legendary and reclusive Brigite Bardot, and his various jail sentences have bunked him just a few feet from the also legendary Richard Ramirez (affectionately dubbed “The Night Stalker” for his reign of murderous terror in Los Angeles) and, more recently, Eric Menedez.
Dr. Elliott Katz, President of the San Rafael-based In Defense of Animals, describes him as a prototype of “dedication, commitment, and tenacity.” Mary Helton of Protect Our Pets of St. Louise calls him “front line.” Of LCA, she says, “They go out and they do take the route a lot of other organizations don’t.”
“I’ve been beaten, shot, run down b y a truck, threatened and
stalked,” DeRose reminisces. His words, still
flavored with the echoes of his native Brooklyn, are unadorned and undiluted.
He is a contradiction of
images: a street-tough who reads and espouses the peaceful civil disobedience
doctrines of Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr., a tough guy with a heart of gold, a curious combination
of Rambo and Gandhi.
DeRose smiles at the Rambo comparison. Sylvester Stallone, whom he also knows, once reportedly confided to their mutual agent, Herbie Nanis, “I make movies about fighting wars. DeRose actually fights them.” DeRose respects Stallone, whose background so mirrors his own. “Who knows?” he wonders aloud. “Maybe he’ll do a movie about me someday.”
After years as a television and film actor, including his role in the soap General Hospital, and after a period of time he describes with little enthusiasm, DeRose’s television career took on new dimensions. Three years ago, Peter Brennan, the Executive Producer of NBC’s Hard Copy, was so impressed with DeRose’s riveting on-camera presence and deep-seated sense of conviction, that DeRose quickly adapted to the role of investigative reporter.
Vocation and avocation intertwined as he brought to television screens across the country, through Hard Copy, story after story of nonhuman and human suffering and tribulation. Delivered in his immutably gruff, but personable style, the impact of the segments was positive and profound, as witnessed by the thousands of telephone calls and letters which invariably followed each airing.
His unabashed animal rights stance, however, attracted attention from a less-than-complimentary contingency as well. Putting People First (PPF), a group characterized by DeRose as a “front for the monied interests which represent the vivisection, hunter, trapper, and furrier industries,” launched a full-scale attack to get him thrown off the show.
The resulting on-air confrontation with a member of PPF was, for DeRose, a bitterly instilled lesson in the politics and “PR” of television. The final ten-minute segment, derived from an hour-long debate, had, according to him, been heavily edited to favor his opponent.
Disheartened by the betrayal, he accepted an offer from stalwart supporter Peter Brennan, who had himself since moved to Fox’s A Current Affair. Though he’s never had a formalized exclusive contract with either show, he came under fire for abrupt departure. When one Hard Copy producer demanded to know where his allegiance lay, he answered simply, “I don’t work for Hard Copy. I don’t work for A Current Affair. I work for the animals.”
He admits his on-air activities have taken a secondary role to his more direct animal rights leadership functions at the moment, though both shows have left the door open to any stories he might wish to cover.
Acting credits are far overshadowed by activist credits these days. Last Chance for Animals is the all-consuming focal point of his energies. Founded by DeRose fifteen years ago, the grassroots direct-action antivivisection group has swelled to a national membership of more than 100,000. Based in Los Angeles, it has chapters in St. Louis, Atlanta, New York, and Wisconsin.
LCA’s pioneering investigative efforts have uncovered and curtailed countless legal and ethical atrocities in the private and public domains. DeRose and other LCA activists provided video footage which documented the grisly and frivolous torture of kittens in UCLA laboratories.
The group has brought the glaring light of public scrutiny to bear on everything from the sordid fraudulence of animal cosmetics testing to illegal pet trafficking operations. It has sponsored and supported hundreds of high profile demonstrations and events, including the country’s first annual cruelty-free fair.
In 198-7, LCA began an investigation into the activities of a U.S. Department
of Agriculture licensed animal
vendor, Barbara Ruggiero. Ruggiero, who operated a kennel in Sunland, CA,
was procuring dogs and cats
for animal laboratories both through pet theft and by posing as a caring
pet lover answering classified ads
which began “Free to Good Home.”
Ruggiero’s treachery and creative methodology knew few, if any, bounds, When pet owners approached her with the expectation that she would find loving homes for their animals, she would rather deliver the pets over to a grisly fate, collecting fees from both the owners and the animal labs.
DeRose, together with Jack Carone and other LCA operatives, also uncovered extensive evidence that stealing animals from homes and yards was yet another creative method for animal laboratory recruitment by her and her partners.
Thanks to LCA’s relentless efforts, Ruggiero and her two co-conspirators are serving a cumulated time of more than fourteen years in state prison on charges of grand theft and conspiracy. The case has brought
tremendous public attention to the “national epidemic” of pet theft, an epidemic fueled by the demands of vivisectors, and expedited by “B Dealers” or “bunchers.”
More than 1300 such dealers are licensed and authorized by the USDA to supply research facilities. Until the group unwittingly attracted the attention of LCA, it was almost entirely unregulated and unmonitored. According to DeRose, bunchers account for a large percentage of the nearly two and a half million pet thefts reported annually in this country. Any B Dealer has literally been granted a “license to steal,” he says. “Pet theft is organized crime, sanctioned by the USDA.”
Furthermore, vivisection laboratories at UCLA, Cedars Sinai, and the Veterans Administration worked in collusion with the bunchers, says DeRose. At the very least, they ignored evidence which suggested the animals had been obtained through theft. When confr5onted with proof, they denied and disallowed the possibility, - until the combination of legal ramification and public pressure - brought to bear by LCA - forced them to return the surviving pets to their distraught owners.
LCA’s commitment to shutting down Class B vendors brought about another well-publicized, though bittersweet, recent victory. In 1993, Ervyn Stebane, a Class B vendor who owned and operated a facility outside of Kaukaunna, Wisconsin, was arrested after DeRose arranged and obtained videotaped evidence of Stebane shooting a dog.
As a result of the sting, 149 dogs were seized from Stebane’s facility, and the dealer was forced to suspend his enterprises for three months. Those months meant that about 2,000 dogs, Stebane’s normal turnover fore that period of time, would not have found their way into laboratory cages. Furthermore, contingent on the outcome of a current legal battle, a battle in which DeRose is his foremost adversary, Stebane could be out of commission permanently.
But victories, while mathematically satisfying, also take their toll. Ironically, the most harsh criticism for the Stebane sting has been directed at DeRose from his own camp; the animal rights movement.
Priscilla Feral, president of the Norwalk, Connecticut-based Friends of Animals, characterizes DeRose as a “dedicated and fearless kind of folk hero,” but laments that “...sacrificing one dog to save many is a process I think is dead wrong. I don’t think the ends justify the means. When we stop worrying about the process, we start acting like the animal abusers.”
DeRose grimaces at the words. “I made a painful decision,” he admits, “and a dog died.” The memory of that night still carries more than its share of remorse. To fend it off, he reminds us and himself that the dog’s death was imminent, with or without the presence of a camera, and that the camera brought at least some degree of meaning to its sacrifice.
Indeed, the public outrage precipitated by the case galvanized not only the community, but drew the attention of U.S. Representative Toy Roth (D-WI), who introduced the Stebane Bill,” legislation designed to strengthen penalties for violations of the Animal Welfare Act. Roth also wrote a letter to Mike Espy, Secretary of Agriculture, voicing his deep concerns with unlawful Class B vendor activities. His sentiments are echoed by U.S. Senator Fiengold (R-WI).
DeRose gazed through the restaurant window and reflects on his life’s choices. What has always sparked his passions, he says, and spurred him into action, is standing up for the small and helpless. “I guess it’s because I was one of them,” he reflects.
Born in Brooklyn, and raised in various tough neighborhoods between Little Italy and New Jersey, he together with a sister and single-parent mother, faced hunger on a too-frequent basis. And, in those neighborhoods, “I got picked on a lot,” he adds. “It’s not a complaint, just an observation.”
There’s a pause as I take a sip of tea, wondering for a moment what childhood had been like for Chris. He talked quietly then about emotional detachment. He’s a man who’s championed the cause of animals and children in every aspect of his life, yet he has none of his own. DeRose admits that even the prospect of a long-term relationship is, for now, a long-range, low-odds possibility.
Why no companion animals? It has to do with a lot of things, he says. His schedule is brutally taxing; a whirlwind of globe-hopping, live and televised appearances, meetings, demos, and an occasional jail sentence. (In a few hours, he’s scheduled to fly to Wisconsin to resume the legal battle to revoke Stebane’s license.) His small, West Hollywood apartment is most suited for a lifestyle of sparse bachelorhood than social entertainment.
But the main reason, he admits, is more complex. “I don’t want to get attached ... emotionally,” he says. Emotional commitments on personal levels would, he fears, compromise or jeopardize the larger commitments to which he’s dedicated his life.
A unification of the animal rights movement is one of his more far-reaching goals. Infighting among and within various groups is, he says, a major concern. “If we can’t agree on everything,” he suggests, “let’s focus on the issues we do agree on.”
The most important thing to remember, he says, is that “we’re all in this together. As activists, we have nothing but each other. one person can make a difference. And - together - we can make a change for animals.”