What an odd paradox a zoo is. Children eagerly and excitedly go to see animals display the nature they have learned about. The very nature zoo animals have long since forgotten. From an early age, children are taught of the ferocity crocodiles, the playfulness of baboons and the grace of swimming penguins. They learn about habitats, food chains and mating rituals. Instinct and survival. They see films of lions on the hunt, pictures of hummingbirds in mid-flight, and read stories of packs of wolves living and working together as a family.
But stories, film and pictures don’t do the animal world justice. The true scale of wild life is best taught by seeing it first hand, something that is not easy to do when living in a metropolitan area. So every day millions of children around the world visit zoos to see for themselves living specimens of the animals they’ve learned about.
Unfortunately, for a center designed to showcase animal life, within its walls there is surprisingly little of it. Sad, unresponsive animals live quietly in rooms sculpted with cement and plastic to resemble the habitat most have never seen. Their faces are soft and unemotional as they mindlessly nibble at food scattered by their zoo keepers. Their quietly captive expressions reveal their instincts have been regrettably breed out of them.
As a child I used to love to visit the zoo. I wanted to see how tall giraffes were, how big elephants were and how fast a cheetahs were. Now on the rare occasion I do visit, I try to focus on the excitement that these animals, even in their catatonic state, give to children. I desperately try to give purpose to their lives. And when I leave, I feel abundantly thankful for my own freedom.
1 comment:
Agreed. I felt the same way the last time I visited the circus. I watched a large man with an even larger whip direct a sad and skinny lion around a ring and onto a overturned bucket. I desperately wanted to see that lion revolt, jump off that bucket and swallow the ringmaster's head in one mighty gulp. Animals, caged for our amusement, trotted out for our titillation, seems like a sad reflection on our society. And yet, animals caged for my consumption I view in a completely different light. This clearly makes me the worst kind of hypocrite. The letter from the editor in this months Gourmet addresses this conundrum as well, but without the ironic angst. Ruth Riechl posits that as long as the animals are raised humanely, we can feel ok about eating them, because we're doing the right thing. Yikes! Reading that made me very uncomfortable. But try as I might, I can't seem to bring myself to swear off seared foie gras with peaches. As I said, the worst kind of hypocrite; because I'll never go to a zoo or a circus again - but by gum, you'll see me at Whole Foods weekly, happily paying exorbitant prices for sustainable seafood and free range chicken. The zoo animals probably have it better than we give them credit for. After all, they won't end up quartered and grilled, served with a sprig of parsley at my next dinner party...
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