Last night my youngest son and I read Eric Carle’s Animals, Animals, a fantabulous collection of Carle’s colorful pictures accompanying some of the truest words ever written. Upon coming to an illustration of a caged bird watching butterflies dancing between snowflakes, he said “Mommy, why is the birdie in a cage?” The question gave me pause. Humans have been caging other creatures for their own pleasure since…well, forever. But how to explain to a 3-year-old that while yes, caging animals for the sole purpose of gaining pleasure from that animal is a true testament to our collective egotism? How to tell him that caging any living thing is cruel and detestable, that other creatures share this great and beautiful earth with us and that it is only through heavily-edited religious stories that we think we have dominion over all of (God? Allah? Shiva? Mother Earth?)’s creatures. But I didn’t have to explain; he rescued me from my own tied tongue. “It’s not nice, mom. The birdie is sad.” A few pages later we came upon a caged tiger pacing the short length of his tiny cage. “"The birdie and the tiger are crying because they can't fly and run or have fun at all. That makes me sad too." Children know so much, yet we rarely recognize their genius because we never stop to listen to them and understand their language. I was humbled by his perception.
A few semesters ago I had a student who wrote a research paper comparing wild to captive chameleons. He found that wild-caught chameleons kept in captivity died shortly after capture (a matter of months if not weeks). Experts’ best guess why is that the wild animals simply cannot adapt to life in captivity, and the stress quickly kills them.
For those of us with children, zoos and aquatic parks are an assumed part of parenthood. They are safe and closed sources of entertainment for children, and sometimes local zoos are relatively inexpensive to access or have ‘free’ nights or reduced rate entrance days. Zoos, however, not only take your money but use it to maintain the artificial “habitats” for what are ultimately caged animals.
Derrick Jensen’s 2007 essay, “Thought to Exist in the Wild: Awakening from the Nightmare of Zoos” discusses the side-effects of captivity on wild creatures. He writes:
The bear takes seven steps, her claws clicking on concrete. She dips her head, turns, and walks toward the front of the cage. Another dip, another turn, another three steps. When she gets back to where she started, she begins all over.
This is what’s left of her life.
Outside the cage, people pass by on a sidewalk. Parents stop strollers until they realize there’s nothing here to see. A pair of teenagers approach, wearing Walkmans and holding hands; one glance inside is enough, and they’re off to the next cage. Still the bear paces; three steps, head dip, turn.
My fingers are wrapped tightly around the metal railing outside the enclosure. I notice they’re sore. I look at the silver on the bear’s back, the concave bridge of her nose. I wonder how long she’s been here. I release the rail, and as I walk away, the rhythmic clicking of claws on concrete slowly fades.
Unfortunately most of us by now have been to enough zoos to be familiar with the archetype of the creature who has been driven insane by confinement: the bear pacing a precise rectangle; the ostrich incessantly clapping his bill; the elephants rhythmically swaying. But the bear I describe is no archetype. She is a bear. She is a bear who, like all other bears, at one time had desires and preferences all her own, and who may still, beneath the madness.
Or at this point she may not.
Similarly, activists like Ric O’Barry have a lengthy history fighting against the evils of dolphinariums and marine parks. O’Barry was once the lead dolphin trainer for the popular TV series Flipper and worked with five female dolphins who played the star. He grew close to the most used dolphin, Cathy. O’Barry says
She was really depressed. I could feel it. I could see it. And she committed suicide in my arms. That's a very strong word, suicide. But you have to understand dolphins and other whales are not automatic air breathers like we are. Every breath they take is a conscious effort. And so they can end their life whenever life becomes too unbearable by not taking the next breath. And it's in that context I use the word suicide. She did that. She swam into my arms and looked me right in the eye and...took a breath...and didn't take another one.
For my family, zoos and water parks are simply not an option. Looking at other creatures behind bars or thick panes of glass isn’t seeing wildlife. It’s seeing captured creatures not living life, but simply existing. That tragedy reflects the very pinnacle of human arrogance.
But what to do instead? There are so very many alternatives.
Because my family now splits its time between San Angelo and Lubbock, TX, we have a huge variety of outdoor options. If we want to be in nature and see wild creatures, we can simply walk into our backyard. With three huge pecan trees, there’s never a shortage of squirrels and plenty of birds (not to mention the numerous neighborhood cats who come to visit our constant food supply). The above picture was taken from my mother’s backyard one morning several years ago. In what zoo does God speak so directly and with such absolute purity?
During off season (typically Labor Day through Memorial Day, excluding any major holidays or events), there is a local marina park that offers free admission. There are few, if any, people in the 3-mile long park that follows a stretch of the Concho River. The park boasts a beach, calm waters, a few playgrounds, tons of pecan trees (GREAT for foraging!), and lots opportunities for walking. We’ve seen whitetail deer, wild turkeys (often too close for comfort), armadillos, a few different species of squirrels, birds, fish, turtles, snakes, a huge variety of bugs, plenty of fauna, and what we are almost positive was a mountain lion.
Parks like this exist all over the country. Two weeks ago we went to MacKenzie Park in Lubbock, about a mile from my husband’s home-away-from-home. There we found an awesome disc golf course, a beautiful grove of trees, wild natural areas, a so-so playground, and a lovely lake complete with ducks. For me the natural find and blessing of the day (month!) was an abundance of gorgeous dark purple prickly-pear fruit perfect for jelly. And what a jelly it is!
State and National parks are also a great resource for learning about your natural local environment. These parks often offer free days complete with guided tours with expert naturalists. The last one of these events I attended taught me what Mormon Tea looks like as well as information about flowers that I’ve seen growing around me all of my life.
UPDATE: Texas State Park events listing. A lot of these events offer free admission to the park for the day!
The appeal of zoos and other consumer-driven wild facades is that they are clean and easy and that people are virtually guaranteed a glimpse (fabricated though it be) of “wildlife” that isn’t really wild at all. Speaking as a mother (and not a freegan), I can attest to the fact that my children much prefer the natural outdoors…the more natural and less landscaped the better. In what zoo can you walk around as you please, running and screaming and generally acting silly (as all people should do often), where you have the option of flopping down on the grass to watch the clouds go by and share a sandwich? Many of my happiest memories include my family at a park, on a trail, at a beach, or in a body of water soaking up all of the free, natural, wild, and happy surroundings.
Zoos and the like are stressful to your pocketbook, your children, you, and the animals there to masquerade as “happy” for an overwhelmingly blind audience.
Christina Rossetti said it best:
Hurt no living thing:
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.
