Metamorphoses of the Zoo

Transcription

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Toposophia
Sustainability, Dwelling, Design
Toposophia is a book series dedicated to the interdisciplinary and transdisciplinary study of place. Authors in the series attempt to engage a geographical turn in their research, emphasizing the spatial component, as well as the
philosophical turn, raising questions both reflectively and critically.
Series Editors:
Robert Mugerauer, University of Washington
Gary Backhaus, Loyola College in Maryland
Editorial Board:
Edmunds Bunkse
Kim Dovey
Nader El-Bizri
Joseph Grange
Matti Itkonen
Eduardo Mendieta
John Murungi
John Pickles
Ingrid Leman Stefanovic
Books in the Series:
Mysticism and Architecture: Wittgenstein and the Meanings of the Palais Stonborough
by Roger Paden
When France Was King of Cartography: The Patronage and Production of Maps in Early
Modern France by Christine Marie Petto
Environmental Dilemmas: Ethical Decision Making by Robert Mugerauer and Lynne
Manzo
Metamorphoses of the Zoo: Animal Encounter after Noah by Ralph R. Acampora
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Animal Encounter after Noah
Ralph R. Acampora
Lexington Books
A division of
ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC.
Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK
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Published by Lexington Books
A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.
A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
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Copyright © 2010 by Lexington Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
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passages in a review.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Metamorphoses of the zoo : animal encounter after Noah / [edited by] Ralph R.
Acampora.
p. cm.—(Toposophia : sustainability, dwelling, design)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-7391-3454-2 (cloth : alk. paper)—ISBN 978-0-7391-3456-6 (electronic)
1. Zoos—Philosophy. 2. Human-animal relationships. I. Acampora, Ralph R., 1965QL76.M48 2010
590.7’3—dc22
2010007070
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Printed in the United States of America
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Contents
Acknowledgements
vii
Introduction—Off the Ark: Restoring Biophilia
Ralph Acampora
Chapter 1
Zoos as Welfare Arks? Reflections on an Ethical
Course for Zoos
Koen Margodt
Chapter 2
Nooz: Ending the Exploitation of Zoos
Lisa Kemmerer
Chapter 3
Through a Frame Darkly: A Phenomenological
Critique of Zoos
Bernard Rollin
Chapter 4
Beyond Zoos: Marianne Moore and Albrecht Dürer
Randy Malamud
Chapter 5
Respectful Stewardship of a Hybrid Nature:
The Role of Concrete Encounters
Chilla Bulbeck
1
11
37
57
67
83
v
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vi
Contents
Chapter 6
Whale and Human Agency in World-Making:
Decolonizing Whale-Human Encounters
Leesa Fawcett and Traci Warkentin
Chapter 7
Boring a Wormhole in the Zoological Ark
David Lulka
Chapter 8
Open Door Policy: Humanity’s Relinquishment of
“Right to Sight” and the Emergence of Feral Culture
Gay Bradshaw, with Barbara Smuts and
Debra Durham
103
123
151
Chapter 9
Earth Trusts: A Quality Vision for Animals?
Helena Pedersen and Natalie Dian
171
Chapter 10
From Zoo to Zoöpolis: Effectively Enacting Eden
Matthew Chrulew
193
Chapter 11
Zoöpolis
Jennifer Wolch
221
Chapter 12
Inventionist Ethology: Sustainable Designs for
Reawakening Human-Animal Interactivity
Ralph Acampora
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245
Afterword—Following Zootopian Visions
Nicole Mazur
257
Index
263
About the Contributors
000
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Acknowledgments
I am grateful to all the contributors to this volume, especially those who have
had to exercise patience for several years as the project slowly came to fruition. The Humane Society of the United States graciously extended use of a
wildland trust property for a writing retreat that resulted in my own contribution. Finally, apologies are due my son, Maxwell, for a book whose impetus so
challenges his middle namesake—in due course you will come to recognize
ambivalence and appreciate the possibility and promise of transfiguration.
vii
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INTRODUCTION
Off the Ark: Restoring Biophilia
We are truly captives here . . . every one of us—and yet they have called
this: being saved.1
Spaces set aside as zoological parks or gardens are found everywhere
throughout the world, particularly in and around cities. Places of intense
and widespread visitation, they are key elements of metropolitan identity.
Historically, these establishments served as symbols of power and venues for
entertainment; today, they have taken to portraying themselves as flagships
of environmental education, scientific research, and wildlife conservation.
Along with the past century’s turn in exhibition design toward increasingly
naturalistic architecture, such portrayals have been received by many in
an uncritically positive light. Recently, however, a strong set of varied critiques—from Randy Malamud’s Reading Zoos (1998) through Nicole Mazur’s
After the Ark? (2001) to Keekok Lee’s Zoos: A Philosophical Tour (2006)—has
contested any complacent atmosphere of apologetics surrounding the zoo. At
the same time, it remains clear that zoos are immensely popular attractions
(drawing hundreds of millions of visitors globally per year). This level of
participation is consistent with the suggestion that humans harbor a strong
sense of biophilia, one which moves them to seek out diverse life-forms when
their own territories become too anthropocentrically homogenous or monocultural; from such a vantage, it is no accident that zoos are most often situated
in urban(izing) areas. The book before you marshals a unique compendium of
1
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2
Introduction
critical interventions that envision novel modes of authentic encounter that
might cultivate humanity’s biophilic tendencies without abusing or degrading other animals. These “zoötopian visions” are metamorphic in that they
either radically restructure what were formerly zoos or else map out entirely
new, post-zoo sites or experiences. The result is a volume that contributes
both to moral progress on the inter-species front and to eco-psychological
health for a humankind whose habitats are now mostly citified (and becoming more so, if current demographic projections hold).
To appreciate the critical context from which most of the contributions herein proceed, one may consider the array of ethical objections to
zoos as presently configured. Perhaps the most well-known of these is the
charge that (many or most) zoos abuse the animals kept therein, usually
not through deliberate cruelty but rather by neglect of basic well-being
(e.g., ignoring or failing to adequately provide for spatial or social needs).
Koen Margodt’s chapter, “Zoos as Welfare Arks?,” illustrates this sort of
concern and performs a welfarist inventory of the institution. He claims
that the kind of conservation philosophy defended by the zoo community
is not an isolated policy. It is well embedded within the sustainable-use
position defended by major conservation organizations such as the WWF
and IUCN. Though this position is widely accepted in a superficial way,
it contains serious, underexposed risks for the interests of animals —probably the most poignant of which is the notion of “extractive reserves” (in
situ areas whence zoos, in a paradoxical reversal of their putative mission,
would ensure a continual flow of wildlife into captivity!). Margodt argues
in favor of a different kind of wildlife conservation philosophy, one that is
based upon the appreciation of the interests of animals themselves. Species
conservation and protection of individual interests do not need to conflict
with one another; the first may be based upon and inspired by the latter. If
zoos would transform themselves into veritable “welfare arks,” our author
concludes, this would demand a structural policy for inhabitants’ well-being
that goes beyond merely enriching the environment of enclosures. Such a
policy would reject the killing of healthy animals and other acts that are not
in the interests of the residents themselves.
From another perspective, that of animal rights, zoos are profoundly
flawed in their denial of free range to beings who become essentially captives. Implicitly grounded in this approach, Lisa Kemmerer’s “Nooz: Ending
the Exploitation of Zoos” argues for a near-abolitionist stance. Her chapter
highlights several basic criticisms of zoos, and then provides a vision for new
zoos: “nooz.” Offering a new name to these institutions makes a clear break
from the old model, which in her view is fundamentally exploitative. The
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Off the Ark: Restoring Biophilia 3
common denominator between zoos and nooz is that both foster nonhumans who are neither domestic pets nor farmed animals—they keep “wild”
animals. Nooz are nonexploitative, benevolent, and are designed for nonhumans, to provide safe haven for those individuals who have been misused
by traditional zoos or science, or injured by humans. Kemmerer’s essay also
explores “benevolent” reasons for keeping nonhuman animals in zoos (such
as captive breeding programs and rehabilitation of injured wildlife) and acceptable parameters for nooz (including such topics as retribution for previous exploitation and the problem of carnivory). Ultimately, the rights view
as applied here would dictate an almost total eradication of zoos—with the
exception of protecting certain animals under very limited circumstances,
and the resultant operations so changed in purpose and structure as to warrant a neologism such as “nooz.”
If utilitarian and deontological perspectives call for zoos to implement
significant improvements or restrictions, respectively, then the approach of
what might be called phenomenological virtue ethics points in the direction of rather radical transformation. This is because, when we concentrate
on how zoos affect spectators’ characters and displayed animals’ natures,
we come to see that the institution inculcates structurally perverse sorts of
relations with a pornographic grammar. Not that zoos propagate bestiality,
but rather that they render the keep into “slaves of sight” or representation
(literal porno-graphs) and cast visitors or managers in the respective roles of
voyeur or master/vendor (we could say pimp, if we do not fixate on the sexual
overtone). Elsewhere, I myself have written extensively on this.2 So have
others—for example, Derrick Jensen:
Pornography takes the creative relational need for sexuality with a willing
partner—and the intimacy this can imply—and simplifies it to the relationship of watcher and watched. . . . Zoos take the creative need for participating
in relationships with wild nonhuman others and simplify it until our “nature
experience” consists of spending a few moments looking at—or simply walking
by—insane bears and angry chimpanzees in concrete cages.3
In the present volume this sort of analysis is brought forward by renowned
animal ethicist Bernie Rollin; his chapter, “Through a Frame Darkly,” mixes
personal experience and philosophic criticism in a powerful indictment of
inauthenticity. Clearly, transformative therapies would be in order should
we accept such critique—creative options for which are explored in later
chapters.
Before treating these, however, the present volume detours in another
direction. Given all the ethical problems associated with zoos, some would
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4
Introduction
advocate total abolition—in which case it would be salutary to develop
models of animal encounter or affiliation that replace the zoo altogether.
One potential substitute might be literary and/or graphic representation
that remains faithful to genuine animality. Randy Malamud proffers such
an alternative in his chapter, “Beyond Zoos.” An excerpt from his book,
Reading Zoos: Representations of Animals and Captivity, his essay examines the
aesthetic of poet Marianne Moore. Her poetry stands as a striking example
of art that teaches a great deal about animals without necessitating their
constraint, and without involving (even figuratively) people’s spectatorial
presence. Moore presents her poetic animals on the same level as people;
we perceive them directly, reciprocally, one-on-one. The intellectual and
aesthetic experience her poetry offers is antithetical to the non-reciprocal
paradigm of the spectator as voyeur. As she brings animals into the realm of
human art, she does so with a wariness about what that action means and
what presuppositions it embodies: Moore does not “anoint” her animals with
the benevolent gift of our culture; she does not presume that the animals who
enter her ken are necessarily ennobled by the poet’s touch.4 Malamud also
discusses the graphic art of Albrecht Dürer in connection with this imaginative approach.
Still, some may balk at Malamud’s suggestions as inadequate simulacra,
and indeed it is reasonable to think that humans harbor an evolved sense
of biophilia—hence we canvass other options for radical transformation of
the zoo-experience that yet retain a role for the presence of actual animals
other than the human. Chilla Bulbeck, for instance, wonders whether animals can be kept in zoos or turned into spectacles for people’s amusement
without conveying the wrong messages concerning appropriate human relations with the nonhuman world. Her chapter on “Respectful Stewardship of
a Hybrid Nature” conducts an inquiry and shares results of research under
the supposition of a world in which there is no pristine wilderness and human actions have potentially irretrievable impacts on the whole nonhuman
world. Against the grain of non-interventionist moralism, she argues that an
emotional and embodied connection with wild animals—i.e., one deriving
from hands-on experience—is a necessary element of “respectful stewardship” of the nonhuman world.5 However, this practical experience must be
combined with more abstract and general scientific knowledge concerning
how to manage the environment as well as philosophical reflection in which
we humans seek to understand the world from the perspective of nonhuman
others. For Bulbeck, it is only through engaging head, hands, and heart that
we can cultivate humanity’s biophilic tendencies without negatively impacting other animals.
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In a similar vein Leesa Fawcett and Traci Warkentin aver that the potential joyfulness of encountering another free-living animal is unrivaled,
and an experience one would assume is common. The knotted complexity
of meeting a caged animal should be unusual, but instead it is ordinary. The
public and urban availability of animal interface is to be commended, they
hold, while what zoos teach us about other lives and compassionate encounters between species is dubious. In their chapter, “Whale and Human Agency
in World-Making,” Fawcett and Warkentin investigate aquariums and human encounters with wild and captive whales in order to propose more
“response-able” encounters where the operative vision is that everybody is
always in relation. Since they believe there are few, if any, pure/innocent
spaces, they assay how to ethically maneuver within the moral messiness of
human-animal relations. Their assumption is that Noah is not the only agent
on the Ark, nor is his rationality the most lucid. In these authors’ critique of
Noah, they stage an ontological mutiny with the other animals captive on
the Ark. Through a feminist-multispecies alliance, Fawcett and Warkentin
challenge the patriarchy and colonialism of animal captivity, (including
gene bank models of preservation), and imagine radical restructurings of human-animal relations.
Grounded in specific narratives of whale-human interactions, they strive
to decolonize whale encounters and explore “contact zones” of nature-culture entanglements. The authors then propose transformative contact zones
within which the touch of encounter requires responsibility, reciprocity, and
recognition of these meetings as “intra-active relations”. For example, the
underwater viewing area where humans meet captive whales at an aquarium
could be transformed by reversing the lighting scheme to illuminate the
area where humans stand, while dimming the lights inside the tank. Such a
simple modification could enable the whales to look out at humans without
being completely visible themselves, which may provide a more interesting
and less vulnerable space for them. Furthermore, the human visitors may feel
more visible and sense that the whales may choose to look at them. Humans
are then encouraged to recognize that they are not the only ones looking
through the glass, that the whales can and do look back. In other words and
more generally, Fawcett and Warkentin suggest that transformative contact
zones would be places where curiosity, agency, and performativity are not
exclusively human and where vulnerability and openness are shared across
species.
For his part, David Lulka charts a course to literally re-animate the zoo
experience. “Boring a Wormhole in the Zoological Ark” posits that the
organismal animacy of motile capacities can be used to reconfigure zoos for
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6
Introduction
the better. If we downshift the importance of optics (visual morphology), the
chapter argues, then we can orchestrate more mobile dynamics throughout
the zoo. At any given point in time, the vibratory zoo would be in a variable state of assembly and disassembly. With the exception of animals who
exhibit a clear penchant for sedentary behavior, animals at this zoo would
be on the move, periodically locomoting from one setting to another. Zoo
personnel would be engaged in the process of preparing and reorganizing the
space of the zoo, itself becoming more like an organism. In this way the total
amount of space within the zoo available to each species and each animal
could be augmented, ideally beyond the scope of each inhabitant’s memory
and consciousness. Mobilized by Lulka’s choreographic model of zoology,
the unending labyrinth of enclosures would contain varied habitats, varied
geometries, and maybe even a varied composition of animal types designed
to engage each other. Like a multi-sensory Rubik’s cube, this arrangement
could offer tactile, olfactory, gustatory, auditory, and visual stimuli that
bemuse, enthrall, and excite animals. The sequence of sites, from austere to
naturalistic and otherwise, would likewise be indefinitely multi-faceted. The
vibrational quality of animals in their animacy would be affirmed by such
transformative tactics. Overall, the chapter’s objective in developing these
contortions is to design a panoply of habitats that does not fall into a condition of monotony and thereby outpaces an animal’s ability to sense its own
captivity (and thus precludes the stress of confinement).
If there is emancipatory potential in the process of continually changing scenes at the zoo, Gay Bradshaw and her coauthors, Barbara Smuts and
Debra Durham, want to foment it in the direction of fuller liberation by
means of a thoroughgoing decolonization of inter-species relations. Their
motivating assumption is self-critical of human society’s role regarding the
wider world of living beings: reflective of culture at large, zoos, wildlife parks,
and conservation reserves are rooted in models that privilege humans as
righteous social engineers of/over other species. Whether described as entertainment or education, wildlife is confined to serve human needs. Yet, as
these authors indicate, the life sciences have erased the self-serving essence
of human differentiation through their embrace of a new transpecific paradigm. With this conceptual and perceptual shift, “Open Door Policy” argues,
ethics and science align and compel a sharing of right or agency across species. Seen through postcolonial lenses, animal confinement emerges logically
in parallel with concentration camps, internments, and relocation stations;
however, the standpoint of postcolonialism equally implies that institutions
wherein there is demand for animals to be visual targets (e.g. zoos, ecotourism) can no longer be presumed legitimate. Consequently, Bradshaw and
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company move toward feral models of potential interaction, where places
and spaces offer possibilities (rather than guarantees) for meetings between
and among members of different species. Their portrayals of ferine comportment in biodiverse settings are scientifically informed yet intensely personal
and evocative.
This brings us to the frontier of research, design, and practice regarding
animal encounter in contemporary cultural context. If we “open the doors”
of the zoo, surrender the pseudo-salvific mantle of the ark-metaphor, and
finally say farewell to Noachic pretensions, what’s next for inter-species
coexistence or contact in this third-millennium world of postmodernity?
Regarding relative hinterlands, futures scholar Natalie Dian and educational
theorist Helena Pedersen envision “Earth Trusts” in which human-animal
encounters are made possible largely without artificial intervention and
without symbolic and physical appropriation and commodification of nature.
Their objective is to apply methodological tools from the discipline of futures
studies—environmental scanning, trend analysis, and scenario creation—in
order to delineate the most viable aspects of the proposed model. This vision
of bioregional stewardship is placed twenty-five years into the future, which
provides for creative innovation while allowing for changes indicated by
some current trends.
With respect to urban(izing) areas, the best bet on the horizon would appear to be the vision of “zoöpolis” that has recently taken shape in the geographic imaginary theorized by Jennifer Wolch (reprinted herein). Instead of
setting aside spots for humans to gawk at animal others kept in faux-wild oases
of biodiversity, imagine cityscapes and urban life transfigured by nurturance
of cross-species conviviality. Such an overhaul of metropolitan mindset and
layout would encourage urbanites to view free-ranging animals in their midst
more as neighbors than as nuisances, and hence require a slew of biophilic
changes in planning, land use, architecture, education, and aesthetics. This
revolution in outlook and routine presupposes a rather sweeping cultural
shift: the ideological and literal/material deconstruction of human(ist) empire, the dismantling of species apartheid, and the abandonment of zoocidal
policies; ultimately and affirmatively, what is advocated under the banner of
zoopolis (and that of biome-trusts as well) is the toposophic reconstruction
of lifeways that celebrate coevolution with fellow earthlings.6
Sandwiching Wolch’s reprint are two chapters that frame presuppositions
and implications, respectively, of the zoopolitan vision. In his essay on “Effectively Enacting Eden,” Matthew Chrulew shows the way toward zoopolis
through comprehensive review, critical analysis, and creative synthesis of the
biocultural ideology and politics that structure contemporary zoo-concepts
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Introduction
and -praxis. His chapter brings one to the leading edge of zoo-theory even as
it deepens one’s understanding of the philosophic and social developments
that lead there. Tacking between—yet never sailing into—easy apologetics
and simple abolitionism, he arrives at a vantage point from which the complexity of Wolch’s model can be made out and made use of more readily and
robustly. In my own contribution on “Inventionist Ethology,” I showcase
and interpret relevant work of techno-artist and performance designer Natalie Jeremijenko as a provocative kind of transpecific engagement especially
helpful in making transitions from zoo to zoopolis. Her reverse-engineered
“ooz” projects restore what we might call “loco-liberty” (spatial and motile
freedom of place) to other animals while yet promoting a role for humans
to participate in cross-species encounters and even instigate the development of communicative creoles therefrom. Salient here is the gambit of
rehabilitating technology from its demonization in much ecosophy, in order
to demonstrate its value in the creative formation of prosthetic practices for
inter-relational “eco-feedback.” Ethological forays of this inventionist sort
can help zoopolites to transcend the dead-end policies of pseudo-preserving
captives and sequestering humanity—thus to relinquish species imperium
and rejoin the community of life.
—Ralph Acampora, Forest Close, January 2010
Notes
1. Mrs. Noyes (fictional wife of the Biblical Noah), protagonist in Timothy
Findley’s novel, Not Wanted on the Voyage (New York: Delacorte Press, 1984), 251.
2. See, e.g., my “Extinction by Exhibition: Looking at and in the Zoo,” Human
Ecology Review 5, no. 1 (1998) and “Zoöpticon: Inspecting the Site of Live Animal
Infotainment,” in Phenomenological Approaches to Popular Culture, ed. Carroll and
Tafoya (Bowling Green University: Popular Press, 2000), 151–61.
3. Thought to Exist in the Wild: Awakening from the Nightmare of Zoos (Santa Cruz:
No Voice Unheard, 2007), 96. Note that the pornographic dynamic would not diminish even if the bears and chimps were kept in naturalistic exhibits replete with
behavioral enrichments (just as relatively well-paid, air-brushed Penthouse “pets”
and Playboy “bunnies” no less exemplify human pornography than do “models”
working at the seedier end of that genre’s spectrum).
4. Cf. Jensen on zoographic miseducation and manipulation: “Zoos teach us
implicitly that animals need to be managed. . . . They are ours. We must assume
the interspecies version of the white man’s burden, and out of the goodness of our
hearts we must benevolently control their lives. We must ‘rescue them from the
wild’” (87).
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5. Sarah Wright, Sandie Suchet-Pearson, Kate Lloyd, Lak Lak Burarrwanga, and
Djawa Burarrwanga write resonantly about participant-observation of AboriginalAustralian eco-expeditions—see “ ‘That Means the Fish are Fat’: Sharing Experiences of Animals through Indigenous-owned Tourism,” Current Issues in Tourism 12,
no. 5 (2009): 505–27.
6. At this juncture it would be well to recall that, though zoos pervert biophilia,
this latter impulse is yet eminently worth cultivating—as Jensen puts it (93, italics
original), “Humans visit zoos because we need contact with wild animals. We need
wild animals to remind us of the enormous complexity of life, to remind us that the
world was not made just for us, to remind us that we are not the center of the universe.
We need them to teach us how to live.” Cf. John Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,”
in About Looking (New York: Pantheon, 1980), 6: “With their parallel lives, animals
offer man [sic] a companionship which is different from any offered by human exchange. Different because it is a companionship offered to the loneliness of man as
a species [Geschlecht?].”
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CHAPTER ONE
Zoos as Welfare Arks? Reflections
on an Ethical Course for Zoos
Koen Margodt
Conserving Species or Zoos?
How would you design zoos as conservation arks, knowing that many species
face extinction and you could help only some of them? You might take a
variety of measures to help as many species as possible, such as (i) supporting
the ones most in need, (ii) focusing in particular on smaller species to make
better use of the limited space, (iii) keeping species that are inexpensive and
easy to breed, and (iv) returning them as soon as possible to the wild. Are
zoos taking such desiderata serious?
There is no doubt that many species are in peril. The 2007 IUCN Red
List mentions that some 60,000 species of vertebrates and around 1,200,000
invertebrate species have been listed thus far. The percentage of these that
is threatened is somewhere between 10 percent and 23 percent for the vertebrates and between 0.18 percent and 51 percent for the invertebrates (see
also below).1 This indicates that the total number of listed species that are
threatened—and thus should be classified as Vulnerable, Endangered, or
Critically Endangered—ranges between 8,160 and 625,800.2
It is even more complicated to assess the total number of existing species,
though it is clear that the 1.6 million of listed species of vertebrates, invertebrates, plants, and other species form only a relatively small part. Biologist
Edward Wilson refers to figures ranging somewhere between 5 and 30 million. He argues that even a conservative calculation leads to the conclusion
11
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12
Koen Margodt
that each year about 27,000 species are disappearing, most of which are
invertebrates.3
What are zoos undertaking to deal with this extinction threat? In 1993
the international zoo community, represented by the International Union
of Directors of Zoological Gardens (IUDZG), published in cooperation with
the International Conservation Union (IUCN) The World Zoo Conservation
Strategy: The Role of the Zoos and Aquaria of the World in Global Conservation.4
About 15 years later a conservation symposium resulted in an extensive and
remarkable reassessment by zoo practitioners and theorists of conservation
efforts by zoos, namely Zoos in the 21st Century: Catalysts for Conservation?5
Together with other resources, these publications offer an interesting picture
of zoos’ conservation intentions, efforts, and results.
The target of zoo breeding programs is to maintain about 90 percent of
genetic variability of a species for a period of 100 to 200 years or longer. This
requires a population of about 250 to 500 animals. The World Zoo Conservation Strategy assumes that there are about 1,000 organized zoos, which have
together space for 500,000 animals. It is thus estimated that zoos can organize
captive breeding programs for 1,000 to 2,000 species.6 When taking into account that there are alone already some 8,000 to 625,000 species threatened
among the listed vertebrates and invertebrates, it should be clear that zoos can
offer space at best to only a very limited fraction of these species. Though
Colin Tudge’s Last Animals at the Zoo: How Mass Extinction Can Be Stopped
(1991) is a very informative book, its subtitle is clearly misplaced.7 The comparison between the conservation intentions of zoos and the image of an Ark
that rescues endangered species may be attractive, but when applying it to the
current extinction threat most threatened species simply risk drowning. There
is insufficient space on the Zoo Ark, even if zoos were to focus entirely on
conserving threatened species.
Moreover, the real number of captive breeding programs seems to remain
below the goal of 1,000 to 2,000 threatened species. The most intensively
managed breeding programs of the AZA (the Association of Zoos and
Aquariums, formerly American Zoo and Aquarium Association) and EAZA
(European Association of Zoos and Aquariums) are respectively called
Species Survival Plans (SSPs) and European Endangered species Programs
(EEPs). In 1991 there were 110 SSPs and 76 EEPs, whereas in 2008 there
were 114 SSPs and 172 EEPs. For a variety of reasons, one cannot simply
count the number of SSPs and EEPs together in order to know for how many
threatened species zoos have organized breeding programs. On the one hand,
an SSP sometimes comprises more than one species. The 114 SSPs cover all
together more than 180 species. In addition, besides the SSPs and EEPs, there
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Zoos as Welfare Arks? Reflections on an Ethical Course for Zoos 13
are also other, less strictly organized breeding programs, in which zoos receive
guidelines that they can follow on a voluntary basis. These are Population
Management Plans (PMPs, organized by the AZA) and European Studbooks
(ESBs, by EAZA). As of 2008 there were 311 PMPs and 165 ESBs. And
there also exist breeding programs outside of the AZA and EAZA, such as
the AAPs (African Propagation Programs) and ASMPs (Australasian Species Management Programs).8
On the other hand, these are all regional breeding programs and there
exists extensive species overlap between these programs. Also, breeding
programs such as SSPs and EEPs refer in particular to species that need
intensive management within zoos. These species are thus not necessarily
threatened in the wild. Examples are the bottlenose dolphin (EEP), the
keel-billed toucan (SSP) and toco toucan (SSP), none of which are considered threatened in the wild—all three have a status of “least concern.”9
The main goal of SSPs, EEPs, and other breeding programs is to assure a
genetically and demographically healthy, stable population in captivity.
All in all, it remains unclear for how many threatened species zoos have
now developed breeding programs, but it seems this ranges around a few
hundred instead of the potential 1,000 to 2,000 that was brought forward
by the World Zoo Conservation Strategy.
Space on the Zoo Ark is limited and many species are in peril. Therefore,
one would expect zoos to face enormous dilemmas in making selections
among the threatened species that they will try to save from extinction.
However, though it is difficult to assess for how many threatened species zoos
have breeding programs, it is obvious that only a very limited part of available
space in most organized zoos is dedicated to threatened species. In 1991, zoo conservationist Ulysses Seal of the Captive Breeding Specialist Group (CBSG)
referred to estimates of the ISIS (International Species Information System),
according to which only 5 to 10 percent of the space available in zoos participating in this system (at that time 370 zoos in 34 countries) were allocated
to endangered species.10 In 2007, Alexandra Zimmermann (Chester Zoo
and Oxford University) and Roger Wilkinson (Chester Zoo) reported on a
survey they sent to 725 zoos and aquariums in 68 countries. 26 percent of
these institutions responded (which was 190 institutions in 40 countries)
and 72 percent of the respondents reported that fewer than 30 percent of the
species in their care were listed by the IUCN as threatened species. 29 percent keep less than 10 percent threatened species and 43 percent state that
somewhere between 11 percent and 30 percent of their collection consists
of threatened species. 19 percent of the respondents hold 31–50 percent of
threatened species, 5 percent have 51–70 percent of threatened species, and
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Koen Margodt
the remaining 4 percent (or less than ten institutions) hold more than 70
percent of threatened species.11
Mark Stanley Price and John Fa of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation
Trust analyzed the conservation status of animals kept by 188 South American zoos. These zoos hold 49,665 individuals of 1,211 species and the collections are predominated by mammals, birds, and reptiles. Within these three
groups only 8 percent of the species are threatened. And only 13 species
counting 54 individuals are classified as critically endangered. The authors
selected South American zoos for illustrative purposes, not because this region’s performance was radically different from that of other regions.12 These
data put the idea of the zoo community as a Conservation Ark for threatened
species in perspective. Only a very limited amount of available space in zoos
is dedicated to threatened species. In other words space for threatened species
seems to be restricted to one of the Zoo Ark’s lifeboats, whereas the majority of
its inhabitants are simply not members of a threatened species (not of vulnerable,
endangered, or critically endangered species). This has been so for decades, and
it makes one wonder what course the Zoo Ark is following.
Zoos do not tend to maximize their conservation role by breeding especially smaller species that breed quickly and are less expensive. No, their focus
is rather on large animals. The majority of their breeding programs consist
of mammals (52.62 percent). Birds come in second place (35.62 percent),
and both groups of organisms represent together 88 percent of all breeding
programs of the AZA and EAZA (see Table I SEPARATE DOCUMENT).
Reptiles come in third place (9.32 percent), and amphibians, fishes, and invertebrates each represent barely 1 percent. When looking at the more strictly
organized breeding programs—SSPs and EEPs—this pattern is even more
pronounced: mammals represent no less than 70 percent of these breeding programs, whereas birds take up around 20 percent (see table 1.1 and figure 1.1).
Together, both groups correspond to 90 percent of all SSPs and EEPs.
There is no ecological justification for these proportions. They do not
reflect the percentages of threatened species as listed in the 2007 IUCN
Red List—see table 1.2. It would be inaccurate to state that large animals in
particular are threatened with extinction. Neither is this especially so for
mammals and birds. For example and as indicated by Lesley Dickie, Jeffrey
Bonner, and Chris West, the percentage of threatened amphibians (29–31
percent according to latest data) exceeds that of threatened mammals
(20–22 percent) or birds (12 percent). Notwithstanding the zoo bias towards
mammals and birds, it is pointed out that amphibians would be excellent
candidates for breeding and reintroduction programs, due to their high fecundity, low maintenance costs, and few behavioral problems.13
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Table 1.1.
Numbers of AZA and EAZA Breeding Programs According to Taxa
Mammals
Birds
Reptiles
Amphibians
Fishes
Invertebrates
Totals
SSP
PMP
EEP
ESB
Totals
Percentage
Totals
(SSP/EEP)
Percentage
(SSP/EEP)
75
22
11
3
1
2
114
121
147
37
4
1
1
311
126
37
7
0
0
2
172
79
65
16
2
2
1
165
401
271
71
9
4
6
52.62
35.56
9.32
1.18
0.52
0.79
201
59
18
3
1
4
70.28
20.63
6.29
1.05
0.35
1.40
Calculations based upon AZA, www.aza.org/CandS/SSP.xls (September 8, 2008), AZA, www.aza.org/CandS/
PMP.xls (September 8, 2008) and EAZA, “Breeding Programs—Statistics,” EAZA, www.eaza.net/index.php
(September 8, 2008).
Figure 1.1. Percentages of SSPs and EEPs according to Groups of Organisms. (Calculation based upon Table I.)
Table 1.2. Numbers and Percentages of Threatened Species (as reported in the IUCN
Red List of 2007)
Mammals
Birds
Reptiles
Amphibians
Fishes
Invertebrates
Number of
Described
Species
Number of
Evaluated
Species
Threatened
% of
Species Listed
Threatened
percentage of
Species Evaluated
5,416
9,956
8,240
6,199
30,000
1,203,375
4,863
9,956
1,385
5,915
3,119
4,116
20
12
5
29
4
0.18
22
12
30
31
39
51
IUCN, “Table 1: Numbers of threatened species by major groups of organisms (1996–2007),” IUCN, www.
iucnredlist.org/info/2007RL_Stats_Table%201.pdf (September 8, 2008).
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Moreover, it would be a misconception to say that large animals in particular play an important ecological role. As argued by Edward Wilson, keystone species may as easily comprise smaller organisms.14 Zoos are apparently
aware of the need of making greater efforts for smaller species, as indicated
by their participation in project “Amphibian Ark” and the marking of 2008
as the “Year of the Frog.” The Amphibian Ark’s director Kevin Zippel comments in Scientific American that amphibians are “absolutely vital to their
ecosystems” and that “for the price to keep a single elephant in captivity for
a year, about $100,000, you could pay for the expertise and facilities to save
an entire amphibian species.”15
One reason for the disproportions in breeding programs may be that it is
far easier to obtain reptiles, amphibians, and fishes from the wild in comparison to mammals or birds. Whereas 79 percent of mammals and 63 percent of
birds mentioned in the ISIS (International Species Information System) zoo
database of 2003 were born in captivity, no less than 59 percent of reptiles
(over 33,500 individuals) and 73 percent of amphibians (more than 16,000
individuals) were caught in the wild.16 The availability of these species from
the wild may mean that there was far less pressure on zoos to organise breeding programs in order to assure the presence of these groups of organisms for
continued display in zoos.
In addition, and perhaps even more important, there is clearly a strong
preference for keeping and breeding (large) mammals. Zoos are typically
about elephants, giraffes, lions, tigers, dolphins, bears, and gorillas. The motivation for this is not ecological, but rather anthropocentric–species selection by zoos
is driven largely by economic interests, perceived visitor preferences, and aesthetic
appraisals. For example, Colin Tudge writes that ideally we would conserve
California condors and every Amazonian beetle, but if one would need to
choose “then it would seem perverse to sacrifice the bird for the beetle: like
throwing out a Rembrandt to make way for an amateur watercolour.”17 And
Jon Luoma mentioned in 1987 the following comments by Tom Foose (then
conservation coordinator for the AAZPA—now AZA—and later CBSG
Executive Officer):
Indeed, zoos can’t serve every animal, says Foose. They tend, if only for their
own economic survival, to focus on creatures that the public finds most
fascinating—animals with whatever charisma it takes to propel those visitors through the turnstiles. And that, says Foose, is where zoos can and will
concentrate—on the big and attractive animals. He’s fond of using a term
that cropped up at a meeting of zoo biologists to describe those target animals:
charismatic megavertebrates.18
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In the end, many of the species currently kept by zoos may become threatened, and then zoos could argue that their current decisions in terms of species selection were visionary. However, we should not allow such ecological
camouflage to cloud the fundamentally self-serving motivation of zoos: Zoo
conservation is in the first place about conserving zoos, not about conserving threatened species! If it was all about conserving species threatened in the wild, zoos
would focus in the first place on those species that need their assistance right
now the most. Moreover, they would return those species as soon as possible
to the wild, in order to make space for other threatened species in need of
support. However, successful reintroductions (as illustrated by the Arabian
oryx and the black-footed ferret) are quite rare.
Eternal Arks?
In 1995, Benjamin Beck (then at the National Zoological Park, Washington) mentioned that about 145 projects are known to have released captive-bred animals in order to re-establish or reinforce the natural population
for conservation purposes. Only 11 percent (or sixteen projects) of these
contributed to the establishment of a self-sustaining natural population.19 An
analysis from 2007 investigated the origin of released threatened reptiles and
amphibians. Out of 38 threatened species, only 10 percent (or four species)
came from zoos. The released individuals of twelve species were translocated
(moved from one location in the wild to another) and twenty-two species
came from specialized facilities of various types.20
Whatever their purpose may be, zoos do not release the animals they breed
as soon as possible back into the wild, even though this would be logical from
economic, ecological, genetic, and behavioral perspectives. Most species simply stay on the so-called Ark (which should not surprise us, as most of these
are not even threatened). Zoos seem to have selected a range of species that
they want to keep over the very long term—as mentioned above, their target is 100 to 200 years or longer. Robert Loftin pointed out that even where
zoos consider reintroductions, they plan to continue keeping a considerable
population in captivity and he used the notion of zoos as “perpetual arks.”21
Though the keeping of a captive population as a safety net might sound reasonable, from a conservation perspective it is an unacceptable luxury when
taking into account the numbers of species facing extinction.
The idea of a perpetual or eternal ark may be a tricky and untenable one.
Zoos tend to keep a large variety of animals and focus in particular on larger,
charismatic species. This policy is having very negative effects and is even
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undermining the interests of zoos themselves, namely maintaining healthy
populations of species in captivity over the long term. According to Anne
Baker (The Toledo Zoo, Ohio) the AZA’s 2002 Annual Report on Conservation and Science provides sufficient information on 95 breeding programs
(SSPs and PMPs) to analyze their long-term viability. A good viability
means that the gene diversity is greater than 90 percent, the population size
is 200 or larger and the population is stable or growing. However, Baker’s
study indicates that no less than 65 percent of these breeding programs have
a low long-term viability. More precisely, 67 percent reported a population
size of less than 100 animals and 25 percent stated their current gene diversity to be less than 90 percent. Part of the causes underlying this problem is
the failure to make choices, adds Baker. Zoos want to keep too many species
and she gives the example of guenons, for which no less than ten species had
been recommended for SSP management. However, none of these species
have a population above eighty individuals and no target population size is
set above 125 individuals. As a consequence, the long-term viability for each
species is low, whereas a restriction to only those two species with the largest
population size and gene diversity might lead to long-term viability.22
If zoos would focus on a limited selection of small species with a decent
population size, they might do a much better job. However, it seems to me
that in many ways so-called modern zoos are still keeping animals as stamp
collections (which typically contain just a few items of many kinds)—a picture usually associated with nineteenth-century zoos. Individual zoos tend
to have their own preferences about what species they want to keep, and
it is apparently most difficult to reach an agreement about priority species.
Within this political reality, zoos rather seem to opt for a range of alternative
solutions for dealing with their self-generated genetic problems, though these
are highly questionable from an ethical perspective (see below).
The Potential Conservation Role of Zoos
In general the question remains whether zoos might offer a desired roadway
for supporting species threatened in the wild. Though zoos have reintroduced
some species back into the wild over the last decades, there remain considerable disadvantages.
Zoos tend to underline their value in supporting species that risk going
through a so-called genetic bottleneck in the wild. Even if zoos could deliver
sufficient animals with a proper genetic constitution, the fact remains that
one should not consider merely the genetic level. Animals in the wild have
a rich variety of skills and knowledge. They have learned how to deal with
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their environment—there is extensive ethological evidence of information
that is passed on from one generation to the next and of variety between
populations, indeed of animals having cultures. By taking animals away from
their habitats and breeding them for several generations in captivity, zoos are
pushing animals through what I call a “behavioral bottleneck.” Enrichment
can only compensate for this in a very limited way. Stanley Price and Gordon
argue that differences in complexity of habitat and learned behavior explain
why it is so much more difficult to organize reintroductions for orangutans
in comparison with more genetically hard-wired animals such a Arabian
oryxes.23 Hillary Box includes within her list of survival skills the challenge
of orientation and movement in space, selecting appropriate food, obtaining
suitable places for resting and sleeping, dealing successfully with conspecifics
and members of other species (predator avoidance).24
Besides the lack of particular skills, animals in zoos may very well go
through a process of unnatural selection. The animals that adapt best to captive conditions (the most docile ones) tend to be the most successful ones,
but these may not be the appropriate ones for reintroduction into the wild
(due to lack of fear of humans).
Apart from this, maintaining and breeding animals in zoos and the setting up of reintroduction programs are extremely expensive. In 1989, the
cost of maintaining a captive population of 550 golden lion tamarins at 100
zoos was estimated at $911,875 per year and for the period 1983–1989 the
reintroduction of tamarins was estimated to be $22,563 per surviving reintroduced tamarin (that is forty-eight individuals in 1989, namely twenty-seven
of seventy-one released animals and twenty-one of twenty-six born individuals). Matthew Hatchwell (Wildlife Conservation Society), Alex Rübel (Zoo
Zürich), and colleagues remark that “The costs associated with setting up and
running reintroduction projects in developing countries are on a par with
those of entire protected areas, which protect many more animals as well as
their habitats.”25
Even though there exists a huge extinction threat, one should not conclude
too fast that zoos are the answer, not even for saving critically endangered
species. For example, George Schaller has written that the future of the fewer
than 2,000 remaining giant pandas would be brighter if conservation money
had been invested in anti-poaching and forest protection measures rather than
in the construction of captive breeding stations.26 And no zoo has a breeding
program for the critically endangered mountain gorillas, even though less
than 1,000 animals remain in the wild. Though their area within the Virunga
mountains of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, and Burundi is
rather limited in surface and for many decades situated within a turbulent
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political region and surrounded by an expanding human population, the
mountain gorilla population has remained relatively stable over the last decades and has even slightly grown.27 These critically endangered species do not
need an expensive breeding program, but rather appropriate goodwill.
The removal of animals from their natural habitats should be avoided at
all costs. Whenever a natural population risks destruction or disappearance
due to (genetic) isolation in small island habitats, it is much more desirable
to build corridors or to translocate animals to safer areas of natural habitat.
Translocations are cheaper and more successful than reintroductions, which
should not surprise us given the learning bottleneck in zoos. Griffith and colleagues have estimated the success of translocations at 75 percent, whereas
they mention 38 percent for the reintroduction of captive-bred animals
(compare with Beck, only 11 percent). Furthermore, beyond conservation
and economics, the lower success rate of reintroductions clearly also means
paying a higher price in terms of animal welfare.28
But what about an indirect conservation role for zoos? According to this
line of thought, zoos might contribute to the conservation of wildlife by raising funds, educating the public, and by sharing scientific and technological
expertise that may be useful for conservation efforts in the wild.
First, very few data seem to be available that allow assessing the zoo’s
indirect conservation role. For example, Sarah Christie (Zoological Society
of London) remarks about her efforts to collect data on zoo funding for conservation that “all those who have been involved in collection of such data
so far agree that getting blood out of stones is child’s play in comparison.”29
Similarly, Eleanor Sterling (American Museum of Natural History) and colleagues were asked to evaluate zoo conservation education independently.
However, they write that the “dearth of published evaluations prevented us
from doing so”30 and suggest that zoos should not only publish results about
what works but also about what does not work.
Second, available information on fundraising and education by zoos is
not particularly impressive. Though individual zoos such as the Bronx Zoo
(WCS) have for many years given support to a large variety of conservation
programs, most zoos donate very little. Zimmermann and Wilkinson refer to
an AZA study of 2000 by Bettinger and Quinn, which indicates that zoos
spend only 0.1 percent of operating budgets on conservation and this already
includes staff time and zoo-based research.31 In connection with education,
zoos are proud to indicate that they reach some 600 million visitors each
year.32 Given these numbers, the lack of evaluations of educational impact
is indeed most remarkable. And the results of the few evaluations that are
available may explain why zoos don’t prioritize evaluating their education
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impact—those studies point towards visitors being motivated in particular
by fun and family enjoyment, little interest in learning, few people reading
zoo signs, not staying long at enclosures to observe animal behavior, zoo
visits increasing feelings of superiority towards nature, stimulation of the
anthropomorphizing of animals, and even a decrease in knowledge scores
after zoo visits.33
Third and perhaps most important, any meaningful indirect contribution
by zoos to the conservation of wildlife could also be obtained when working
from an entirely different kind of zoo philosophy, as I’ll argue throughout
the remainder of this chapter. This brings us to the question regarding the
value of species.
Species versus Individuals?
What is the value of species and are species more valuable than individuals?
Within conservation discourse it is often taken for granted that species are
more important than their individual members. However, the conservation of
species never can have as its ultimate motivation the interests of these species
as such. Certainly, one may build an argument about the need to conserve
species because of their aesthetic, economic, scientific, ecological, or spiritual
value. However, these are not intrinsic but instrumental values in the sense
that they are related to the interests of other beings, namely humans. Ultimately, we appreciate the beauty of species, we benefit from their economic
value, not species themselves and as such. Apart from these anthropocentric
interests, the conservation of species may also be advocated because of the interests of their individual members. The concept of a species as such and that
of its individual members are two very different things, as philosopher Dale
Jamieson explains in a clear way: “Individual creatures often have welfares,
but species never do. The notion of a species is an abstraction; the idea of its
welfare is a human construction. While there is something that it is like to be
an animal there is nothing that it is like to be a species.”34
Whether the conservation of species takes into account or is even based
upon the aim to protect the welfare interests of (all of) its individual members makes an enormous difference. This becomes clear when one applies the
concept of sustainable use to the conservation of species. This concept has in
particular become popular with organizations such as the IUCN, WWF and
UNEP since the early 1990s.35 The idea behind it is that we may use natural
resources at rates within their capacity for renewal. Though this is a most
important concept, by itself it contains no guarantees at all for the welfare of
individual animals. Within this view, one may utilize animals as long as the
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species itself does not suffer from it—that is, as long as a sufficiently large
population remains in order to guarantee the continued existence of the species. For example, on such a view it is fine to kill whales, shoot elephants,
and hunt seals, as long as this happens within certain limits that assure the
total population remains stable. Trophy hunters could shoot every year a very
limited quota of gorillas, as long as this doesn’t harm the overall continued
existence of the species—they might, for example, compensate by paying a
considerable amount of conservation dollars or euros. In this sense a view of
sustainable use becomes one of sustainable exploitation. One may prune away
the profits or interest, as long as the capital remains intact for future exploitation.
Such a view is unacceptable for anyone who is sensitive to how much we
have in common with other animals. Indeed, imagine applying the concept
of sustainable use to humans. There would be no concern about killing many
human beings, as long as the species Homo sapiens remains unthreatened.
Moreover, this concept might appeal for drastically reducing the human
population in whatever way, as our current population numbers are unsustainable and threaten not only the continued existence of humanity, but that of
many other species and entire ecosystems as well. Any sensible person would
disagree with inhumane solutions to human overpopulation or with sustainable exploitation of humans—and rightly so.
Such a position would also in all probability make reference to the mental
characteristics of members of Homo sapiens. A similar logic applies to many
nonhuman animals. Though species differences are real, many animals have
rich mental lives, are sensitive beings with welfare interests as well. Aiming
to protect their welfare interests may be a strong motivation for conserving species. Certainly, even when one is driven by respect for animals as
individuals, considering the species level nevertheless remains very important—as, for example, fragmentation of species over isolated island habitats
may lead to decrease of genetic variability and ultimately result in populations no longer being viable. A philosophy based upon respect for individual
beings should thus never lose sight of the species level. Before considering
the implications of this conservation view (based on respect for individuals)
as the course to be followed by zoos, I will first make some remarks about the
welfare of animals living in zoos.
Some Welfare Problems in Zoo Enclosures
Within the zoo world and perhaps even beyond, the single most famous
animal of 2007 was without doubt the young polar bear Knut, who was
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born December 2006 in Berlin Zoo. Within the first 50 days that he went
public, Knut attracted no less than 500,000 visitors. The visitor flood and
a wide array of merchandise earned Berlin Zoo about five million euros (or
$7.87 million) in 2007 alone. Knut got on the cover of Vanity Fair, starred
in a book and movie, inspired Knut-mugs, Knut-candy, and Knut-toys. The
market shares of Berlin Zoo jumped from 2,000 euro to 4,820 euro. Knut has
(become?) a logo (Respect_Habitats.Knut) and this label will be used to approve of sustainable projects. Companies may buy a Knut license and profits
will be used to fund conservation projects.36 Knut is an excellent example of
what has been called a charismatic megavertebrate, or what I would rather
name a “charismatic fundraiser”.
This huge public fascination for Knut is not new; zoo visitors have felt
strongly attracted to cute white polar bear cubs for a long time. For example, in
1950 London Zoo reached its highest number of visitors ever—3,100,000—and
according to Solly Zuckerman this was in particular due to the birth of a polar
bear cub.37 Several zoos are clearly inspired by the success logged by Berlin Zoo
and are trying to follow suit. The Nürnberg Zoo, for example, is attempting
to reach similar success through the female polar cub Flocke (or Snowflake).
Though zoos are often critical about what is called a sentimental focus on individual animals, they obviously can’t resist the opportunities associated with
such an appeal to young animals. And why not? What’s the problem? Isn’t it
already difficult enough to raise conservation funding?
The problem is with the polar bears themselves—the stories aren’t as
bright as they might seem to be. Knut was rejected by his mother briefly
after birth and needed to be hand-raised in the sole company of zookeepers.
His twin brother died a few days after birth. Flocke was taken away from
her mother Vera for hand-rearing as well. A movie fragment by Reuters on
You Tube shows how Vera leaves her den with Flocke—where both should
have stayed several months—and how Vera repeatedly drops Flocke from
her mouth on the ground and down concrete steps. The zoo comments
that Vera seemed agitated and disoriented for whatever reason and that she
wanted to carry her cub to safety in another part of the enclosure. The day
before, another polar bear mother—Wilma—had eaten both her twin cubs
in Nürnberg Zoo.38
All this should have come as no surprise at all. The keeping and breeding of polar bears in captivity has always been problematic and zoos that opt
to do so are responsible for allowing a disastrous welfare experiment to take
place. In The Welfare Ark I referred to a zoo article by a conservator of Antwerp Zoo, who wrote in 1980 that all polar bear cubs born at the zoo died
due to maternal neglect or because their mothers killed them. The mothers
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took the cubs in their mouths and walked anxiously around with them, just
as if they wanted to hide them somewhere. The conservator attributed this
behavior to a lack of privacy, disliking the nesting boxes, and negative climatological conditions. Three decades later, zoos continue to struggle with the
same kinds of problems, though some of them—such as Antwerp Zoo—have
fortunately stopped keeping polar bears. I noted that of the more than 50
polar bear births reported to the International Zoo Yearbook in 1995–1996, no
less than 73 percent of the cubs had died, whereas a UFAW study mentioned
a mortality of up to 38 percent in the wild.39
Privacy and the cubbing den seem to be important factors. In nature,
the mother stays in her den from October to February or April. She is very
choosy about the spot and the kind of snow used. She may walk many miles
and dig several test pits, before choosing a final location. The den is continuously adjusted during the confinement, in order to regulate the supply of
fresh air and the temperature for her cubs. Sometimes, cubs may be eaten in
nature as well, e.g. when the mother is malnourished or when she smells or
hears the threat of a male polar bear. Digging the den in a more remote place,
away from the sea, usually prevents cannibalism by male bears.40
In captivity male bears may be around, visitors may cause disturbance and
stress (they make a lot of noise on the YouTube video showing Vera and
Flocke), the breeding space may be inappropriate, the mother may have no
experience in caring for young ones (behavioral bottleneck), and her mental
state may be questionable, as indicated by stereotypical behavior. In Berlin
Zoo, the father of Knut—Lars—was not only around, but he reportedly tried
to attack and eat his son several times.41
Polar bears are prone to stereotypical behavior in zoos—such as pacing to
and fro, head-bobbing, and swimming incessant figure eights. Ros Clubb and
Georgia Mason (University of Oxford) mention a stereotypy frequency of
around 40 percent and infant mortality of around 65 percent for polar bears
in zoos. Moreover, their research of carnivores shows that problems correlate
with the size of their natural home range and conclude that these stem from
constraints imposed upon their natural behavior. A typical polar bear enclosure is only one millionth the size of its minimum home range.42
Stereotypical behavior is generally associated with poor welfare, monotonous environments, lack of autonomy, frustration, stress and/or boredom. It
has been suggested that the repetitiveness of stereotypies may increase the
release of opiates and thus have an analgesic effect in order to cope with poor
welfare conditions that are otherwise beyond the animal’s control. Some
video footage suggests that Knut as well may be developing stereotypical
behaviour—namely pacing to and fro a part of his enclosure.43
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Because of these welfare problems, some zoos have stopped keeping polar
bears—but others continue with this experiment, even when it means breeding young cubs for hand-rearing in isolation from conspecifics. It is doubtful
how successful they will be. The captive population is small—ISIS mentions
less than 200 individuals: 86 males, 97 females, 1 with unknown sex, and
only 8 births at the time of consultation.44 Given the lack of reproduction,
zoos will become more and more challenged by an aging polar bear population. In 1993, already 35 percent of the female polar bears were older than
twenty years.45 This means that zoos will more and more depend upon breeding with older individuals. Indeed, Knut’s thirty-two-year-old grandmother
Lisa has received the company of ten-year-old Yoghi from the Hellabrunn
Zoo in Munich—both zoos hope that the bears will reproduce. (The twoyear-old Gianna, who was apparently under threat of being killed by Yoghi
at Hellabrunn Zoo, has been introduced to Knut.46)
The example of polar bears shows some of the welfare problems that
may occur in zoos. A major problem is what I’ve called the lack of “welfare
autonomy.” Animals with welfare autonomy have the possibility to live
according to their own needs and preferences. This requires (i) a rich and
stimulating environment, (ii) an environment which fits their needs (usually
this will be their natural habitat, the environment to which they’ve adapted
over millions of years), and (iii) the possibility of making their own choices.
Lack of welfare autonomy may result in frustration (e.g., no suitable cubbing
den), stress (e.g., noisy visitors), and boredom (monotonous environment).47
These problems may lead to undesirable behavior such as stereotypies, increased aggression, or passivity (which may actually be a kind of learned
helplessness toward their inescapable environment).
Just as there exist excellent conservation reasons for keeping small animals in particular (see above), there is also a strong welfare logic for shifting
from large animals to smaller ones. In 1996 Trevor Poole and Graham Law
(Universities Federation for Animal Welfare or UFAW) suggested that if
an enclosure cannot meet the demands of a large animal, it may be worth
considering that it be converted into an enclosure for smaller species.48
The same enclosure may indeed be more spacious for smaller animals. For
example, an enclosure once used for polar bears may be turned into one
for small primates, such as golden lion tamarins. Concrete platforms can be
replaced by grassy hills and space may be increased by using the third dimension through the planting of trees (thus offering climbing opportunities).
Also, keeping smaller animals better allows meeting demands for composing
a more suitable social group. Though all this is by itself no guarantee for a
positive welfare situation, it is quite likely to mean an improvement in terms
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of animal welfare. Unfortunately, many zoos seem to believe that they must
follow a stable course in displaying many species of large charismatic megavertebrates.
Similarly, zoos might easily increase opportunities for more welfare autonomy by offering animals the opportunity to have more privacy via withdrawal
from the sight of visitors. However, many zoos either prohibit access to indoor enclosures during the day or offer visitors the possibility to see animals
both in their outdoor and indoor enclosures. This indicates that the priority
of many zoos seems to be having animals on display—even though observations of, for example, primates have shown that the presence of visitors may
lead to a significant increase in aggression as well as to a significant decrease
in affiliative behavior such as grooming.49
Structural Animal Welfare Considerations
Welfare problems are not limited to what happens inside a zoo enclosure.
One should also take into account the structural welfare policy by zoos, and
here it is important to return to some conservation considerations made
above and especially to the challenge that zoos face to maintain sufficient
genetic variation. It has been noted that zoos want to hold a large variety
of species and that they tend to keep (large) mammals in particular. Both
choices are clearly questionable for the maintaining of populations with sufficient long-term genetic variation. Recall that this is a very serious challenge
for zoos, as a 2002 study showed that 65 percent of 95 breeding programs
with sufficient data of the AZA (namely SSPs and PMPs) turned out to
have a low long-term viability. What can one expect zoos to do within the
constraints of their own species preferences?
First, breeding programs demand a regular exchange of animals between
zoos for breeding purposes and to avoid inbreeding. However, animals are
taken away from their social group, strong social bonds may be broken, social stability may be disrupted, and transferred animals don’t choose where
they’re going (they simply, all of a sudden, end up in a completely different
physical and social environment). During their lifetime animals may have
to live in many different zoo enclosures and this may have a stressful rather
than an enriching impact.
Second, breeding programs define which animals should reproduce with
whom and how many young ones they may have. Once this target has been
reached, the breeding animals become “surplus.” It is important to understand that so-called surplus animals are not necessarily the result of zoos being deficient in terms of having well-organized breeding programs—avoiding
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“surplus” animals is not only about applying contraception. Quite on the
contrary, “surplus” animals are inherent to breeding programs directed at
maintaining maximal genetic variation. Animals may be young and healthy,
yet redundant for a breeding program and—worse—they may take up space
and resources useable for other animals. The challenges that zoos face to assure long-term viability for their preferred species puts an enormous pressure
on zoos to get rid of so-called surplus animals. There are not many options
for putting animals outside of the structure of organized zoos, so that they no
longer negatively influence space and resources within a given zoo community. These animals may be sent away to substandard places or they may be
killed—zoo people prefer to speak of “culling.”
One should not underestimate the numbers of healthy animals rendered
useless within a breeding program. We must recognize that with each generation there is some loss of genetic variation, as each parent only passes
half of its genes. In practice this may be compensated for by having large
populations, but small zoo populations are vulnerable to this reality. In order
to reduce the risk, breeding programs should make the generation time as
long as possible—this means making the interval between each generation
as large as possible, so that the loss of genetic variation is spread over time.50
In practice this may mean allowing a female tiger to have several litters of
cubs over the years, to kill all of these except the last litter and finally only
to allow these last-borns to reproduce. As a consequence, only the last-borns
pass on their genes. By prolonging the interval between each generation
thus, the loss of genetic variation can be slowed down. Given this situation
and the economic appeal of breeding young ones for attracting visitors, it
must be tempting indeed for zoos to consider breeding and killing animals
in such a way. Though highly problematic from an ethical perspective that
takes the welfare of individual animals into account, it makes perfect sense
within the logic of a well-organized breeding program and within the context
of sustainable use.
In general, zoos tend to remain vague about the killing of healthy zoo animals; and whenever they are under fire, they tend to shift the debate to animals who are old, ill, or have only negative welfare prospects (such as being
excluded from their social group). However, some zoo people (such as Robert
Lacy of the Brookfield Zoo, Chicago) don’t play this game of hypocrisy and
openly and consistently defend the killing of healthy animals no longer useful for breeding programs.51 Donald Lindburg (San Diego Zoo) and Linda
Lindburg (managing editor of the journal Zoo Biology) have commented: “A
representative statement of the position of zoos is provided by Lacy (1991),
who advocates euthanasia for all individuals classified as surplus, irrespective
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of their state of health. Lacy’s position, while not the official policy of AZA,
is widely embraced by its membership.”52 During a zoo congress held at Rotterdam Zoo, nearly all 100 zoo practitioners approved (in small workshops of
ten people each) the killing of healthy animals—this wasn’t seen as a problem at all according to the congress organizers. Such killings were considered
to be preferred above the sending of these animals to substandard enclosures
(read behind-the-scenes enclosures) or substandard zoos.53 Apparently, few
zoo people considered both scenarios unethical and avoidable.
Third, the most convenient way for maintaining genetic variation over
the long-term may be to get at regular intervals new animals with fresh blood
on board the Zoo Ark—in other words capturing animals in the wild. This is
precisely what several zoo people (such as William Conway from the Bronx
Zoo) are proposing, namely the creation of “zoo reserves” or “extractive
reserves.”54 This concept refers to financial support for local communities
in order to conserve species and to harvest wild animals for export to zoos.
Such an “extractive reserve could provide a legal and sustainable source of
animals for zoo collections as well as for commercial exports”.55 Can you
imagine zoos providing funding for the protection of gorilla habitat in Congo
and to receive every now and then a shipment of a gorilla family in return?
No doubt, the suggestion of capturing animals in the wild will be considered
by many people—including many zoo visitors—to be an unacceptable and
controversial proposal. However, zoo personnel probably realize that it may
be an invaluable and inevitable outcome for keeping their Eternal Zoo Ark
afloat—a situation that shows how conserving wildlife helps the conservation of zoos themselves.
The Wrongness of Captivity
I’ve questioned the conservation policy by zoos and pointed to some of the
welfare problems that zoos may face. However, does this mean that keeping
animals in zoos is always wrong? Are zoos fundamentally immoral?
In an historical article, originally published in 1976, the moral philosopher
James Rachels raises the question of the right to liberty for animals. Rachels
argues that the right to liberty is derived from a more basic right of not having one’s interests needlessly harmed. Applying this idea to the institution
under consideration, can we truly say that the interests of all animals kept
in zoos are by definition harmed? Is this because keeping animals in captivity is fundamentally wrong? But if so, what about animals living elsewhere in
captivity, such as pets? And what if it turns out that some animals live in a
positive welfare situation in zoos, that they are leading happy lives? Rachels
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writes that we have to distinguish both the kinds of animals involved and the
degree of freedom required for their interests not to be harmed. He adds that
lions may need to be completely free in order to thrive, whereas this “is not
to say that the interests of chickens can be satisfied only in a state of total
freedom: I can see no harm that would be done to their interests if they were
kept captive while being allowed freedom to roam a large area, where they
could do the things just mentioned [dust-bathing and building a nest].”56
I think that both criteria suggested by Rachels—kind of animal and degree
of freedom—are important when considering holding animals in captivity.
These apply when comparing the interests of pets and those of animals living
in zoos. First, due to the long domestication process, pets such as dogs and
cats have become more suitable for keeping in our societies than the animals
typically kept in zoos. (This does not mean that I think the domestication
process was justified.) Second, many dogs and cats may lead richer lives and
have a larger degree of freedom than zoo animals. (Imagine that your dog
or cat would be placed for the rest of her or his life into a zoo enclosure.)
However, this does not mean that the welfare of pets is always better than
that of animals living in zoos. There are many examples of bad and therefore
unacceptable welfare circumstances of pets and other captive animals. Third,
whereas we may have alternatives for animals living in zoos, there is no option of sending dogs or cats to the wild due to the domestication process.
Rachels’s nuanced distinctions about kinds of animal and degree of freedom also hold for animals living within zoos. There may be a huge difference
between on the one hand keeping frogs in a spacious green enclosure with
ponds for swimming and on the other hand attempting to offer reasonable
welfare conditions for polar bears, tigers, gorillas, or dolphins within a zoo
setting. Still, the natural environment normally allows far more welfare autonomy because it’s a richer environment, is better suited to animals’ natural
welfare needs, and offers them more choices. It is sometimes remarked that
wildlife parks verge on the status of megazoos and that zoos approximate
conservation parks, but the difference between both remains vast. Even a
relatively small wildlife park such as Gombe (Tanzania) allows chimpanzees
to roam over several square kilometres of rainforest, which is many times
more than the largest zoo enclosure for chimpanzees (at best a few acres).
Similarly, Gombe is far more complex and better meets the natural demands
of chimpanzees than zoo enclosures might ever do.
Sure, animals in the wild may have to pay a price for the freedom to make
their own choices. Nature certainly contains risks—e.g., in terms of food
scarcity, disease, or predators. Still, the advantages of a life in nature may be
worth taking these risks. In addition, zoos have their own risks and animals
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in zoos may have less control in dealing with these (such as having no means
to escape from aggressive conspecifics or noisy, stress-inducing visitors). We
should not underestimate the welfare problems in zoos. Besides this, we
have to see the flaws in the contention that animals are lucky to have food
“offered on a plate”. It not only makes them dependent, but research shows
that many animals actually prefer working for their food instead of taking
it directly from an available food-source. Even in the presence of free food,
rats and pigeons will spontaneously learn a behavioral task to obtain food.57
They have inquisitive minds and prefer to control events in their lives, to
have welfare autonomy.
However, is it never desirable to put animals in zoos, no matter how grim
their prospects in the wild may be? Is it better to vanish in the wild than to
lead a less rich life in captivity? What if we know that all chimpanzees in
Gombe surely would become victims of the bushmeat trade over the next
five years and that there is no way to avoid this, besides putting these chimpanzees in a captive setting for their own safety? Would it be more desirable
to die free rather than to live in captivity? I’m not convinced that the first
option would be the one to be preferred, or the one opted for by the chimpanzees themselves if they were to have a choice. Fortunately, the actual picture
is not such a black-and-white one. Even were we to know that a particular
area would certainly be destroyed, there are still in-between options—such as
translocating animals to safer ground in the wild or to place them temporarily in a large sanctuary within their natural habitat (like the Jane Goodall
Institute’s Tchimpounga sanctuary in Congo Brazzaville). These considerations bring us to my suggestion for a renewed policy for zoos.
Conclusion: An Ethical Course for The Zoo Ark?
Numerous animals are living in deplorable welfare conditions in captivity—in substandard zoos, as (exotic) pets, in circuses, animal factories, or
laboratories. A real solution for these problems is to be expected only from
more stringent welfare laws, and these are urgently needed. However, as I
suggested in 2000 in The Welfare Ark, the only ethical course I see for the
Zoo Ark is in becoming a Welfare Ark for individual animals in need of
help, and so for zoos to become sanctuaries. An example of an EAZA zoo
that is fulfilling a sanctuary role is the primate rescue centre Monkey World
in the United Kingdom. This sanctuary has offered a new life to dozens of
chimpanzees who were abused by photographers (along the Spanish coasts),
as exotic pets, as circus animals, or in laboratories. Several of them had to
work long days, were regularly beaten, had their teeth pulled out, or were put
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on drugs. In Monkey World these chimpanzees learn to live in social groups
in green enclosures with a variety of climbing opportunities. In Hohenwald,
Tennessee, The Elephant Sanctuary offers a new life to African and Asian
elephants coming from zoos and circuses. The elephants can roam in herds
through enclosures that count several hundred acres of pastures, woods, and
streams.58
Such Welfare Arks may not only bring an invaluable contribution by
helping individual animals in their care, but may also play an important indirect role of support to the conservation of threatened species in the wild by
informing the public, raising funds, and sharing technical experience (such
as sedation methods for translocating animals in the wild).
Just taking into consideration the many animals in need of help might
already result in a policy of not allowing these animals to breed. This would
require that zoos give up the idea of assuring their own future through the
breeding of (non-)threatened species, but would also allow for far more
flexibility in helping animals. And welfare considerations would mean that
animals be allowed more privacy and visitors stay more at a distance (though
this does not necessarily imply no visitors should be allowed at all).
Given the values of zoos, we should be aware that some zoos might aim to
offer sanctuary to animals coming from the wild in order to pursue their ambition as eternal arks populated with popular species with sufficient genetic
variability (see above on the suggestion of extractive reserves). Why would it
not be a good idea to transfer, for example, potential victims of the bushmeat
crisis to zoos in the North? First, sanctuaries in the country of origin tend
to suit the welfare needs of the animals much better—they are larger, more
complex, and situated within their natural habitat. Second, such transfers to
the North might result in stimulating creative yet unethical ways to obtain
new “gene suppliers” for zoos or any other animals eagerly wanted by zoos.
The Taiping Four saga seems to illustrate this point very well. Early in
2002 four young gorillas—three females and one male—were sent from Nigeria to Malaysia’s Taiping Zoo. Their import documents turned out to be
falsified—the so-called captive born gorillas turned out not to originate from
Nigeria’s Ibadan Zoo but to have been wild-caught in Cameroon. Though
the authorities of Cameroon asked to send the gorillas back, they stayed for
two years in Taiping Zoo and were in 2004 shipped to Pretoria Zoo, South
Africa. Pretoria Zoo undertook considerable efforts to permanently keep the
gorillas, who were placed into a newly created enclosure. Executive director
Willie Labuschagne was quoted as saying that “we will most definitely use
the gorillas as part of a national and international breeding program” and was
also cited as saying that “his greatest wish is to secure a safe gene pool for
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gorillas.”59 After much political pressure by governments and organizations
such as IPPL (International Primate Protection League) and IFAW (International Fund for Animal Welfare), the Taiping Four gorillas returned in
November 2007 to Cameroon, more precisely to the Limbe Wildlife Centre
sanctuary. We thus have to be aware that a sanctuary role by zoos as Welfare
Arks should never serve as a cover to deliver animals to serve the self-interest
of zoos as Eternal Arks.
The change of policy proffered here may not look very appealing to many
zoos, as their current policy and values are so different from what I am recommending. However, this seems to me the only justifiable course for zoos and
it deserves to be given far more serious consideration. The zoo people who
are in support of such a sanctuary role should not let themselves be overshadowed by those who promote a sustainable-use philosophy. This alternative
position would allow for zoos a course that has the support of many people
and organizations, because it combines the aim of protecting the interests of
individual animals (both in captivity and beyond) with that of conserving
species in the wild. Such a “welfare ark” course would have far more credibility than the current one of zoos as eternal arks populated with mostly
non-threatened, but highly charismatic and financially rewarding animals.
Notes
1. These variations in percentages are due to the limited number of listed species
whose status has been evaluated and a bias towards evaluating particular species that
are thought to be threatened. The first percentage refers to the percentage of listed
species considered threatened and the second number to the percentage of evaluated
species that is threatened.
2. IUCN, “Table 1: Numbers of threatened species by major groups of organisms
(1996–2007),” IUCN, www.iucnredlist.org/info/2007RL_Stats_Table%201.pdf (8
Sept. 2008).
3. Edward O. Wilson, The Diversity of Life (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books,
1992), 134, 140–141, 276–280.
4. IUDZG/CBSG (IUCN/SSC), “The World Zoo Conservation Strategy: The
Role of the Zoos and Aquaria of the World in Global Conservation,” WAZA, www.
waza.org/conservation/wczs.php (September 8, 2008).
5. Alexandra Zimmermann, Matthew Hatchwell, Lesley Dickie, and Chris West,
eds., Zoos in the 21st Century: Catalysts for Conservation? (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2007).
6. IUDZG/CBSG (IUCN/SSC), The World Zoo Conservation Strategy.
7. Colin Tudge, Last Animals at the Zoo: How Mass Extinction Can Be Stopped
(London: Hutchinson Radius, 1991).
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8. Anonymous, “List of approved EEP species programs as of January 1999,” in
EEP Yearbook 1997/98 including Proceedings of the 15th EAZA Conference, Berlin 2–6
September 1998, ed. F. Rietkerk, S. Smits, K. Brouwer and M. Kurtz (Amsterdam:
EAZA Executive Office, 1999), 561–571. Thomas J. Foose, “Regional captive propagation programs worldwide,” in CBSG Regional Conservation Coordinator Committee:
1991 Annual Report, ed. anonymous (Apple Valley, 1991). AZA, “Species Survival
Plan® Program,” AZA, www.aza.org/ConScience/ConScienceSSPFact/index.html
(September 8, 2008). AZA, “Population Management Plans (PMPs),” AZA, www.
aza.org/ConScience/ConSciencePMPFact/index.html (September 8, 2008). AZA,
www.aza.org/CandS/SSP.xls (September 8, 2008). AZA, www.aza.org/CandS/PMP.
xls (September 8, 2008). EAZA, “Breeding Programs—Statistics,” EAZA, www.eaza.
net/index.php (September 8, 2008).
9. See www.iucnredlist.org/details/22563, www.iucnredlist.org/details/141921,
and www.iucnredlist.org/details/141926 (October 31, 2008).
10. Ulysses S. Seal, “Life after Extinction” in Beyond Captive Breeding: Re-introducing Endangered Mammals to the Wild. The Proceedings of a Symposium held at the
Zoological Society of London on the 24th and 25th November 1989, ed. J.H.W. Gipps
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 40.
11. Alexandra Zimmermann and Roger Wilkinson, “The Conservation Mission
in the Wild: Zoos as Conservation NGOs?,” in Zoos in the 21st Century: Catalysts for
Conservation?, ed. Alexandra Zimmermann, Matthew Hatchwell, Lesley Dickie, and
Chris West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 307.
12. Mark R. Stanley Price and John E. Fa, “Reintroductions from Zoos: a Conservation Guiding light or a Shooting Star?” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 160–161, 165.
13. Lesley A. Dickie, Jeffrey P. Bonner, and Chris West, “In situ and ex situ Conservation: blurring the boundaries between zoos and the wild,” in Zoos in the 21st
Century, 225.
14. Wilson, The Diversity of Life, 168–170, 309.
15. Charles Q. Choi, “Can the “Amphibian Ark” Save Frogs From Pollution/Extinction? A repopulation plan for endangered amphibians,” Scientific American 2008,
www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=amphibian-ark (June 26, 2008).
16. Anne Baker, “Animal Ambassadors: An Analysis of the Effectiveness and
Conservation Impact of ex situ Breeding Efforts” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 145.
17. Tudge, Last Animals at the Zoo, 91.
18. Jon R. Luoma, A Crowded Ark: The Role of Zoos in Wildlife Conservation (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987), 70.
19. Benjamin Beck, “Reintroduction, Zoos, Conservation, and Animal Welfare,”
in Ethics on the Ark: Zoos, Animal Welfare, and Wildlife Conservation, ed. Bryan G.
Norton, Michael Hutchins, Elizabeth E. Stevens, and Terry L. Maple (Washington:
Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 156.
20. Stanley Price and Fa, “ Reintroductions from Zoos,” 166.
21. Robert Loftin, “Captive Breeding of Endangered Species” in Ethics on the Ark,
177.
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22. Baker, “Animal ambassadors,” 145–146, 149–150.
23. Mark R. Stanley Price and Iain Gordon, “How to Go Wild,” New Scientist, no.
1688 (October 1989): 58.
24. Hillary O. Box, “Training for Life After Release: Simian Primates as Examples,” in Beyond Captive Breeding: Re-introducing Endangered Mammals to the Wild. The
Proceedings of a Symposium held at the Zoological Society of London on the 24th and 25th
November 1989, ed. J.H.W. Gipps (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 112–120.
25. Matthew Hatchwell, Alex Rübel, Lesley Dickie, Chris West, and Alexandra
Zimmermann, “Conclusion: The Future of Zoos” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 348.
26. George Schaller, The Last Panda (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,
1993), 245.
27. Bill Weber and Amy Vedder, In the Kingdom of Gorillas: The Quest to Save
Rwanda’s Mountain Gorillas (London: Aurum Press, 2002).
28. B. Griffith, J.M. Scott, J.W. Carpenter and C. Reed, “Translocations as a Species Conservation Tool: Status and Strategy,” Science, 245 (1989): 478.
29. Sarah Christie, “Zoo-based Fundraising for in situ Wildlife Conservation” in
Zoos in the 21st Century, 265.
30. Eleanor Sterling, Jimin Lee, and Tom Wood, “Conservation Education in
Zoos: An Emphasis on Behavioral Change,” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 47.
31. Zimmermann and Wilkinson, “The Conservation Mission in the Wild,” 310.
32. IUDZG/CBSG (IUCN/SSC), The World Zoo Conservation Strategy.
33. Stephen R. Kellert and Julie Dunlap, Informal Learning at the Zoo: a Study of
Attitude and Knowledge Impacts (A Report to the Zoological Society of Philadelphia
of a Study Funded by the G.R. Dodge Foundation, 1989). D. L. Marcellini and T. A.
Jenssen, “Visitor Behavior in the National Zoo’s Reptile House,” Zoo Biology 7, no. 4
(1988): 329–332, 336–338. Richard P. Reading and Brian J. Miller, “Attitudes and
Attitude Change among Zoo Visitors” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 67–70, 86–87.
34. Dale Jamieson, “Zoos Revisited,” in Ethics on the Ark, 61.
35. See IUDZG/CBSG (IUCN/SSC), The World Zoo Conservation Strategy, and
IUCN/UNEP/WWF, Caring for the Earth. A Strategy for Sustainable Living (Gland:
IUCN/UNEP/WWF, 1991), 9–10.
36. Anonymous, “Niemand ontkomt aan Knut-gekte in Duitsland,” De Standaard 2007, www.standaard.be/Artikel/Detail.aspx?artikelid=GK61AN8KN (April
7, 2007), Charles Hawley, “Polar Bear Turned Cash Cow: Knut the Business-Bear,”
Der Spiegel 2007, www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/0,1518,482368,00.html (October 14, 2008), and Madeline Chambers, “Move over Knut: Germany’s new polar
bear cub debuts,” Reuters 2008, www.reuters.com/articlePrint?articleId=USL098932
7920080409 (October 14, 2008).
37. Solly Zuckerman, “The Rise of Zoos and Zoological Societies,” in Great Zoos
of the World: Their Origins and Significance, ed. Solly Zuckerman (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1979), 15–19.
38. Anonymous, “Ijsbeer Knut viert eerste verjaardag,” De Standaard 2007, www.
standaard.be/Artikel/Detail.aspx?artikelid=DMF05122007_077 (accessed October
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1, 2008) and Anonymous, “Nieuwe Knut is een meisje,” De Standaard 2008, www.
standaard.be/Artikel/PrintArtikel.aspx?artikelId=7B1MCQJ1 (accessed October 1,
2008), Joanna Partridge, “The Next Knut to be Raised by Hand,” Reuters 2008, www.
reuters.com/news/video?videoChannel=2&videoId=74008 (October 16, 2008).
39. Alison Ames, Management and Behavior of Polar Bears in Captivity (S.L.:
UFAW, 1990), 6, Anonymous, “Mammals Bred in Captivity during 1995/1996 and
Multiple Generation Births,” International Zoo Yearbook 36 (1998): 518–519, Koen
Margodt, The Welfare Ark: Suggestions for a Renewed Policy in Zoos (Brussels: Brussels University Press, 2000), 31–32, Bruno Van Puijenbroeck, “Nieuws over enkele
zoogdieren uit onze collectie,” Zoo 4 (1980): 119–120.
40. Charles T. Feazel, White Bear: Encounters with the Master of the Arctic Ice (New
York: Ballantine Books, 1990), 51, 60–63, 195. For a mother leaving her den with
two cubs in their natural environment, see Anonymous, “Mother Polar Bear and
Cubs Emerging from Den—BBC Planet Earth,” BBCWorldwide 2008, www.youtube.
com/watch?v=OwZH_aT0FGI&feature=fvsr> (January 6, 2010). The mother’s behavior stands in sharp contrast with that of Vera at Nürnberg Zoo.
41. Roger Boyes, “Celebrity Bear Knut to get ‘Racy’ Italian Playmate in Berlin Zoo,” Times Online 2009, www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article6742078.ece (November 24, 2009).
42. Ros Clubb and Georgia Mason, “Captivity Effects on Wide-ranging Carnivores,” Nature 425 (October 2003): 473.
43. Georgia Mason, “Stereotypies: A Critical Review,” Animal Behavior 41:
1015–1037. Regarding stereotypical behavior developing in Knut, see for example
quinn168, “Knut the Suffering Polar Bear,” You Tube 2009, www.youtube.com/
watch?v=YWtxqerp1mA (November 24, 2009).
44. Search on polar bears in app.isis.org/abstracts/abs.asp (October 1, 2008).
45. L. Kolter, “European Collection Planning for Bears,” in EEP Yearbook 1994/95
including the Proceedings of the 12th EEP Conference, Poznan 30th June— 2nd July
1995, ed. F. Rietkerk, K. Brouwer and S. Smits (Amsterdam: EAZA/EEP Executive
Office, 1995), 432.
46. Hawley, “Polar Bear Turned Cash Cow,” and Boyes, “Celebrity Bear Knut.”
47. For an excellent explanation of the concepts of stress, frustration, and boredom, see Françoise Wemelsfelder, Animal Boredom: Towards an Empirical Approach of
Animal Subjectivity (Utrecht: Elinkwijk, 1993).
48. Trevor Poole and Graham Law, Inexpensive Ways of Improving Zoo Enclosures
for Mammals (Potters Bar: Universities Federation for Animal Welfare [UFAW],
1996), 1–6.
49. Arnold S. Chamove, Geoffrey R. Hosey, and Peter Schaetzel, “Visitors Excite
Primates in Zoos,” Zoo Biology 7 (1988): 359–368.
50. Tudge, Last Animals at the Zoo, 80–81, 86–87.
51. See e.g. Robert Lacy, “Zoos and the Surplus Problem: An Alternative Solution,” Zoo Biology 10 (1991): 293–297 and Robert Lacy, “Culling Surplus Animals
for Population Management” in Ethics on the Ark, 187–194.
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Koen Margodt
52. Donald Lindburg and Linda Lindburg, “Success Breeds a Quandary: To Cull
or Not to Cull” in Ethics on the Ark, 199.
53. Ben Westerveld and Robert van Herk, “Ethiek leeft onder dierentuinpersoneel. Workshops tijdens Harpij-congres,” De Harpij, 19, no. 4 (2000): 27–28.
54. William Conway, “Entering the 21st century,” in Zoos in the 21st Century, 18.
55. Hatchwell, Rübel, Dickie, West and Zimmermann, “Conclusion: The Future
of Zoos,” 352.
56. James Rachels, “Why Animals Have a Right to Liberty,” in Animal Rights and
Human Obligations, ed. Tom Regan and Peter Singer (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice
Hall, 1976, 1989), 128–129.
57. Wemelsfelder, Animal Boredom, 95–99.
58. See www.elephants.com (October 31, 2008).
59. Zaa Nkweta, “Taiping Four,” Carte Blanche 2005, www.carteblanche.co.za/
Display/Display.asp?Id=2816 (October 12, 2008). See also Shirley McGreal, “Victory for IPPL: “Taiping Four” Gorillas Return to Cameroon!,” IPPL 2007, www.ippl.
org/taiping-four-home.php (October 12, 2008).
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CHAPTER TWO
Nooz:
Ending Zoo Exploitation
Lisa Kemmerer
Introduction
This chapter highlights several criticisms of zoos, then provides a vision for
new zoos: “nooz.” Offering a new name to these institutions makes a clear
break from the old model, which is fundamentally exploitative. The common
denominator between zoos and nooz is that both foster nonhumans who are
neither domestic pets nor farmed animals—they keep “wild” animals. Nooz
are nonexploitative, benevolent, and are designed for nonhumans, to provide
safe-haven for those individuals who have been misused by zoos or science, or
injured by humans. This essay also explores “benevolent” reasons for keeping
nonhuman animals in zoos, such as captive breeding programs and injured
wildlife, and acceptable parameters for nooz, including such topics as retribution for previous exploitation and the problem of carnivory.
Zoos
Capture and Confinement
In order to understand the importance of nooz, we must first be familiar with
some of the damage that is inherent in zoos. Animals in zoos are used for
science, captive breeding, perpetuation of species, education, entertainment,
and profit. Ultimately, zoo confines nonhuman animals for human beings.
37
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Some zoos cause comparatively more harm to captive nonhumans, but all
zoos exploit nonhuman individuals for human ends.
Even the casual visitor is likely to suspect that keeping an elephant alone
in a small, stale enclosure is morally questionable. This is but the tip of the
iceberg. Capturing elephants for zoos continues to contribute to the hasty
disappearance of wild elephants. The Animal Welfare Institute (AWI)
recently reported that U.S. zoos gained permission from authorities in
Swaziland to capture and import eleven wild elephants, further decimating
dangerously depleted herds, reducing Swaziland elephant populations by a
whopping twenty-five percent.
Elephants have a complicated social structure, which is critical to proper
social development. Baby elephants
stay within 15 feet of their mothers for nearly all of their first eight years
of life . . . When an elephant dies, its family members engage in intense
mourning and burial rituals, conducting weeklong vigils over the body,
carefully covering it with earth and brush, revisiting the bones for years
afterward, caressing the bones with their trunks, often taking turns rubbing
their trunks along the teeth of a skull’s lower jaw, the way living elephants
do in greeting.1
Elephants are captured young, when they should be near their mothers, and
transported thousands of miles to zoos around the world. Elephants, like
humans, live in community and engage in activities that cannot be replicated in a zoo setting—no matter how wonderful the enclosure. Elephants
enjoy large herds and hundreds of miles when living in the wild. How many
elephants can one zoo keep? Can zoos allow the dead to decompose on site
so that elephants can perform mourning rituals?
Zoo requirements for elephants are 400 sq. ft. indoors and 1,800 square
feet outdoors, roughly the size of six parking spaces.2 Sixty percent of zookept elephants suffer from painful and dangerous foot ailments caused by
standing on unnatural surfaces,3 as was the case for Bunny, a zoo reject who
had been housed alone for most of her life:
Several years ago, Bunny began to show signs of foot problems. Complications
from foot infection [are] the number one killer of captive elephants. Elephant
feet are not designed for standing for prolonged periods on hard surfaces. They
are made for walking on natural substrate. Elephants love to walk—miles every day. But most captive elephants don’t have that opportunity. Too much
time spent on concrete, restricted exercise, poor foot care, and obesity result
in some of the chronic conditions that contribute directly to life-threatening
foot infection.4
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Nooz: Ending Zoo Exploitation 39
It is not surprising that elephants, who live for seventy years in the wild, generally do not live half as long in captivity.5 The AWI notes that pachyderms,
one of the longest-lived animals in the wilds, die young in captivity due to a
lack of exercise, inadequate diet, poor living conditions, neglect, loneliness,
and depression.6
Capturing wild elephants (to replace those who die young) also contributes to the escalating problem of rogue elephants. Rogues kill people and
destroy villages, kill and rape rhinoceroses, and display antisocial behaviors
previously unrecorded among elephant populations.7 Research scientists (see
Gay Bradshaw’s work, for example) note that rogue elephants lack the social
structure necessary to maintain civil behavior due to human interference
with wild herds, destroying their social structures.
On what moral grounds do we travel to foreign countries, capture individuals, and transport them back to our land for our purposes? (This sounds
vaguely familiar.) It is heartening that half a dozen zoos have eliminated
their elephant exhibits in the last decade (including the San Francisco
Zoo), while several more are in the process of eliminating elephant exhibits
(including the Bronx Zoo). Unfortunately, seven other zoos are investing
heavily (hundreds of millions of dollars) in “improved” elephant exhibits.8 If
we move away from the exploitative model provided by zoos, and consider
what is just, compassionate, and therefore what constitutes the moral high
ground, elephants “should be left to wander freely with their families and
friends through their native savannahs, playing in watering holes and mud
pits, and interacting with one another as they choose.”9
Orcas suffer a similar fate, and like elephants, “Orcas are big business:
wild-caught Orcas can net their captors a cool $1 million apiece.”10 Russian
authorities limit the number of orcas that may be taken from Russian waters
to ten orcas per year. After capture, these giant mammals are forced to switch
from swimming freely to capture mackerel and salmon, to bleak holding
pens in crowded cities around the world. They are taken from bonded family
groups, in which they communicate with a specific dialect, travel, socialize,
and forage as a group, and placed in isolated, empty tanks, where not even
the water that surrounds them shows any sign of life.11
Dolphins are among the most intelligent and active animals, swimming
up to forty miles a day, and remaining in motion even when sleeping. Like
orcas, dolphins are social creatures, living in pods and tend their young for
four or five years. Most females never leave their birth pod.
Humans hold an estimated one thousand captive dolphins snatched from
their home in the sea.12 As with orcas, capture entails pursuit to exhaustion.
A net is then lowered, the pod is trapped, and the dolphins are pulled from
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the water. Dolphins between the age of two and four are kept; the rest are
thrown back. “Some drop dead on the deck, from shock. Many are injured.”13
53 percent of
dolphins who survive the violent capture die within 90 days. The average life
span of a dolphin in the wild is 45 years; yet half of all captured dolphins die
within their first two years of captivity. The survivors last an average of only 5
years in captivity. Every seven years, half of all dolphins in captivity die from
capture shock, pneumonia, intestinal disease, ulcers, chlorine poisoning, and
other stress-related illnesses.14
Yet we continue to capture dolphins from the seas to replace the dead.
Captured dolphins are generally kept in twenty-five square foot concrete
tanks. They have nowhere to swim, nowhere to dive, no family, no pods, and
they cannot use sonar between such close walls.15 Captive dolphins often swim
silently in repetitive circle patterns, with their eyes closed, the equivalent of
swaying and pacing for confined land animals. Some are so bored that they
bang their heads against walls, trying to create stimuli in their stale environment.16 Dolphins, who can live forty-five years in the wild, live just a little over
five years in captivity, and only a few of those years are captive years.
Georgia has built a new state-of-the-art aquarium for large sea mammals.
But whales and dolphins are “large, intelligent, long-lived, socially complex
mammals, predators” who often hunt cooperatively and can swim “a hundred
miles in a day.”17 Whatever state-of-the-art enclosures we might devise, such
creatures are “inherently unsuited to display in zoos . . . because too much of
their behavior is compromised by confinement.”18
Elephants, orcas, and dolphins are captured and sold because people pay
to stare at them in captivity; these great beasts significantly increase revenue
to zoos, marine parks, and aquariums. In the process, their life expectancy
is vastly reduced, and their quality of life is destroyed, often to the point of
stereotypically neurotic behaviors.19 Capture upsets and harms wild populations, and wild animals often suffer from illnesses and injuries in captivity.
While newer pens for elephants and orcas are much larger, and lovely to the
human eye, compared to the African savanna, or the Pacific ocean, these
enclosures are akin to a human locked in single-car garage, with an open top,
a few toys, and food and water, for the rest of their life.
Those who suggest that perhaps one day the natural environment will
be so devastated that confinement in zoos will be preferable, need to ask
themselves if they would prefer to take their chances in a diminished natural
environment, or be captured by aliens—some other species—and kept in a
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garage-like pen for the rest of their life, without any other option being offered, and without hope of escape.
Disposal
While capture and the long-term effects of confinement are daunting moral
problems, disposal of unwanted animals is yet more problematic for zoos. Zoo
inmates who readily reproduce need not be captured from the wild. Instead
they must be disposed of when they reach puberty.
Animals exploited by zoos are usually discarded when they are no longer
profitable. Many zoos depend on baby animals to attract paying customers.
Young adults are discarded to make room for a new crop of attractive babies.
Since the public will not tolerate zoos killing animals, these young hopefuls
are sold to dealers, who in turn sell them to research laboratories, roadside
petting zoos, circuses, canned hunts, or into the “exotic pet” trade.20
Beanie, a gibbon long under the care of the International Primate Protection
League (IPPL), was born in a zoo. He was cute when young, and zoo visitors
enjoyed watching him through the bars. But as one might predict, he grew up
to be just another adult gibbon, and was sold to a research laboratory, where he
became very ill. As a result of his illness, he became both blind and epileptic.21
Once disabled, even research facilities were no longer interested in Beanie, and
if IPPL had not lobbied for his life, he would have been euthanized.
“Zoo” animals are also sold to circuses, where normal species behavior is
replaced with contrived acts for the sake of personal profit through the use
of negative reinforcement. “The tools of the trade today are much the same
as the tools used by trainers in the past: whips, bullhooks, metal bars, chains,
electric prods, muzzles, human fists.”22 Kelly Tansy, a former Ringling Brothers performer, reported to the Performing Animal Welfare Society at a press
conference in Sacramento:
I saw an elephant being beaten in what appeared to be a disciplinary action.
The beating was so severe that the elephant screamed. I have come to realize,
through all the circuses that I have worked for, that mistreatment of animals is
a standard part of training and is thought to be a “necessary” part of exhibiting
them. I have seen chimps locked in small cages constantly when not performing; elephants chained continuously; and even animals being beaten during
performances . . . . There is no way that an animal can even begin to fulfill a
decent life while traveling on the road with the circus.23
It is not surprising that wild animals exploited in circuses sometimes rebel
against those who restrain and manipulate them. When they do, they are
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destroyed. Between 1990 and 2004, more than one hundred people were
killed, and forty-three injured, by captive elephants.24 Tyke, a twenty-oneyear-old elephant, “was riddled with nearly 100 bullets before dying in
the streets of Honolulu after she killed her trainer and tore out of a circus
tent.”25 Anyone who pays a zoo entrance-fee shares responsibility for Tyke’s
(and Beanie’s) terrifying, prolonged, and painful existence at the hands of
humans.
Still other “zoo animals” are shipped off to canned hunts or safari parks
where trophy hunters pay large sums to shoot “exotic” animals. The hunted
are trapped in a fence, with no way to escape. Accounts of these “hunts” are
gruesome, with incompetent “hunters” firing at animals who have no hope
of escape.
Sanctuaries for wild animals are chronically full to capacity, partly because
zoos perpetually breed animals in order to attract visitors to see cute babies.
Alan Green, an investigative journalist who wrote Animal Underworld,
documented zoos “looking to rid themselves of six hundred mammals, nearly
four hundred reptiles, thousands of fish, hundreds of birds, and a variety of
invertebrates” on a single day.26
Nooz
Nooz will not purposefully seek out prisoners from the wilds, or breed prisoners to entertain human beings with cute baby animals. What will nooz do,
what will nooz not do, and why?
Captive Breeding
In the United States alone, more than 1,000 species of plants and animals
are endangered or threatened.27 We lose at least one species of plant or animal every twenty minutes, roughly 27,000 species a year.28 In light of this
horrifying reality, most people believe that zoos are helping to preserve the
endangered, that zoos have the best interest of animals at heart, that they
save lives and species. Most people defend captive breeding on the assumption that such programs benefit those who are bred. Is this so?
Captive breeding and subsequent re-introduction of a threatened species is
an important and in some cases very successful tool for species conservation.
Critics point to the need to conserve/restore habitat, list examples of failures,
decry the cost, and argue we should rescue species before they are on the brink
of oblivion. Fair enough. But, captive breeding saved the bison. Wolves roam
Yellowstone and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the Peregrine Falcon is off
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the endangered species list, golden-lion tamarins thrive in the Brazilian forests,
whooping cranes perform their mating dances along river banks in the west,
and many more species might similarly be rescued. Zoos, botanical gardens and
aquaria have found new purpose and direction, providing a safety net when
other protective measures have failed. . . .
Once places for people to stare at “curiosities,” [z]oos today are centers of
captive breeding and opportunities for public education to heighten awareness
about endangered species.29
The Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) reports, with regard to
amphibians, that “The zoo and aquarium community is working together to
ensure that this entire class of organisms continues to exist,” and with regard
to sea life, that “AZA-accredited aquariums and zoos are vital participants
in advancing ocean conservation science and education.” The AZA claims,
“Through our collective conservation, education and research programs, elephants in our care play an essential role in the survival of the species in Africa and Asia.” Not surprisingly, most people accept AZA claims, and both
zoos and aquariums are widely praised for their munificence and beneficial
work for those very individuals they imprison and exploit.
But a great deal is lost for wild animals that are captured and exploited
for breeding programs. They lose their freedom, autonomy, families, familiar
companions, and homes. Basically, they lose everything that is of meaning
to most of us, short of their bodily existence. Are such programs in the best
interest of those who are captured and imprisoned? Are they deprived in this
manner for their benefit?
Ultimately, captive breeding schemes have little to do with the individuals who are captured and imprisoned as pawns to our purposes. Captive
breeding exploits reproductive abilities. Individuals are stripped of all that is
meaningful in exchange for being manipulated sexually—in exchange for being bred by humans. Captive breeding stems from a human interest in genetic
diversity—a biological state that we deem beneficial to us. Furthermore, we
enjoy having these species in “our” world.
Offspring from captive breeding often fall victim to the same fate as their
endangered ancestors because of the ongoing and core human problems of
overpopulation, greed, and indifference. Though capturing and breeding
elephants is generally good fun for humans, who get to gape at them and
their offspring, we must ultimately change our own behavior if we are to save
elephants, or any other species. Manipulating other species in our breeding
programs is not a viable solution to the ongoing problem of human selfishness,
hubris, tendency to over-consume and over-breed, and general ignorance of
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the web of life, the earth’s carrying capacity, and our rightful place as land
animals, mammals, and great apes on planet earth.
Consider the proboscis monkey, of which only about 200 remain.30 Rather
than focus on zoo breeding programs, we must ask, “Why is the proboscis
monkey at risk?” Answers are clear. We have decimated their habitat. Our
expanding numbers have encroached on the forests while logging and hunting for profit have driven the proboscis monkey nearly to extinction. Is
captive breeding a reasonable answer when these gentle primates no longer
have anywhere to live in their native Borneo? If we truly have their interests in mind, will we capture those who remain, haul them away to foreign
lands, and instigate captive breeding, or will we take measures to curb human
population growth and prevent human encroachment on to proboscis monkey lands, take measures that will prevent the need to hunt and log in these
areas, and launch vigorous programs to prevent poaching?
Consider Mexican wolves, who once thrived on abundant elk, deer, and
many smaller animals in the forests, grasslands, and shrublands of northcentral Mexico, southeastern Arizona, southwest Texas, and Southern New
Mexico. Cattle ranching boomed in the nineteenth century, overgrazing
devastated habitat. Human hunters competed with wolves for the remaining wildlife, and of course also did not want wolves feeding on their profits—their calves. This led to strong anti-wolf sentiment, and “the Mexican
wolf was killed off by ranchers and farmers.”31
Mexican wolves were ultimately placed on the endangered species list. A
trapper captured a pregnant Mexican wolf and four males for captive breeding. Some fifty zoos joined the breeding program for Mexican wolves.32
Nonetheless, our ongoing distaste for wolves, rooted in our taste for cowflesh and bolstered by a fear that some wolf might eat a cow (or an elk)
before we can, persists. Human greed is remarkable; while we will defend
our own right to eat other animals even though such a diet kills us, we are
unwilling to allow true carnivores what they need to survive. We trap and
shoot predators as a matter of course in ranching lands. Consequently, many
captive-bred wolves, once released, were shot.
101 wolves were released, of which twenty-three were soon killed by humans, and another nine were killed by careless and speedy drivers.33 Perhaps
most discouraging, Fish and Wildlife Services “has authorized the removal
of 70 Mexican wolves over the past decade at the behest of public lands
livestock ranchers.”34 “Fewer than fifty-five endangered Mexican gray wolves
remain in the wolf recovery area of New Mexico and Arizona.”35 Unless we
curb human population growth, slow our pace of life, and educate ourselves
about animals who are driven to the brink of extinction by human expan-
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sion, greed, and indifference, captive bred animals—and endangered species
in general—do not have much hope for survival. We must somehow come to
understand that we do not have a god-given or evolutionary right to exploit
all that exists just because we can.
Common sense suggests that we would do well to stop enslaving other
animals for our purposes (breeding programs), and attack species problems at
their roots. Inevitably, human actions cause species depletion, and endanger
diversity. We need to change our own lives and outlook.
The morality of captive breeding is yet more questionable when we
examine the fate of “successful” breeding programs. Wolves were just removed from our current and fast-growing list of endangered species. Idaho,
Montana, and Wyoming, the states where these wolf populations live, are
now entrusted to “manage” wolves in order to maintain this newly energized
species. However, the governor of Idaho, Butch Otter, doesn’t seem much
interested in wolf conservation: He noted that the “uninvited and unwelcome population of wolves in Idaho clearly has gotten out of hand,” and
announced: “I’m prepared to bid for that first ticket to shoot a wolf myself.”36
Montana seems to think similarly. Mike Volesky, advisor for governor Brian
Schweitzer, noted that “Montana could have a public wolf hunt” soon.37 And
they did. Meanwhile, Wyoming’s governor, Dave Freudenthal, commented
that reducing wolf packs has always been his state’s objective.38 If Mexican
wolves had thrived, they would not have been treated any differently. We
want some wolves, but not very many. We want diversity, and we are delighted to open fire on any number we deem to be excessive—never mind
that their numbers are miniscule when compared to our own.
It is morally suspect to capture, breed, and release individuals because
we prefer to have them in this world—in controlled numbers—much more
controlled than our own numbers. It is highly morally questionable to breed
and release naïve individuals into hostile environments rife with poachers
and rushing traffic. It is morally reprehensible to breed and release individuals—on the grounds that we would like more of them in “our” world—and
then make these same creatures targets for our deadly “sport.”
Some would argue that we do not do this for the individuals themselves,
or even the species as a whole, but on behalf of the environment and ecological systems in general. Perhaps we can better explore the morality of such
actions on behalf of the overall natural world, by replacing Mexican wolves
and proboscis monkeys with human beings. If captive breeding is in the best
interest of the individuals involved, then we would doubtless do the same for
human beings, all else being equal. But the last purebred Maori (indigenous
to New Zealand) died at the end of the twentieth century. No breeding
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program was proposed or created—though we would not have needed to
imprison Maoris, or strip them of all that they deemed meaningful save their
bodily existence, to create such a breeding program. Most of us readily agree
that it would be quite strange, and immoral, to control and manipulate human breeding—even if we lose the Maori forever as part of our biological diversity. Though we are primates, people are understood to be individuals first
and foremost, not a race or a species. Is a single Mexican wolf an individual
first and foremost, or a species? If it is right to sacrifice individuals for the
overall ecological system, why is this not right with regard to human beings?
Furthermore, if this is right with regard to human beings, then we had best
get busy and reduce our numbers—by any means necessary—on behalf of the
overall ecological system.
We are not eager to give up anything, to make any personal sacrifices,
but we are quick to deprive other species of everything meaningful in their
lives for our breeding ends. If we are to interfere on behalf of species, we
must not harm or damage individuals. To protect species, we must protect
individuals by maximizing habitat. This is likely to assure the continuance
of endangered species in the long run—not for our good, but for theirs,
because they exist, strive to persist, and prefer not to be killed or captured.
Given adequate environments, animals will thrive. Of course we must act
before it is too late for a given species to rebound. We must set ourselves
to be quicker to notice when our actions harm individuals of other species,
and we must show a willingness to change our ways on behalf of individuals
and ecosystems. This type of endangered species program will take much
more work and dedication from all of us—personal sacrifice on the part of
human beings—and will require an international effort. Instead of manipulating other creatures in zoos, this plan requires us to reexamine and alter
our lives. No wonder we have not chosen this more plausible method of
protecting individuals of endangered species.
Nooz will not participate in captive breeding programs because such programs are fundamentally selfish, and because there is a much more effective
way to preserve species. If we wish to protect eco-diversity, we must preserve
habitat, and protect individuals who live within those habitats.
Exploited and Damaged Nonhumans
Nooz will provide exploited or human-damaged “wild” animals with secure,
spacious quarters where they can live out their lives in comparative peace, as
partial reparation for past wrongs done. In this sense, nooz will function like
contemporary sanctuaries for farmed animals and domestic “pets,” designed
and maintained for residents, not for human gawkers.
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It is time to release exploited unfortunates from their cages, whether zoo
cages, lab cages, circus cages, or cages in private homes. It would be grossly
immoral to release all of these creatures into unfamiliar surrounding if they
are unlikely to survive. One of the most tragic victims of such human stupidity was Lucy, used for sign language studies, and brought up like a human
child in the home of the Temerlins. By the time Lucy was ten, she had grown
dangerously strong, and so the study was terminated. “The Temerlins decided
it would be best if Lucy were released in Africa. The trouble was that Africa
was as foreign to Lucy as it would be to any ten-year-old who had never been
outside Oklahoma.”39 Though volunteers in Africa did what they could to
prepare Lucy for life in the jungle, she was frightened in her new surroundings and fearful of other chimpanzees. She “repeatedly signed ‘Please help.
Lucy wants out. Please help’.”40 Nonetheless, Lucy was released and her body
was soon found, minus hands and feet. The humans she had come to trust
had betrayed her one final time.41
Animals cannot be released into the wild if they are not suited to survival in such surroundings. There are alternatives. The Sugarloaf Dolphin
Sanctuary, located in the Florida Keys, provides an example of what nooz
might accomplish. Though there was dissent in the rank at Sugarloaf, as
well as conflict with legal authorities, this is perhaps to be expected in the
unchartered realms of animal liberation, realms that inherently challenge
conventional practices. This sanctuary protected and maintained individuals who had been wrongfully exploited by humans, and as a result, could be
released into the wilds. These dolphins were kept in lagoons with gates that
opened onto the ocean, and could be opened if it was determined that the
dolphins could survive in the wild. The dolphins lived in natural sea waters,
and had only to swim from their opened gates if they were up to the task of
survival in the wilds, allowing residents to choose between returning to the
open sea, or remaining in more familiar surroundings, where they are tended
by humans. Like Sugarloaf, nooz can create safe, natural places for captive
animals to exist for their own sake, not for human entertainment, “education,”
or profit, with the hope of rehabilitation and release always in the fore.
The Elephant Sanctuary, in Hohenwald, Tennessee, is an excellent and
very successful example of how nooz might tend those wronged by zoos and
circuses. “Since 1995, twenty-four elephants have found sanctuary in Tennessee. They live out their lives with the freedom to roam the natural habitat
of the Sanctuary, making new friends and special relationships as the years
pass.”42 The first elephant confiscated by the USDA, Delhi, was sent to The
Tennessee Elephant Sanctuary; later Lota and Misty arrived after a USDA
lawsuit against the Hawthorn Corporation. Ultimately, The Tennessee
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Sanctuary rescued eleven elephants from the Hawthorn Corporation, which
was found guilty of nineteen counts of cruelty to elephants.43
Each elephant arrives at the Tennessee sanctuary with his or her own horrific story of capture and separation from family and community, transportation in tight confinement and chains, further confinement, illness or sever
injury, violence in response to “dangerous” behavior, and ultimately, rejection. The Elephant Sanctuary now houses nineteen such misused elephants,
most of whom have come from zoos. They are not “used” for human purposes;
they live in their own community, sharing time with one another as they
choose, and wandering or grazing at will:
The Elephant Sanctuary in Hohenwald, Tennessee, is the nation’s largest
natural-habitat refuge developed specifically to meet the needs of endangered elephants. It is a non-profit organization, licensed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, and
accredited by the Association of Sanctuaries, designed specifically for old,
sick or needy elephants who have been retired from zoos and circuses. Utilizing more than 2700 acres, it provides three separate and protected, naturalhabitat environments for Asian and African elephants. Our residents are not
required to perform or entertain for the public; instead, they are encouraged
to live like elephants.44
Since March of 1995, The Elephant Sanctuary has established “the first
prototype refuge representing the future of enlightened captive elephant
management.”45 In the process, they have acquired “2,700 acres of diverse habitat with caretaker residence, complete with a 25-acre spring-fed
lake.”46 For the safety and well-being of the elephants, they have added a
550-acre perimeter “people” fence, a 500-acre corral, a 2-stall quarantine
barn, a 6-stall Asian elephant barn, a 5-stall African elephant barn, a
6,000-square-foot hay barn, quarantine barns and facilities to accommodate elephants that have been exposed to and suffer from tuberculosis,
and they have purchased a semi-trailer to transport rescued elephants.
The Elephant Sanctuary has rescued nine endangered Asian elephants
and three endangered African elephants. They have created educational
outreach presentations for thousands of school children, both nationally
and internationally, and are members of Project DIANE, a live, interactive, educational teleconferencing computer network. Additionally, they
are members of The Association of Sanctuaries, they are licensed with
the United States Department of Agriculture, and the Tennessee Wildlife
Resources Agency. They maintain a 22-member staff, have a year-round
internship program, a bi-monthly Volunteer Day, maintain a membership
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of 76,000, and have established the “Save Jenny Trust” to ensure ongoing
care for the elephants.
The Elephant Sanctuary has also created innovative healthcare treatments for elephants suffering from life-threatening osteomyelitis, and established the first Elephant Health and Welfare Institute. Toward further
advancements in our understanding of how we might help these previously misused elephants, The Elephant Sanctuary plans to install twenty
additional field cameras around the elephant habitat to observe behavior.
They also hope to pioneer non-invasive research on Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder in wild-caught elephants living in captivity, and to create a nonintrusive education center. Of course they will also continue to rescue
old, sick, or needy elephants, and offer them a long-term home, where
they will no longer be exploited for human ends, and with this in mind,
they hope to expand their facility to accommodate up to 100 elephants.
Finally, they are planning the “research and execution of the reintroduction of de-programmed captive elephants into a semi-wild environment
in Southeast Asia.”47
Nooz will be designed for residents, not for visitors. Animals in nooz
will exist for their own sake, not for human entertainment, “education,”
or profit. Nooz will provide safe haven for wronged individuals, refuge for
those who are damaged and disinherited. Nooz will be places of nurturance
and safekeeping, a place where we might redress some of our wrongs against
other creatures. Ultimately, if captive nonhumans can be rehabilitated and
returned to the wilds, nooz will see to their release.
Healing the Wounded
Nooz might play an important and much needed role in tending wounded
animals. It is difficult to find a veterinarian who will treat a garter snake, or
who knows how to handle a wounded bat. Nooz will employ veterinarians
who specialize in the care of wild animals.
Veterinary care will not be provided by way of intruding in the natural
lives of animals, but as another form of partial reparation for harms done.
It is our responsibility to clean up after ourselves, to tend the wounded and
repair the damage we do to others through our self-absorption and ostentatious lifestyles. Humans mow over deer and porcupines, skunks and starlings,
toads and garter snakes with their rushing automobiles. We drive as if our
appointments were more important than their lives. Because we do so much
damage, nooz will remain open twenty-four hours a day to tend the wounded,
whether those harmed by cruel children, or those maimed by rushing motorists, nooz will help make amends.
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Lisa Kemmerer
Nooz will also be responsible for noting when permanently damaged
nonhumans—such as those missing wings or legs—appear to be seriously depressed, with no hope of improvement in their living condition. Just as surely
as I know when a chicken, dog, or cat is suffering, deteriorating, or depressed
in my care, nooz veterinarians will be alert to depressed patients. No matter
how fine the pen, no matter how private or natural the settings, some birds
will fail to thrive if they can never fly again, or must live alone, and some
animals will never be happy in confinement, or without companions, or the
hunt. Such animals will not be forced to continue living in nooz when they
are miserable.
Nooz will not assume that life is always preferred to death. Nooz specialists
will be alert for nonhumans who are languishing unhappily with no hope of
improvement. If we can offer no renewed hope, we must let them go. Nooz
staff will always have the resident’s best interests in mind.
Sedentary Citizens: A Symbiotic Relationship?
If an individual, say an amphibian, scarcely moves from one month to the
next, and subsists only on vegetation, is there anything wrong with harboring such a being in a nooz for human entertainment? In exchange for human
gaping, the amphibian will be fed and watered, and sheltered from harm.
The living quarters will be large enough that the resident is in no way restricted—their range must be no larger than the quarters provided. Is this a
fair exchange? Is any harm done if we benefit by watching this creature lie
about, and they benefit by having their basic needs provided?
We cannot know if any harm is done to a sedentary creature through such
captivity. We cannot ask such a creature if he or she is as happy in captivity
as in the wild. We cannot ask if an amphibian prefers familiar home territory, and the challenge of foraging for their own food, to the safety of nooz
confinement.
We can know, if we remove such an animal, say a sea urchin, from a natural setting, we change that ecosystem. Because we have taken that urchin,
another urchin’s eggs will not be fertilized by our captive sea urchin, and a
certain otter, who would have eaten this particular sea urchin, must seek
another dinner. Whenever we remove an individual from an ecosystem, we
affect that ecosystem, and so it is better not to take sedentary creatures into
captivity.
Inasmuch as we cannot know the preferences of other creatures, it is best
to let them be. Inasmuch as humans tend to be exploitative, and to imagine
that other creatures are not harmed by our actions, it is best to keep our
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hands off of other creatures. History suggests that we are not to be trusted,
and that it is best to leave such creatures in their natural surroundings.
Captive Carnivory
Carnivores imprisoned in zoos are fed on other creatures, many of whom
are raised and killed for this purpose. Bethany Dopp, who worked at ZooMonana in Billings, spent time in a bunny breeding facility, tossed “meat balls”
to wolves at feeding time, watched eagles feed on dead lab rats, and was asked
to chop up gassed mice and feed their bodies to small carnivores.
Dopp notes that zoo visitors are unaware of the bunny breeding facility,
housed in a small shed where rabbits are allowed to breed at will. When a
doe gives birth, she is caged with her offspring. Once weaned, most babies are
held in the same cage until they reach four or five pounds, at which point her
young are fed to other prisoners at the zoo. When Dopp asked zoo workers
how old the rabbits are when they are killed, the response was, “four to five
pounds.” Apparently rabbits age by the pound at ZooMontana.
Some baby bunnies are rotated into the petting barn, where children enjoy the bunnies until they reach four to five pounds, at which point they are
fed to carnivores, and replaced by younger bunny-fodder. Dopp writes:
They only use white rabbits so that they can swap the bunnies out at the “4
to 5 pounds” food range without upsetting visitors. Then the kids can’t say
“what happened to that little brown and white spotted bunny I loved?” They
don’t want to have to say, “It’s been gassed and fed to the Golden Eagle,
Jenny.”48
At ZooMontana, before rabbits and mice are fed to other zoo prisoners, they
are gassed
in a red cooler that has been modified into a little gas chamber. They added
a clear window on top and a hole for the gas tube. The window was so they
could see when the “breeder” rabbits were dead. They jokingly referred to it as
the “red box of death.” Mice were put into a big plastic jar and gassed, as this
wasted less gas.49
Not all carnivores are big enough to consume a four to five pound rabbit,
so some of the baby rabbits are killed as newborns. Staff call these newborns
“pinkies” because they are naked and blind.50 Mice fill this same need. They
are bred and used to feed smaller carnivores, and ZooMonatana has two long
shelves of cages filled with mice who produce babies until they are too old
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to conceive, at which time they are also fed to zoo prisoners such as snakes,
birds, or wolverines.
For even smaller carnivores, mice are also fed as “pinkies.” “Pinkie mice,”
tiny naked newborn mice are not worth the gas it takes to kill them, so zoo
keepers kill them by smashing the baby mices’ tiny heads between their fingers. This method is cheaper, and they are “only mice,” which means, at the
zoo, that they are only food.51
Rats are also “food” at ZooMontana, particularly for eagles. But rats are
not bred in Billings; they are shipped as corpses from labs in Bozeman. Dopp
remembers:
I asked what sort of lab and was never given an answer other than “I don’t really know.” I said that it seemed weird feeding “lab animals” to “zoo animals,”
and I wanted to know what sort of experiments the rats were used for before
turning into eagle food. I mean, really, what are they testing if they can safely
feed the dead rats to someone else? Once again, I was never given an answer.
One person said they thought it had something to do with breeding different
fur colors, but I only saw white rats.
Dopp’s experience reminded me of a zoo visit when I was a child, in Seattle, where I saw a rabbit sitting in the same cage with a very large snake—
very large. My parents told me that the snake had to eat, too. Even as a small
child I could grant the truth of their response, and I also knew that this was
not a sufficient answer. A live rabbit dropped into a boa constrictor’s cage,
unable to escape, destined to become the snake’s slow-death dinner—on
what grounds did humans decide that this was the proper and right death for
the rabbit, the proper and right meal for the snake?
Wild carnivores kill those who are weak, sick, old, young, injured, or
slow. Zoos provide prisoners with flesh from the bodies of animals who are
perfectly healthy, and who would have contentedly gone on living, had they
not been killed to feed zoo prisoners.
How might we justify sacrificing the lives of hundreds of individuals to
feed a tiger, polar bear, or Orca? Why should one animal, even a “rare”
species, be favored over hundreds of other individuals who are healthy and
prospering? No individual is “rare”—all individuals are unique. Because we
capture and enslaving animals, and make them dependent on us in zoo settings, we also use other animals as expendable flesh. One infringement leads
to the other.
Many humans are omnivores who support the exploitation of farmed
animals with their dollars. They do so out of habit, and because they have acquired a taste for flesh. When we choose to eat flesh, we unnecessarily cause
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extreme suffering and premature death to hens, cattle, turkeys, pigs, fish, and
other creatures. We have no nutritional need to eat animal products; we
have many other options.
In contrast, when a tiger kills a gazelle, she has no other option. She cannot choose to open the cupboard and make vegan lasagna. We can. Carnivores cannot make a compassionate selection from a supermarket shelf. We
can (including anyone reading this book, pretty much everyone else in the
Western World, and millions of others.) True carnivores rightly eat other
creatures because they have no other choice short of death. We do have
other choices, and so the choice to eat flesh, which causes prolonged suffering and pubescent death, is morally problematic.
Humans rarely recognize their cruel exploitation of farmed animals as
such, and so we rarely recognize our cruel exploitation of wild animals on
behalf of true carnivores. While there can be no reasonable moral objection
to one creature eating another when the aggressor has no choice, if we choose
who will be eaten by whom, there is much that might be questioned. True
carnivores must have flesh to survive, and once they are captured and confined, they are removed from their natural place in the food chain. Captive
carnivores cannot select the wounded, old, or the sickly. We decide who
will perish for their sustenance. Those who work at nooz, which cater to
nonhumans and maximize noninterference in the natural world, will not be
responsible for deciding which animals should live, and which should die,
and nooz will therefore not kill animals to provide food for carnivores.
Nonetheless, carnivores may reside at nooz, provided they have been
exploited or harmed by humans and cannot be released into the wild. Nooz
staff will not kill on their behalf. Such carnivores will only be fed the flesh of
those already deceased. Such carnivores will subsist on road kill. As a backup
plan, they can be offered naturally deceased cats, dogs, goats, cows, horses,
and other domestic animals that have died from natural causes, and whose
bodies do not pose a health risk to the carnivores. Finally, should we by some
miraculous measure run short of these sources, we have an indefinite number of human corpses, which are environmentally difficult to dispose of and
could feed captive carnivores indefinitely. Humans who wish to have their
bodies fed to carnivores ought to be granted this option as an alternative to
other expensive and ecologically destructive disposal methods.
While the supply of flesh from roadkill is likely more than adequate for all
captive flesh eaters, provided we establish methods of transporting the deceased to nooz, if an adequate supply of flesh cannot be acquired through the
above three means, nooz cannot keep carnivores. No animals will be killed
under the assumption that they are rightly sacrificed for the life of another
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Lisa Kemmerer
nonhuman. If by some remote chance food cannot be secured for those already deceased, captive carnivores will be euthanized to prevent them from
starving. (If they could have been released, they would have been, so release
is not an option.)
Conclusion
Zoos are fundamentally exploitative. Zoos imprison nonhumans for profit.
They provide entertainment and “education,” including the idea that nonhumans may be imprisoned for our ends. Zoos must be closed down, and nooz
opened to house retired “zoo animals,” “lab animals,” and other “wild” animals who need medical care or rest—especially those who have been harmed
by humans—or exploited by humans such that they are no longer suited for
life in the wild. Nooz residents will have spacious areas in which to live, as
natural as possible, and they will live for their own sakes. Nooz will only keep
carnivores if they can be fed on roadkill or corpses. Nooz will help both children and adults to learn that nohumans must not be caged or exploited for
our profit, entertainment, or education.
Notes
1. Charles Siebert, “An Elephant Crackup?” The Reporter 39, no. 1 (2007): 511.
2. Annie Flanzraich, “Activists Protest Treatment of Elephants in Many Zoos,”
Daily World: Aberdeen Washington, Associated Press, 21 July 2007.
3. Annie Flanzraich, “Activists Protest Treatment of Elephants in Many Zoos,”
Daily World: Aberdeen Washington. Associated Press, 21 July 2007.
4. “Everyone Loves Bunny,” Tennessee Elephant Sanctuary, www.elephants.com/
bunny/bunny.htm (July 5, 2007).
5. Flanzraich, “Activists Protest.”
6. Carol Buckley, “The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee,” form letter, (May
2004), 1–2.
7. Siebert, “An Elephant,” 6.
8. Flanzraich, “Activists Protest.”
9. “Save Swaziland’s Elephants,” AWI Quarterly 52, no. 2 (2003): 20.
10. Erich Hoyt, “Keeping Russia’s Orcas Wild and Free.” AWI Quarterly 52, no.
2 (2003): 6–7.
11. Hoyt, “Keeping Russia’s,” 6.
12. Tom Regan, Empty Cages: Facing the Challenge of Animal Rights (Lanham:
Rowman & Littlefield, 2004), 136.
13. Regan, Empty Cages, 136.
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14. Dee Finney, “The Plight of the Captive Dolphins: the Dream and the Reality,” www.greatdreams.com/eeyore/dolphins.htm (July 1, 2004).
15. Finney, “The Plight.”
17. “Stepping Backwards—Atlanta’s New Aquarium,” Animals International: The
Magazine of the World Society for the Protection of Animals 73 (2006): 20–21.
18. “Stepping Backwards,” 20.
20. “Canned Hunts: Unfair at Any Price,” Fourth ed. Humane Society of the United
States, Booklet, 6.
21. Shirley McGreal, “International Primate Protection League,” form letter
(Spring 2004).
22. Regan, Empty Cages, 130.
23. “Testimony from an Insider,” The Circus: Cruelty for Entertainment, pamphlet.
24. “Cruelty is Not Entertainment,” pamphlet, PETA (People for the Ethical
Treatment of Animals), Norfolk: PETA, 2005.
25. “Cruelty is.”
26. “Canned Hunts,” 6–7.
27. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, “PopPourri,” The Reporter 39, no. 1 (2007):
2.
28. Sierra Club. “PopPourri,” The Reporter 38, no. 3 (2006): 2.
29. “Captive Breeding and Species Introductions,” www.personal.umich.edu/
~dallan/nre220/outline23.htm (4 April 2009).
30. “Caught in the Crosshairs: Wildlife Faces the Population Challenge,” The
Reporter, A Publication of Population Connection 39, no.1 (2007): 12–17.
31. “The Mexican Wolf,” www.boomerwolf.com/mexwolf.htm (April 4, 2009).
32. Tim Vanderpool, “El Lobo’s Long Journey Home: Mexican Wolves Struggle
to Reclaim Territory in the Southwest,” Defenders: The Conservation Magazine of
Defenders of Wildlife (Summer 2006): 14–19.
33. Vanderpool, “El Lobo’s,” 19.
34. “Wolves Under the Gun,” AWI Quarterly 57, no. 2. (Spring 2008): 2.
35. “Wolves Under,” 2.
36. “Administration Moves to Delist Wolves: Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho
Eager to Resume hunts,” In Brief (Spring 2007) 23.
37. “Administration Moves,” 23.
38. “Administration Moves,” 23.
39. Evelyn B. Pluhar, Beyond Prejudice: The Moral Significance of Human and Nonhuman Animals (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 275.
40. Pluhar, Beyond Prejudice, 275.
41. Pluhar, Beyond Prejudice, 275.
42. “The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee,” The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee,
www.elephants.com/aboutSanctuary.php>(4 April 2009).
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56
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
Lisa Kemmerer
“The Elephant.”
“The Elephant.”
“The Elephant.”
“The Elephant.”
“The Elephant.”
Bethany Dopp, pers. com., June 2009.
Dopp.
Dopp.
Dopp.
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CHAPTER THREE
Through a Frame Darkly:
A Phenomenological Critique of Zoos
Bernard Rollin
Three years ago, I received a phone call from a New York Times reporter covering New York City television. After doing a content analysis of the material
covered in a week on New York cable television, he was surprised to find that
the most prevalent topic was animals. Though he was surprised at this result,
I was not. As a lecturer who has done 1,200+ lectures worldwide, mostly on
animal issues, I am often adrenalized and over-stimulated after a lecture, and
seek comfort in television programs, hoping to watch Clint Eastwood shoot a
bad guy. What I most often find is what I am trying to escape—animal topics
and issues. My own community hosts two Animal Planet stations on our cable
system. I also know from living in New York that the only way a person can
engage strangers in conversations is to have a dog or other animal. Even cynical, hard-bitten, seen-it-all New Yorkers melt at the sight of a puppy.
One can only speculate as to why this hunger for animals is ubiquitous. I
do know that in my career as an animal advocate fighting for better animal
welfare for research animals and food animals I have been able to tap this
sentiment to good effect. For example, as part of a group drafting federal
laws assuring proper treatment of laboratory animals, I found that our work
garnered widespread support from across the political spectrum, as does my
current work aimed at eliminating some of the most egregious aspects of
confinement agriculture.
Perhaps what is going on in urbanized society is a longing for greater intercourse with nature. When I lived in New York, I recall meeting a child from
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Harlem who fully believed that concrete was natural and that grass and vegetation were artificial. Fish tanks are famous for their calming effects; hence
their presence in dentists’ offices. There is evidence that pets accelerate recovery from heart attacks, and help prevent their recurrence. Animals can be
utilized to break through the frightful shell in which emotionally disturbed
people are locked, and the brightening of nursing homes by animals is wellestablished. There is a dramatic film of a very old man, silent and grim-faced
and rigid for twenty years, speaking for the first time when handed a puppy,
smiling and intoning “pretty”. Murderers are rehabilitated by working with
horses and dogs. Robert Stroud—the birdman of Alcatraz—was redeemed in
an otherwise violent life by his classic work on birds.
What, in the face of all this, are we to say of zoos? On the surface, they
are a perfect vehicle for filling the need for human-animal interaction.
Where else can an urban child—or for that matter a rural child—encounter
the majesty of the lion, the tiger, the giraffe? And where zoos were once indeed prisons for animals, the enclosures are larger now, more naturalistic. A
field has developed known as “behavioral enrichment,”1 aimed at providing
reasonable approximations of opportunities for animals to “do their thing.”
Animals in zoos live longer on the average than their wild counterparts, are
better nourished, and their health is protected by veterinarians. They are
not typically harmed in experiments or fated to be eaten. In the face of all
this who but an “animal crazy” or a curmudgeon could find anything wrong
with zoos?
Dale Jamieson, in a classic paper entitled “Against Zoos,” has detailed
a number of thoughtful ethical reasons to question zoos.2 In his discussion,
Jamieson considers arguments for zoos based on amusement, education, scientific research, and preservation of species, and concludes, on utilitarian
cost-benefit grounds, that none of these arguments, nor their aggregation,
provide sufficient justification for keeping wild animals in captivity. It would
be difficult, I think, to do better in that arena than Jamieson has done. I
wish to move the critique in a different direction, one rooted in the phenomenology of the zoo experience, to create a different set of reasons against
maintaining zoos.
When I was Ph.D. graduate student in the Columbia University Department of Philosophy during the 1960’s, I went through a very black period
of my life. Polluted air and a great deal of stress in the graduate program
contributed to my suffering severe and chronic asthma, necessitating visits
to the emergency room, sometimes five nights a week. The asthma curtailed
my physical activity, which in turn rendered me more susceptible to asthma.
My physical condition, and the fear asthma endangered, in turn contributed
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Through a Frame Darkly: A Phenomenological Critique of Zoo 59
to the stress of a Kafkaesque graduate program that had 300 students and
only one advisor to talk to students before one was ready to write the dissertation. In one seminar, there were seventy-five students enrolled, yet it was
convened in a room holding twenty. In addition, the comprehensive exams
covered 16,000+ pages of philosophy, and virtually none of the texts were
covered in the courses. I daresay that the treatment of students at Columbia
contributed a great deal to the student willingness to “riot” in 1967. In sum,
though I never got a formal diagnosis, I was seriously depressed and physically
debilitated.
It probably didn’t help that I worked all night and slept 7 am to noon.
When I could not sleep, I grew more depressed. When I was psychologically at my worst, I would go to the Bronx zoo. I believed then, and for the
next 40 years, that I went to the zoo to be cheered up by the contact with
animals. Many times, after all, I was waiting at the gates for the zoo to open.
Yet when I began thinking about this paper, and why I was drawn to the zoo
in my darkest moments, I realized that what was going on psychologically
was nothing like being made happy. It was, rather, more like gloating over
the plight of some beings who were far worse off than I was. Though I was
trapped, caged by my condition, I knew (or at least hoped) that there was an
escape. I had taken and passed the formidable comprehensive exams, and I
planned to seek a job in an unpolluted, non-stressful environment when the
exams were done and I was ready to write. (The prospect of writing held no
fear for me.) In contrast, the animals were eternally trapped, without even
hope of escape. What I thought of as joy was thus better characterized as
spite. I understood my situation; however bad it was, I could hope and even
anticipate better times. The animals, however, were perpetually doomed to
their suffering, with no escape, no hope, no anticipation. In a pathological
and ignoble way, then, I used the animals’ backs as a ladder to climb out of
my own misery.
There is no term in any language expressing that psychological state—
perhaps there should be. There is surely an element of that in people being
drawn to freak shows as well as to excursions to madhouses occurring in the
nineteenth century. The closest term is the German word Schadenfreude—
taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. But what I am discussing is not
Schadenfreude. As Nietzsche perceptively points out, Schadenfreude stems
from feelings of inferiority—the satisfaction comes from the leveling power
of misfortune making those we envy our equal.3 The phenomenon I am describing would better be termed “ontological solace derived from something
being worse off than I am”—surely that could be expressed in one word in
German.
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Now I cannot say for certain that my recollection is accurate. I may well
be reinterpreting my old experience in the light of my current interest in
animal ethics. Against such skepticism I can only say that I have described
what I remember. And I can further buttress that I am accurate by pointing
out that I only once went to a zoo again when I emerged from my situation
in New York, even before I began work in animal ethics. (On that occasion,
I reluctantly took my small son to a zoo at his request.) On the occasion I
did go before turning to animal ethics, I was repulsed and saddened, and left
quickly.
What does all this tell us about zoos and most people in general? Very little. But I think something similar happens more often than non-appreciative
people would be willing to admit. Jamieson quotes Edward Ludwig’s study of
a Buffalo, NY zoo published in 1981.4 According to Ludwig’s reports from
zoo keepers, the terms most often employed by visitors about the animals
are “cute,” “funny-looking,” “lazy,” “dirty,” “weird,” and “strange,” predicates
that bespeak nothing like respect or wonder, but rather come closer to the
state I described. Even “cute,” which seems at first blush positive, is a mark of
dismissive patronizing. In any case, it does not betoken the sort of authentic
connection with animals we argued that people are hungry for.
I am not suggesting that my personal, pathologically-derived use of the zoo
experience is ubiquitous or even wide-spread. I rather wish to argue that, experiences like mine aside, the contact with animals in zoos is pathological in
its own way, fundamentally flawed and inimical to achieving the experience
of encountering animals we alluded to at the beginning of this paper.
In the eighteenth century, rich gentry would tour nature with a picture
frame, subordinating the unbounded dimensions of the natural world to a
contrived limitation. Whatever we might wish to say about what such people
were experiencing, we can affirm with confidence that they were not experiencing nature, but rather reducing it to artifice, and limiting perceptually
what is inherently and intrinsically unlimited. If such people where to boast
of their aesthetic experience of nature, we would scoff. Indeed, we would feel
that rather than capturing the beauty, sublimity, or grandeur of nature, they
were reducing it to, paradoxically, a picture of itself.
Something analogous happens at zoos. Lions, or elephants, are sublime in
nature, inspiring awe and fear. I got a taste of this when I took an open van
tour through Kruger Park, where we were warned in advance that the van
could be charged by an elephant, or attacked by a lion—unlikely but possible.
And the way Kruger park is set up, one may drive through it directly through
the habitat of a dazzling array of species, and, if one is lucky, see them as they
live, in as close to reality as possible, in its terror and majesty. I did in fact see
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an impala with a stick protruding through its side, clearly doomed. We could
drive over hundreds of miles, but were not allowed to leave the vehicle. We
were in a frame, or a cage on wheels, not the animals. We looked upon a
landscape with surprising and limitless possibilities, not one framed by human
artifice, and inherently predictable. Even if I did go to zoos before Kruger,
which I don’t, I never would have gone again after Kruger.
In a zoo, the lion or elephant, to take an obvious case, but also the birds, and
crocodiles, and reptiles and rodents, are framed by us. They are dioramas, not
animals. I recall seeing the white tigers through the glass window at the Mirage
Hotel in Las Vegas, and much to my own amazement was moved to tears, not
at the grandeur of the animals, but at the horror of framing these bundle of
powers for anyone to look at, not having earned the right to do so. Better dead,
I thought, than a caricature of its inherent majesty. Horribly, from a moral
point of view, I felt some sense of justice when Roy of Siegfried and Roy, the
owners and exhibitors of these animals, was mauled by one of them.
In my other writings, I have claimed, following Aristotle, that an animal is
defined by its telos, the set of powers constitutive of its nature—the “pigness
of the pig,” the “lion-ness of the lion.” The animal is what it does, following
its nature as predator, or rooter, or burrower. The tiger in the Mirage window
is not a tiger, but the body of a tiger, not hugely different from a stuffed tiger.
The tiger is a tiger only when it is “burning bright in the forests of the night,”
not languishing waiting for a handout of food in a city no self-respecting tiger
would ever approach, let alone live in.
And, in fact, this is the essence of zoos. Whether truncating the hundred
mile hunting range of a lion to under an acre, or limiting the soaring and prey
scanning of a hawk, the zoo frames the animal for the convenience of an audience that doesn’t care, except to be titillated, briefly amused, and perhaps,
take solace in there being something worse off than they are.
Telos is a concept I resurrected from Aristotle while attempting to construct a viable animal ethic in the late 1970s. Aristotle’s world view was that
of a universe of natural kinds, where the essence of things was what they
did—their natures were their function, end, purpose, and goal. While modern science’s regnant paradigm is the machine, and it attempts to explain
all phenomena in terms of physics mechanically, even biological entities,
Aristotle was at root a biologist, for whom living things and what they did
and how they functioned was the dominant model for reality. Physics, for
Aristotle, was as it were the biology of dead matter—even non-living things
had natures. When one drops a stone, it falls to its natural place, the earth,
because it is primarily made of earth, and the natural place for earth was the
center of the Earth, also the center of the universe.
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It was this concept I took as central to animal ethics. To base moral
obligations to animals—or for that matter to humans—simply on maximizing pleasure and avoiding pain, as utilitarians do, and looking at the results
strictly quantitatively seemed to me too impoverished and austere. Certainly
avoiding pain is important to living things, but at least as important is fulfilling their biological and psychological natures—“fish gotta swim, birds gotta
fly” as the song goes. Telos is the “pigness of the pig” the “cowness of the
cow.” To restrict a bird so it cannot fly probably does not cause it pain in
the ordinary sense, but is surely significantly unpleasant, distressful, an unsurmountable obstacle to its being a bird and a happy bird. Respecting telos
included concerns about pain; the converse is not true. Telos became the
guidepost and benchmark for me in criticizing myriad use of animals in society, be it putting rodents—nocturnal burrowing creatures—in polycarbonate
cages under constant light in research; or social monkeys in single cages;
or sows in stalls 2’x 3’x 7’ for their entire productive life when it is known
that in nature they will cover a mile a day foraging. Society seems to agree
with this approach as it has, worldwide, dismantled confinement agriculture
when it came to understand such agriculture’s violation of telos, or when it
demands “environmental enrichment” for laboratories and zoos.
This account provides a philosophical underpinning for my phenomenological experience of revulsion and sadness at the tigers in the Mirage in Las
Vegas, or dancing bears in circuses. (The latter, when seen at night in their
cages, will endlessly weave in what behaviorists call stereotypical behavior,
behavior epidemic among animals whose telos is violated, particularly in
terms of physical space.)
An animal, on my account, is a bundle of powers, waiting to be actualized.
The tiger in the mirage window is no longer a tiger, with no potential for
tigerness, no more so than if it were kept alive on a respirator.
Zoos celebrate, not the animals, but our mastery of the animals, our ability to override telos. (Circuses go further and actually celebrate the perversion of telos.) They trivialize telos, reducing the lion to “pretty” or “cute”,
the crocodile to “yucky”; the hunting bullet that is an eagle to an empty
cartridge; the whale to an ornament in a fish tank, the monkey to a neurotically compulsive masturbator, at whom we laugh contemptuously. The
panting polar beat atop a fiberglass “iceberg” in desert heat in one zoo I visited is a bitter and eloquent attestation to my point. In zoos, animals are, in
Heidegger’s terminology, “ready at hand”, in other words, there as our tools
for amusement, not in their own teleological magnificence.
What is wrong with zoos, then, is not only what they do to animals, who
experience depression, madness, stereotypy, learned helplessness, but also
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profound “denaturing”. The lion, for example, loses his “lioness.” A friend
of mine owned a tenth generation zoo lion so far removed from lion nature
that he walked the animal, and kept it in a cage with no roof that a real lion
would have escaped from in a heartbeat—this animal never tried.
Would zoos be fine if we artificially made the animals joyful, for example
pharmacologically? I don’t think so, though they would certainly cause less
suffering. For the harm that remains is to ourselves, to our own souls. Instead
of fulfilling our ancient yearning for interacting with nature, we are accepting
an ersatz, synthetic, degenerate perversion of that encounter. I am reminded
of the construction of Disney World, where the real swamp was destroyed to
create a plastic swamp with plastic vegetation and robotic animals for a boat
ride, the new swamp being, in the minds of the designers, more swamp-like.
A friend of mine once invited me to go to a strip club with him, and was
shocked when I told him I had never been and had no desire to go. Why not?
Because for me, seeing gum-chewing, bored, women, surgically enhanced
to meet the current male erotic ideals, does not meet my desire for erotic
stimulation, which is infinitely better served by a real woman, in no way as
well-endowed, but real, stripping for me out of a conscious desire to awaken
my desire towards her. Zoos are to our primordial need for interacting with
animals as strip clubs are to our erotic urges.
A reader of this essay has suggested that the following problem arises for
the foregoing analysis: “How is it that people have loving relationships with
pets, yet are not turned off by the zoo experience? [In other words] if zoos are
so bad and people have genuine experiences with animals, how come folks
don’t find zoos disgusting?” This reader has then argued that, for the reason
quoted, the stripper analogy “breaks down.”
Not so! In fact the very same situation exists with strip clubs. I have friends
who are happily married, and sexually satisfied in that marriage, yet visit strip
clubs with some regularity. When I ask them how they can go to such places
and do they not find them degrading, they reply that they go for titillation,
not for satisfaction, and their wives in fact sometimes go with them! Thus despite having a fine relationship with their spouses, they are quite comfortable
going to a place that would be degrading were it not for that relationship. This
is a legitimate parallel to those who love their pets yet go to zoos.
Even more to the point, the reader has ignored the widespread phenomenon psychologists call compartmentalization, wherein people keep separate
in their minds conflicting beliefs and never consider them as conflicting. A
simple example can be found in some of my biological scientist colleagues
who accept evolution in their professional lives, yet are religiously creationists. The animal area is replete with examples of such phenomena. I am
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acquainted with scientists who dote on their pet dogs, yet perform horribly
invasive experiments on “research dogs.” In the same vein, people who learn
of Descartes’ view of animals as thoughtless machines devoid of feelings
assume that Descartes did not have direct acquaintance with dogs, for “no
one who has been around dogs could possibly deny their awareness.” In fact,
Descartes raised Spaniels and gave them as gifts, so obviously he did have
direct experience with such animals. Many dog fighters are quite attached to
their dogs, yet continue to fight them, and many hunters profess (honestly I
believe) deep love for the kind of animals they hunt.
As a species, we excel at ersatz self-delusion, from strip clubs and inflatable
dolls to the new phenomenon of cyber-pets, like Ibo the Sony robot dog, or
the key-chain sized artificial pets that flourish with attention and languish,
starve, and die if neglected. Ibo can recognize a given individual, solicit play
behavior, wag its plastic tail, even cuddle. Some people have argued that
such toys are the perfect “pet” for old people and nursing homes. After all,
they do not urinate, defecate or otherwise make a mess; can be put in a closet
at night, and provide attention and companionship to the lonely. No more
so, in my view, than the artificial vagina or dildo provides a sex “partner”.
Pets provide a reciprocal, give and take relationship, machines do not, even
though desperate people can apparently convince themselves that they do.
That we can convince ourselves that poor substitutes replace the real thing
does not make these substitutes the real thing—Cool Whip and Arby’s provide paradigm cases. In effect, I am saying that, in addition to hurting the
animals, zoos hurt us as well, passing off a poor, far off the mark experience
as the real thing.
The obvious question arises: How, then, are we to provide the real encounter with unframed animality that people long for in a world of cities and
suburbs? For some people, perhaps, such a yearning is a reason they hunt, paradoxically annihilating the source of the experience they seek. (Few hunters
would give up the killing dimension of hunting.) For others, it is provided in
photographing wildlife or birding, or simply walking in the wilderness—doing some work, in short, to win or earn the primordial experience. (Edward
Abbey criticized the building of boardwalks, easy paved paths, automobile
roads in natural parks as inimical to the very essence of what one seeks in
such places, arguing that the experience of nature does not come cheap or
easily, but should be earned.5)
There is probably no easy way to provide the encounter with animals, but
there are better ways. Probably the best way, technologically quite practicable, is to place video cameras in places where wildlife gather, for example
waterholes. This has in fact been done. Though the viewer (and listener) is
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still recovering an image, it is an image of reality, not a false image. Such
cameras could be placed virtually anywhere with minimal intrusion. One
might need to watch for hours before one sees a lion, or never see one—that
is a far truer picture of wild nature than is the zoo, where the animal is there
whenever you feel like seeing it.
Alternatively, the Desert Museum in Arizona suggests itself as a far better
zoo than its more grandiose rich cousins. The Desert Museum involves walking through natural portions of desert salted with animals who naturally live
there, though they are fenced in. Thus is a better picture of animal life for
viewers, and surely better for the animals—remember the polar bear exhibit
we mentioned.
In Africa, one finds game ranches, essentially very large chunks of land
fenced in, where the animals live their lives until culled (compare that to the
pig in the crate!) Such living zoos could fairly easily be constructed—Kruger
Park is the archetype of such places. I was delighted to learn that a coyote
had been seen in Central park a couple of years ago. Again, there is no guarantee one will experience a given animal—just as is the case in nature!
For cities like New York, one could create such places as the Desert Museum in Central Park with indigenous fauna—indeed, Central Park is such a
place if one bothers to take the time. And there is indeed a rich urban ecology of animals who live there, from rats and mice and pigeons to peregrine
falcons living in the concrete canyons of the city. And a place where people
could interact with domestic animals—sheep, pigs, goats, cattle—could go
a long way to instilling in children (and adults) the thrill of interacting
with another species. (I will never forget my visit to the Catskill Game farm
where I could once in a while pet the deer who lived there on a large acreage.) Institutions like that, or like Farm Sanctuary or other rescue groups,
could provide people with no agricultural background the wonder of meeting
domestic animals who are not traumatized by socializing with humans, yet
are quite exotic to city dwellers. (Believe it or not, I once saw urban people
encounter cattle on federal land, and respond with a combination of fascination and fright—“what are those things?”)
Yet another approach is provided by the advent of “critter cams,” tiny
video cameras that can be mounted unobtrusively on animals, fitted with
enough memory and power to allow us to observe their form of life without
adversely affecting their behavior.
Doubtless others can envision other more ingenious modalities for meeting the need we have for seeing and hearing and touching animals while not
being the equivalent of strip clubs. But the key point is that today’s zoos do
not began to meet that need, and indeed, create an attitude that discourages
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respect and awe, and substitutes self-congratulation at our ability to dominate nature.
Notes
1. Hal Markowitz, Behavioral Enrichment in the Zoo (New York: Van Nostrand,
1982).
2. Dale Jamieson, “Against Zoos,” in In Defense of Animals, ed. Peter Singer (New
York: Basil Blackwell, 1985).
3. Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals, trans. Walter Kaufmann and
R. J. Hollingdale (New York: Random House, 1967), 127.
4. E.G. Ludwig, “People at Zoos: A Sociological Approach,” International Journal
for the Study of Animal Problems 1981, 2(6), 310–316.
5. Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968).
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CHAPTER FOUR
Beyond Zoos:
Marianne Moore and Albrecht Dürer
Randy Malamud
Marianne Moore’s poetry stands as a striking example of art that teaches a
great deal about animals without necessitating their constraint, and without
involving (even figuratively) people’s spectatorial presence, as all zoos and
most zoo stories do. A stay-at-home type who never ventured to exotic foreign habitats (she infrequently even left Brooklyn, making friends from Manhattan cross the river to see her), Moore read about animals and looked at
pictures of them. She nurtured her imagination - and, in turn, her audience’s
- creating poetry about animals without recourse to animal captivity. Others
who write about animals may share Moore’s attitude, determining to integrate animals into art from a distance and without disturbing their natural
existence, but Moore is remarkable for the extent and determination with
which this ethos explicitly informs her poesis. With one exception, her animal poems do not derive from or relate first-hand encounters with animals,
but rather, they come from a bestiary of her mind.
Moore’s poetic bestiary is the best-known component of her oeuvre. Animals are “Moore’s most frequent concrete subject,” writes Margaret Holley.
“She wrote approximately forty poems featuring animal subjects from ‘A
Jelly-Fish’ in 1909 to ‘Tippoo’s Tiger’ in 1967.”1 Animals featured in these
poems include the buffalo, pigeon, arctic ox, ostrich, snail, elephant, rat,
horse, lizards, porcupine, ibis, goose, vulture, and loon. In a letter to T. S.
Eliot, Moore referred to some of her poems as “animiles”; Holley writes that
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this term “means literally ‘pertaining to animals,’ but it is also loosely perhaps
an echo of something like ‘Anglophiles,’ the form of affinity.”2
Moore found her animals in books, magazines, libraries, pictures: and she
makes these sources unequivocally clear. A headnote to “The Arctic Ox (or
Goat),” for example, informs that the poem is “Derived from ‘Golden Fleece
of the Arctic,’ by John J. Teal, Jr., who rears musk oxen on his farm in Vermont,
as set forth by him in the March 1958 issue of the Atlantic Monthly.”3 The first
reference to the title animal in “The Jerboa” carries an endnote reading:
“‘There are little rats called jerboas which run on long hindlegs as thin as a
match. The forelimbs are mere tiny hands.’ Dr. R. L. Ditmars, Strange Animals 1 Have Known (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1951), p. 274” (263).
Endnotes to “The Plumet Basilisk” cite an Illustrated London News article
titled “The Chinese Dragon,” describing the behavior of such lizards and
folklore about them, and a discussion in Animals of New Zealand about another lizard called the tuatara. “The Frigate Pelican” cites Audubon’s work,
while “An Octopus” cites an Illustrated London News article as the source
for the poem’s colorful descriptions (“ghostly pallor changing / to the green
metallic tinge of an anemone-starred pool” [71]). George Jennison’s Animals
for Show and Pleasure in Ancient Rome provides a source (at one remove) for
Xenophon’s observation in Anabasis of an ostrich, used in “He ‘Digesteth
Harde Yron.’” The image of “a chameleon with tail / that curls like a watch
spring” and vertical tiger stripes in “Saint Nicholas” (196) carries an endnote
reference: “See photograph in Life, September 15, 1958” (293).
Moore’s frequent use of direct quotation in her poetry parallels her “use” of
animals. She uses the raw material out of which she crafts her verse without
appropriating it. She does not exhaust her imaginative fodder in any way, nor
affect the way other people may later wish to use that material: it remains
just as she found it in her sources. The same cannot be said of zoo animals.
In response to an interviewer’s question about her extensive quotations,
she said, “I was just trying to be honorable and not steal things. I’ve always
felt that if a thing had been said in the best way, how can you say it better?
. . . If you are charmed by an author, I think it’s a very strange and invalid
imagination that doesn’t long to share it. Somebody else should read it, don’t
you think?”4 Moore is explicitly referring to plagiarism when she says people
shouldn’t steal things, but this sensibility also explains her proclivity to borrow (or “share”) animals rather than “steal” them—as, I believe, zoos steal
both the physical animals and their more metaphysical essence and integrity.
She seems happy to share things, not needing to own them—a characteristic
antithetical to the dominionist ethos that underlies zoos.
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Beyond Zoos: Marianne Moore and Albrecht Dürer 69
Moore presents her poetic animals on the same level as people; we perceive them directly, reciprocally, one-on-one. The intellectual and aesthetic
experience her poetry offers is antithetical to the non-reciprocal paradigm
of the spectator as voyeur. As she brings animals into the realm of human
art, she does so with a wariness about what that action means and what
presuppositions it embodies: Moore does not “anoint” her animals with the
benevolent gift of our culture; she does not presume that the animals who
enter her ken are necessarily ennobled by the poet’s touch. “Critics and Connoisseurs,” for example, contrasts an ant’s natural behavior oblivious to the
human artist’s attention—what she calls “unconscious fastidiousness”—with
the more consciously fastidious people who are stiffly precise, able to produce
artworks that are “well enough in their way” but no match for the insect’s
innate, ineffable splendor (38). She realizes that the introduction of animals
into human art may well result in an awkward discomfiture, a clash of cultures; and that human culture may very well show itself to have less integrity,
less inherent stability and appropriateness, than the animals’ world. Pamela
White Hadas proposes that Moore believes “animals and animal nature. . .
present a definite threat to art.”5
Moore’s poetry tempts one to surmise that she preferred animals to people.
“She consistently used animals to represent desirable qualities,” writes Bernard F. Engel; “it is man who is guilty of greed, falseness, misuse, and other
errors that she condemned.”6 Her animals often deflate human presumptions
to intellectual superiority. (Such an “unpatriotic” comparative analysis of
species would seem impossible at the zoo: the people who pay to attend them
would hardly accept the suggestion that they are not the imperial animal.)
People have none of the power over Moore’s poetic animals that we do over
zoo animals - if anything, the animals in her human-animal encounters have
the advantage over us in their free-spirited, natural, unfettered complexity.
In “The Plumet Basilisk” she calls the Malay Dragon “the true divinity / of
Malay” (21), and she seems to feel most of her animal subjects warrant a
similar tribute, enjoying a kind of supreme perfection in their own setting.
The dazzling difficulty of Moore’s poetic and her diction increases in proportion to the magnificence of an animal’s attributes and insights. The reader
has to work hard, and not always with assured success, to appreciate her
animals; we have to position ourselves carefully, sometimes awkwardly and
uncomfortably, to find a point of view that allows us to see Moore’s animals.
This situation offers a direct antithesis to the construct in which caged zoo
animals wait for people to walk by and ogle them, easily, for as long (or short)
a time as the spectator wishes.
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Only when Moore’s animals come into contact with people do they appear less than majestic. “The Jerboa” links human treatment of animals
with nationalist bravado and slavery: the way we use animals—as beasts of
burden harnessed to amuse us, to satiate our appetites, to appease our superstitions—betrays our basest behavior. The poem describes how people kill
animals and harvest their resources to indulge our follies, using goosegrease
paint and ground rhinoceros horn in frivolous rituals. People appropriate the
natural world like thieves, without appreciating its harvest, out of a sense of
entitlement: believing that “The bees’ food is your / food” (12). Our relation
to animals is characterized by cruelty, possessiveness, and competitiveness:
They had their men tie
hippopotami
and bring out dappled dogcats
to course antelopes, dikdik, and ibex;
or used small eagles. They looked on as theirs,
impala and onigers. (10)
“He ‘Digesteth Harde Yron’” dramatizes the barbarity of conspicuous consumption. In “The Arctic Ox (Or Goat),” people are ridiculed for the way we
exercise the seminal act of imperial dominance over animals, naming them
(as Adam did in Genesis):
“The musk ox / has no musk and it is not an ox - / illiterate epithet” (193).
When animals have the misfortune to become engaged with human society,
Moore warns throughout her animal poems, their dignity and essential existence are put at great risk.
Moore attended Brooklyn’s Prospect Park Zoo, as she mentions in her essay
“Brooklyn from Clinton Hill,” relating a brief uncritical objective description.
Her single poem about a zoo, however, more intricately problematizes the
zoogoing experience. In “The Monkeys,” Moore laments the dissipation of experience from a youthful zoo visit: the dimness of the poet’s recalled sensation
implicitly contrasts with the eternal vividness of her own literary bestiary. The
rarity of zoos as a source for her animal poetry probably indicates disaffection
or disapproval—a sense that zoos did not provide the kind of stimulating and
usable inspiration that printed reference sources did.
Besides being her only zoo poem, “The Monkeys” is unusual among Moore’s
animal verse in several ways. The differences between this poem about captive
animals and her others suggest how she feels zoos distort the cultural examination and representation of animals. The title, for example, is misleading7:
the poem mainly features not a monkey but a large cat. Normally Moore’s
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poetry—especially her animal poetry—is marked by a focal sure-handedness:
she knows what she wants to examine, and sets sharply about the business of doing so; if there are preliminary digressions (as, for example, “The Steeple-Jack”
begins with an odd evocation of Dürer), they are structurally and poetically
functional. But the monkeys in this poem are only a distraction. The speaker
must plod through a panorama of animals—monkeys, zebras, elephants, small
cats and a parakeet—before discovering the one she seeks.
Winnowing out a single zoo animal from the crowd is mimetic of a zoo
experience, with its overwhelming profusion of animals. Bob Mullan and
Garry Marvin observe that for most zoo visitors, their experience
is not intensive or of a long duration. . . watching consists of merely registering
that they have seen something as they move quickly past it. For example, in a
recent study of visitors to the Reptile House in the National Zoo, Washington
D.C., the average time recorded for people in the entire house was 9.7 minutes,
with an average of only 0.44 minutes spent in front of each enclosure.8
Perhaps as a way of evoking this dizzying overload, zoo stories commonly
build up, indirectly, the approach to the central animal; zoo visitors must
first briefly encounter and bypass an array of other clattering animals vying unsuccessfully for attention. In “The Monkeys,” Moore negotiates the
animals that obscure her vision from the animal that will not appear until
the middle of the poem, “that Gilgamesh among / the hairy carnivora – that
cat with the // wedge-shaped slate-gray marks on its forelegs and the resolute
tail” (40). An unusual distance and hesitancy marks her foray among the
other animals, and those relegated to the role of minor characters appear
uncomfortable, undignified. The monkeys “winked too much and were afraid
of snakes.” That is all Moore says about them, despite the poem’s title; it is
as if the monkeys had made a sort of desperate showy bid for attention, for
prominence, but were jostled out of the spotlight by the competing hordes
of animals. The monkeys seem dissatisfied—as does Moore— because the
zoo does not allow each animal its due attention or proper appreciation. The
awkwardness in this opening deluge reflects Moore’s inability to approach
these animals as she does in all her other animal poems.
The parakeet appears “trivial and humdrum on examination,” which
is not to say that it is essentially trivial and humdrum, only that it looks
that way—people perceive it that way—in the zoo. The elephants, “with
their fog-colored skin / and strictly practical appendages,” are not explicitly
“humdrum” like the parakeets, but manifest a blasé colorlessness, or fog-like
murkiness, atypical of Moore’s bestiary. (Her poem “Elephants” does these
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animals more justice; those compelling elephants were inspired not by zoo
animals but by Cicero’s observations and a lecture-film entitled Ceylon, the
Wondrous Isle.) The zebras are “supreme in / their abnormality”; describing
their coloration as abnormal implies a normative context—that is, they are
unlike any of the other zoo animals; a zebra wouldn’t seem abnormal in its
natural habitat, surrounded by other zebras. “Abnormal” carries a pejorative
connotation, and again, Moore does not apply such characterizations to animals outside the zoo bestiary. (The zebra is also “supreme,” but the mitigated,
paradoxical nature of this compliment diminishes her usually effusive admiration for animals.) Contrast the self-assured immodesty of a free animal in
“The Buffalo,” which “need not fear comparison / with bison, with the twins,
/ indeed with any / of ox ancestry” (28). The zebra’s “abnormality” suggests
that people burden captive animals with an unnatural self-consciousness,
and an unfortunate rivalry with their artificial zoo neighbors, that derive
from human standards and perceptions.
After Moore observes all these animals, her attention finally settles on
the cat (not identified by any more precise zoological nomenclature or
popular name, unlike nearly all the other animals in her poetry—suggesting that captivity has stinted its identity). That cat makes what the poet
calls an astringent remark, a single (eighty-two-word!) sentence—about the
nature of people, the nature of animals, art and epistemology, the workings
of human society, the condition of the natural world, the relation of people
to animals, the relation of art to the natural world, the relation of human
society to the natural world, the vanity of human society—expansive in its
philosophical resonance and profundity. Moore’s animals do not speak human language elsewhere; the cat’s monologue indicates another difference
between this and her other animal poems. Perhaps she feels that the unique
depiction of a captive animal in her oeuvre justifies the animal’s unique
recourse to human language, to make sure people don’t overlook what this
zoo animal has to say.
The aggressive, confident certitude of the cat’s speech is a slap in the
face, certainly not what people would expect a captive animal to be telling
us from behind zoo bars, especially after Moore has depicted the cat against
the backdrop of unremarkably diminutive animals—twitching monkeys,
trivial birds. This ironic effect is certainly intentional: Moore implies that
people can contain and suppress some of the animals some of the time, but
not absolutely. The caged animals were tamed for the first half of the poem;
in the second half, the cat (on behalf of the natural animal kingdom) explodes in the reader’s face and gives immensely more than one bargains for
in the zoo. What the cat has to say is bitingly incisive, uncompromisingly
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brutal. It is as if one has ambled too close to the cage and has been gouged
and bloodied by the cat’s lashing out, although the metaphorical “assault”
is ideological rather than physical. Surprising us with a stark departure from
a conventional, predictable zoo experience, Moore warns against the unexamined presupposition of dominionist complacency people bring to the zoo.
The poem suggests she has not returned to this zoo in the twenty years since
the encounter; understandably, one would not repeatedly subject oneself to
such unsettling outbursts.
The cat says:
“They have imposed upon us with their pale
half-fledged protestations, trembling about
in inarticulate frenzy, saying
it is not for us to understand art; finding it
all so difficult, examining the thing
as if it were inconceivably arcanic, as symmetrically frigid as if it had been carved out of chrysoprase
or marble - strict with tension, malignant
in its power over us and deeper
than the sea when it proffers flattery in exchange for hemp,
rye, flax, horses, platinum, timber, and fur.” (40)
Critics have amply discussed what they perceive as the poem’s main brunt,
the critical manifesto that happens to emanate from a cat. But they dissociate this weighty dictum, privileging intellectual abstraction over the poem’s
precise reference to the physical context of the zoo. Bonnie Costello realizes
the cat “may be speaking on behalf of nature or on behalf of the artist,” but
finds a human aesthetic dictum finally more interestingly complex and pertinent. “As the voice of the isolated artist it speaks against a public, including
critics, who put art in a special category. As the voice of the public it speaks
against critics and their high-sounding interpretations.”9 Hadas believes the
cat describes and then rebuts the frenzied protestations of a critical-artistic
voice that asserts art must be difficult. The animal
does not agree that art has power over us simply because it offers flattery
(insincere words or difficulty that flatters the initiated “understanding” of
the self-ordered priests of interpretation) in exchange for the raw materials
of life, the commodities of world-market exchange. The artist must offer
flattery, fulfillment of arcanic expectations, in exchange for the necessities
of life. Whereas it should be the other way around? The cat attacks vain literary work and the suspect livelihood of a conspiracy of artist-critics. Quite
rightly.10
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Engel writes that the poem is about Moore’s “preference for criticism that
has an emotional basis and her scorn for merely intellectual methods.”11 The
poem’s zoo setting has remained largely unexplored—regarded as tangential,
irrelevant, simply preliminary. Costello notes that the opening zoo construct
has metaphorical and structural functions: this opening and the cat’s speech
“depend on each other, in several ways,” she writes. “In the first half the images are presented primarily as literal ones. . . The figure in the second half is
obviously allegorical, bearing only a secondary relation to the creaturely setting from which it is drawn.”12 Engel, too, perceives the zoo as symbolically
functional, seeing the animals as “a parliament of literary critics.”13
But a fundamental and also fairly obvious aspect of “The Monkeys” is
its direct zoological and ecocritical commentary. Critics have too quickly
glided over the implications of a caged zoo animal discussing art, other than
to observe that the irony of this unexpected reversal typifies Moore’s poesis,
and they miss her fascinating consideration of the cat and art, and of the cat
as art (in a derogatory, formulaic, affected sense of ‘art’ as cloistered artifice).
Human culture, zoo culture, and nature all converge here (and battle things
out) at a weird Sophoclean crossroads. In “The Monkeys,” Moore addresses
how we treat our planet—comprising minerals, plants, and animals as well
people and human art—and what zoos signify about our record. Art is, indeed, one component of what exists in the world, but a fairly small one, and
certainly not the only one—other entities such as rye, hemp, flax, platinum,
and timber, similarly comprise a substantial part of the ecostructure in which
we exist. And art is made out of several of these raw materials, such as flax,
platinum, and timber, but art is not the only thing they can be used for. Ultimately the raw materials that overflow the poem’s last line are important
in their own right, not just because art, or anything else, can be made out
of them.
Moore is, partly, trying to decenter an adulatory fixation on art, trying
to contextualize more rationally the relative function of the materials, resources, artifacts, that surround us. The cat inscribes itself into this catalogue
of raw materials via the horses, fellow animals. The caged animal pontificates
so prolifically because the stakes are so direct: it is literally trapped, captive,
within one version of our cultural practices, the zoo. The cat realizes, not
theoretically but from first-hand experience, the dangers of people’s conceptions of their right to use, fashion, manipulate, contrive the resources in the
world around them—whether timber, horses, or zoo animals—for their own
“artistic” education and delight. The cat’s theoretical pronouncement boils
down to this: Art exists in a manipulable, contrived, and undesirable realm.
But this statement is most signifcant in its relevance to the cat’s larger eco-
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logical statement about its condition (and the condition of all other animals,
trees, minerals, resources): given that art exists in this ingenuine, corrupt condition, there are victims, of which the cat itself is one. Anything used in the
cause and processes of art is “imposed” upon (to use the cat’s own word), and
stripped of its integrity, stripped of its power to determine how it is regarded
and constructed as subject. In the tyrannical hands of its manipulators, art is
“malignant / in its power over us.” The cat is simply told, “it is not for us to
understand art”—that is, that its function as subject on the canvas (in the
cage) where it now finds itself is beyond its comprehension. The artists, the
controllers, the manipulators, know what they’re doing; shut up and smile.
We people are doing the hard work, practicing upon the other (in Stephen
Greenblatt’s terminology14), “examining the thing” (as the cat says).
The poet and the cat share a voice in “The Monkeys.” Their ultimate
point, above and beyond the other injunctions, is, don’t desecrate the planet;
don’t contrive with its hemp, platinum, and horses (and implicitly its cats,
monkeys and other zoo animals) the way you do with art. Respect the essence
and integrity of rye, flax, and fur, without having to make something out of
them, or transform them into (what people would erroneously believe to be)
some higher condition. “Fur,” as the poem’s last word, neatly embodies the
dialectic opposition between the idea of an animal as a unique living creature
and as a commodity—it is a reader-response challenge: if we recognize the fur
not as an animal but only as a commodity, then we have failed Moore’s test.15
Art perverts natural existence if it serves as a medium whereby a valueless
material, “flattery,” can be exchanged for real things such as rye and timber,
and such perversion betokens a world in which people have lost sight of the
inherent value that natural objects possess.
Moore’s cat warns that people should not delude themselves by believing that just because we can make dense, clever art, we can ignore the costs
and victims of our culture. She presents spectacular animals made dull and
abnormal by cages at the poem’s opening; at the end, she shows the natural
bounty of plants, animals, and minerals dully represented as merely ingredients for appropriation by industrial/commercia1 human culture, like items on
an inventory sheet. People must regard our own cultural and artistic achievements, Moore suggests, against the more important backdrop of nature and
the unfortunate mark we have left on it. Zoos typify our failure to perceive
the proper perspective within our macrocosm: we see caged animals as a kind
of ‘art,’ but we remain oblivious to costs and dangers that far outweigh any
value of our art.
People behave badly in our world: abusively appropriating its resources,
imprisoning its animals, and justifying such habits by the conceit that we are
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doing something very intricate, and something the victims that inhabit the
natural world cannot begin to understand because they are too stupid, too
unhuman. Animals’ inability to engage in art except as subjects, as fodder,
then implicitly legitimizes their relegation to the passive, captive role of raw
material. The Western imperial sensibility resonates in the background of
this ethos. As John Berger describes the ideology that constrains the animal
as cultural subject to passivity: “animals are always the observed . . . They
are the objects of our ever-extending knowledge. What we know about them
is an index of our power, and thus an index of what separates us from them.
The more we know, the further away they are.”16
Marian Scholtmeijer describes how people often dishonestly consider and
portray animals, in order to reassure ourselves about our relation to the world
in a way that Moore’s ethically probing consideration would disallow:
Refusal to recognize animal reality is a hedge against the guilt we would feel
as we make use of their bodies were we to see them as sentient individuals
rather than commodities . . . as Richard Tapper (citing Claude Lévi-Strauss)
observes, animals “are good to think with.” As living beings, whose content we
have decided is inaccessible, animals are peculiarly primed to vitalize thought
without—so we think—impeding its freedom. We have a liking for the effect
of animals upon our thoughts, as long as they do not challenge their instrumentality as mediators of culture. In all cases, there is a certain presumptuousness behind the philosophical position that the human mind constructs reality.
That presumptuousness reaches a critical point, however, when we involve
other living beings in our cultural projects.17
Moore recognizes what Scholtmeijer calls the cat’s “animal reality” as
few people, certainly very few zoogoers, do. She does not force her cat into
a subservient role as a passive mediator of culture, but rather depicts the cat
as challenging this role eloquently. The cat deflates what Scholtmeijer calls
the cultural presumption that the human mind constructs reality; conversely,
the cat deconstructs human reality as it is posited in the zoo.
Earlier, I briefly noted a reference to Albrecht Dürer in Moore’s poem,
“The Steeple-Jack”:
Dürer would have seen a reason for living
in a town like this, with eight stranded whales
to look at; with the sweet air coming into your house
on a fine day, from the water etched
with waves as formal as the scales
on a fish. (5)
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The Renaissance artist recurs in Moore’s writing. Darlene Williams Erickson
identifies several points of connection:
Dürer’s works rank among the treasured “old things” from “When I Buy Pictures.” Moore had been fascinated by Dürer since her trip to Paris in 1919. References to the German painter turn up in two other of Moore’s poems, “Then
the Ermine” (“like violets by Dürer”) and “Apparition of Splendor” (“Dürer’s
rhinoceros”). For the July 1928 issue of the Dial, Moore wrote an important
review of an exhibition of Dürer prints at the New York Public Library. The
seeds of “The Steeple-Jack” can be found in that review. . . Moore makes the
point that the “reliquary method of perpetuating magic” is ordinarily to be
distrusted, but not so with Dürer. . . [and] that seeing such work “commits one
to enlightenment if not to emulation, and recognition of the capacity for newness inclusive of oldness.”18
Costello notes that Moore, like Dürer, “was absorbed by the particular”; they
shared “a passion for observation” and a “fascination with the strange in the
real.”19
Just as Moore based her depictions of animals on secondary sources rather
than the creatures themselves, Dürer, too, began his study of engraving in
his father’s goldsmith shop, from “pattern books—albums filled with all sorts
of designs of birds and beasts, flowers, and exotic peoples.20 A later influence was the writing of Erasmus of Rotterdam, a scholar whose “Latin correspondence and literature are enlivened by references to animals” and who
advocated “appreciation for the gifts of the animal as teacher.”21 Erasmus
believed animals could enlighten people in such wide-ranging disciplines
as art, architecture, domestic economy, and social values. The same faith
in animals’ pedagogical wisdom permeates Dürer’s and Moore’s art: Colin
Eisler writes that Dürer’s prints “may have been used by teachers following
Erasmian progressive ideals. . . . Supreme imitator of the way animals look
and live, [Dürer] also became teacher of human ways along with those of the
squirrel or hare, lion or stag beetle.”22 Moore, too, teaches human ways along
with animals’ ways and via animals’ ways—the cat’s lesson to people in “The
Monkeys” epitomizes an Erasmian model.
Out of Dürer’s hundreds of animal works, I focus on the one Moore alludes
to in “Apparition of Splendor,” his 1515 woodcut. Rhinoceros testifies to the
ability to create art about animals at a remove, without directly exploiting
them. Further, it indicates how great the power of such nonexploitative
animal art can be. The fascination with this work in later art and culture attests to how widely such art can be recycled, and how much energy is stored
in such representations. Zoo stories tend to draw on and perpetuate the
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negative energy surrounding zoo animals; zoo stories tend to be sad stories.
Moore’s and Dürer’s animals combat this negativity with an imaginative
panache that offers an exemplary ideal for cultural interaction with animals.
Moore specifically admires Dürer’s Rhinoceros in her essay on him, noting
“that in the best pictures he has obtained his sense of fact second hand,
filtered through prior representations, a tendency of course akin to her own
drawing of the particular from books, pictures, films. She writes of Dürer
that ‘liking is increased perhaps when the concept is primarily an imagined
one—in the instance of the rhinoceros, based apparently on a traveler’s
sketch or description.’”23
Dürer never saw a live rhinoceros (as Moore presumably never saw a live
plumet basilisk or arctic ox). His source was another picture and a description, by the Moravian printer Valentine Ferdinand, whose text Dürer reproduces on his woodcut:
They call it a rhinoceros. It is represented here in its complete form. It has the
color of a speckled turtle. And in size it is like the elephant but lower on its
legs, and almost invulnerable. It has a sharp strong horn on its nose, which it
starts to sharpen whenever it is near stones. The stupid animal is the mortal
enemy of the elephant. . . Because that animal is so well armed, the elephant
cannot do anything to it. They also say that the rhinoceros is fast, lively and
clever. The animal is called “Rhinocero” in Greek and Latin. In India it is
called “Ganda.”24
In some ways, Ferdinand contextualizes this rhinoceros unfortunately—calling it “stupid” (although he contradicts himself subsequently) is an irrelevant
exertion of human presumptions to superiority. Ferdinand experienced the
animal under conditions of imperialist domination and captivity, “in Lisbon
when the great beast was shipped there in May 1515, sent from the farthest
reaches among Portuguese Maritime conquests, Cambay in northwest India.”25 Dürer is implicated to a degree in this context—at a remove, so less
damningly, but nevertheless Ferdinand’s experience affects Dürer’s cultural
interaction with the animal.
But I think the cultural outcome finally invokes praise, rather than
condemnation, of Dürer’s ethics of representation. I acknowledge that this
ethical stance may have been unconscious or unintended: drawing animals
from life was not considered a necessary technique in the aesthetic of this
period, so Dürer was not necessarily rejecting the ethos of the immediate
captive animal subject; but nevertheless, especially in the legacy of Dürer’s
representation, we can (as Moore did) acclaim his art as an important ethical statement for our own time if it was not as clearly so for his own. The
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rhinoceros had already been caught, and Dürer’s disseminated image allowed
people to experience a rhinoceros without any others having to be caught,
imprisoned, and exhibited. Dürer himself (who often travelled under difficult conditions to get to something he wanted to draw) could have done
what Ferdinand did—witnessing and recording as a spectator the display of
a captive animal as imperial booty—but chose not to. Dürer’s audience, the
vast majority of which had never seen a rhinoceros, was “shown” one by the
artist, who similarly had never seen one. An important transmission, a recycling, of culture has thus taken place, concerning animals, without the direct
implication in the dynamics of captivity by either producer or consumer. If
Ferdinand was implicated at second-hand because he went to see the animal
an imperialist had captured, then Dürer is implicated at third-hand, and his
viewers at fourth-hand: this complicity is not negligible, but at least it lessens
at each remove. Dürer’s picture and text do not in any way apologize for this
remove from nature, or attempt to atone for it or conceal it. On the contrary,
the work proudly proclaims its distance from the original subject—proudly,
because the artist is all the more talented for having produced this representation out of his own mind, without direct experience.
The enduring popularity of Dürer’s Rhinoceros further testifies to the power
of an aesthetic representation derived wholly from the artist’s mind. The rhinoceros as Dürer depicts it has striking idiosyncrasies: “the complicated cut of
the fierce beast’s covering recalls those of courtly armor,” writes Eisler. “The
animal has a strangely ‘dressed’ look, like some revolting pet lovingly clad by
a proud owner.” But “this personal quality is one of the many reasons why
Dürer’s print remained the definitive image of a rhinoceros centuries after its
many inaccuracies and strange little additions—such as the spiral dorsal horn
above the shoulders. . .—had been noted.”26 A contemporary of Dürer’s, Hans
Burgkmair, also made a rhinoceros print the same year, but without the extra
horn and stylized armor: “Burgkmair’s more accurate rhino never caught on.
People wanted to believe in the rhinoceros just as Dürer first showed it. If
nature was demonstrably different, he was right and reality was wrong.”27 Joan
Barclay Lloyd confirms that “Dürer’s beautiful, but largely imaginary, figure .
. . became the standard picture in Europe of a rhinoceros for nearly two hundred years.”28 The cause of art triumphs in Dürer’s work, and most importantly
(as Moore and her cat would appreciate), without cost to nature. Rhinoceros
had eight printings; by the seventeenth century, when the woodblock was
showing signs of decay, two Dutch printers restored the image by preparing
“an additional woodcut, inked in grey to be printed over the first one to create a chiaroscuro effect, lengthening the old block’s life and enhancing the
image’s rich graphic quality to suit the new Baroque style.”29
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Dürer’s work thus shows one of the consummate indications of enduring art,
the modification by artists of subsequent eras who combine both the original
and more contemporary attributes. Other subsequent representations of a rhinoceros indebted to Dürer’s—situating viewers at a fifth-hand remove from the
original animal imprisoned by Portuguese imperialists—include appearances in
Maximilian’s Hours and the triumphal arch on his coat of arms, as a statue in
Paris celebrating the ascension of King Henri II (1547), in sculptured reliefs in
Schönborn castle, in white china for the Porcelain Palace in Dresden (1731),
in Jan Joesten’s 1660 book Curious Descriptions of the Nature of Four-Footed Animals, Fish and Bloodless Water Animals, Birds, Crocodiles, Snakes, and Dragons,
and in a silk painting based on Joesten’s drawing (thus, at sixth-hand remove
from the original), by the Japanese artist Tani Buncho in 1790.30 Dürer’s image
demonstrated an energy of recirculation and proliferation, exhibiting a vitality
generally absent from the cultural representation of zoo animals (as Moore’s
predominantly dim recollection in “The Monkeys” or the glue factory and
another is acquired to replace it, whereas Moore’s and Dürer’s animals have
an enduring power and worth that testify to the strength of animals’ cultural
potency in a context free from captivity.
I like Costello’s characterization of both Moore and Dürer as “realist[s] of
the imagination and not of nature.”31 I do not mean to argue that an animal
of the imagination is inherently better than a natural animal. Rather, an
animal of the imagination is a more fitting thing to expect from artists, from
people and for people, as a representation of nature, than an imperial appropriation of the thing itself. Moore and Dürer recognize the vast potential
and also the limits of human perception, cognition, and appreciation. They
give their audience as much as they can in the realm of the imagination,
forgoing as irrelevant and inappropriate any attempt to “capture” the natural.
Moore herself provides a fitting terminus to the centuries of recycling Dürer’s
animal representation (and the dual aesthetic and environmental connotations of “recycling” are appropriate—both are ways to conserve our planet’s
resources). Her “Apparition of Splendor,” about the attributes of the plain
old porcupine, begins by recalling Dürer’s fabulous creature:
Partaking of the miraculous
since never known literally,
Dürer’s rhinoceros
might have startled us equally
if black-and-white spined elaborately. (158)
Moore does not mean to deny the imaginative sense of rhinocerosness
Dürer achieved when she suggests it could have been just as amazing if it
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were a porcupine. Rather, she implies that any animal transformed through
art into the realm of vivid aesthetic consciousness has an equally fabulous
potential.
Moore’s poetry pays homage to the “miraculous” power of animals in
purely imaginative art, a miracle in which she invites like-minded readers
to partake.
Notes
1. Margaret Holley, The Poetry of Marianne Moore: A Study in Voice and Value
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 128.
2. Holley, 79.
3. Marianne Moore, The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore (New York: Macmillan, 1981), 193. All references to Moore’s poetry, given parenthetically in the
text, are from this edition.
4. Marianne Moore, A Marianne Moore Reader (New York: Viking, 1961), 260.
5. Pamela White Hadas, Marianne Moore: Poet of Affection (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1977), 103.
6. Bernard F. Engel, Marianne Moore (Boston: Twayne, 1989), 9.
7. The poem’s original title was “My Apish Cousins.” Engel suggests that the title
change offered a neater and more subtle irony. The new title explicitly informs that
an animal is conveying the message; “the poem’s original title . . . made somewhat
more obvious the ironic comparison of human and animal” (43).
8. Bob Mullan and Garry Marvin, Zoo Culture (London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1987), 133.
9. Bonnie Costello, Marianne Moore: Imaginary Possessions (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1981), 31.
10. Hadas, 122.
11. Engel, 45.
12. Costello, 30.
13. Engel, 43.
14. Stephen Greenblatt, Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991).
15. “The Arctic Ox (Or Goat)” expresses Moore’s feelings about fur: “To wear the
arctic fox / you have to kill it. Wear / qiviut – the underwool of the arctic ox - / pulled
off it like a sweater; / your coat is warm; your conscience better” (193).
16. John Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,” in About Looking (New York, Pantheon, 1980), 14.
17. Marian Scholtmeijer, Animal Victims in Modern Fiction: From Sanctity to Sacrifice (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 5.
18. Darlene Williams Erickson, Illusion is More Precise Than Precision (Tuscaloosa,
Al.: University of Alabama Press, 1992), 74.
19. Costello, 194.
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20. Colin Eisler, Dürer’s Animals (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press,
1991), 9.
21. Eisler, 26.
22. Eisler, 27.
23. Costello, 194.
24. Eisler, 269.
25. Eisler, 269.
26. Eisler, 270.
27. Eisler, 271.
28. Joan Barclay Lloyd, African Animals in Renaissance Literature and Art (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1971), 91.
29. Eisler, 271.
30. Eisler, 271–274.
31. Costello, 194.
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CHAPTER FIVE
Respectful Stewardship of a
Hybrid Nature: The Role
of Concrete Encounters
Chilla Bulbeck
Introduction
In most westerners’ lives, commercial representations of wild animals and
nature, for example in television advertisements or on roadside billboards,
overwhelm our interactions with material wild animals. The scientific or
environmental messages relayed at zoos and other encounter sites struggle
for attention against this flood. For example, environmental management
authorities warn tourists that crocodiles at Kakadu National Park in the
Northern Territory are dangerous, but crocodiles are presented in commercial information as ‘amusing, unreal, even soft and comical’. The warnings
that crocodiles must be respected are outnumbered in roadside signs en route
to Kakadu by a factor of around forty to one.1 Dominating the virtual nature
landscape in September 2006 was the death of ‘television star and wildlife
conservationist’2 Steve Irwin,3 as a result of being struck across the chest by
a sting-ray’s barb. In the week following Irwin’s death at least ten stingrays
were found dead and mutilated on Queensland beaches, two with their tails
cut off, prompting speculation that they had been killed by Irwin’s fans as an
act of revenge.4
Some of Irwin’s critics would not be surprised that his fans expressed their
grief as vengeance on sting rays. Animal rights activists and wildlife documentary producers condemned Irwin’s methods as interventionist showmanship:
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Irwin made his career out of antagonising frightened wild animals, that’s a
very dangerous message to send to children. … If you compare him with a
responsible conservationist like Jacques Cousteau, he looks like a cheap reality
TV star.5
You don’t touch nature, you just look at it. … [Although it] goes very well
on television, . . . [Irwin would] interfere with nature, jump on animals, grab
them, hold them, and have this very, very spectacular, dramatic way of presenting things.6
Referring to the controversial incident during a show at Irwin’s Australia
Zoo in January 2004 when Irwin held his baby son while feeding a crocodile,
Germaine Greer remarked
The whole spectacle was revolting. . . . The crocodile would rather have been
anywhere else and the chicken had a grim life too, but that’s entertainment at
Australia Zoo. . . . That sort of self-delusion is what it takes to be a real Aussie
larrikin [rascal]. . . . What Irwin never seemed to understand was that animals
need space. There was no habitat, no matter how fragile or finely balanced,
that Irwin hesitated to barge into, trumpeting his wonder and amazement to
the skies. There was not an animal he was not prepared to manhandle. . . .
Every creature he brandished at the camera was in distress. The animal world
has finally taken its revenge on Irwin, but probably not before a whole generation of kids in shorts seven sizes too small has learned to shout in the ears of
animals with hearing ten times more acute than theirs, determined to become
millionaire animal-loving zoo-owners in their turn.7
Interestingly, Greer’s comments, rather than those of Irwin’s other critics,
drew a counter-attack from outraged Australians, including political leaders:
“extreme, radical rubbish” (then Queensland Premier, Peter Beattie)8 and “a
bucket load of politically correct pap” (then Australian Labor Party foreign
affairs spokesman, now Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd).9 Greer was described
as “a poorly sketched caricature of a harridan” and a “feral hag” (newspaper
columnist John Birmingham).10
The events and commentary surrounding Steve Irwin’s death prompt
the questions addressed in this chapter. Can humans have intimate interactions with wild animals that support rather than negate environmental
conservation? Can we have zoos that teach a respectful stewardship of
the natural world? Can we have any managed wild animal encounters
that do not relay the “wrong” messages? What is the relationship between
representations of animal encounters—virtual narratives—and actual
encounters with wild animals? Are “showmanship” and “conservation” in
necessary and inevitable contradiction when it comes to our wildlife ex-
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Respectful Stewardship of a Hybrid Nature 85
periences? Are there masculine and feminine ways to interact with nature,
and is one way “better” than the other? I commence with a discussion of
zoos as vehicles for conservation, move on to a review of animal encounters
in the “wild,” and conclude with an argument that zoos and wild animal
encounters are not perhaps as conceptually different as we think, that all
the world is now a ‘hybrid’ nature and that humanity’s obligation within it
is one of “respectful stewardship.”
Zoos: Rembrandts in the Rain?
At their foundation, zoos in London and Paris trumpeted the achievements
of empire, displaying exotic animals as spoils of imperial conquest in rows
of cages. Today, however, public zoos in western metropolises feel obliged
to proclaim their role in conservation. The zoos’ conservation agenda has
been established by two main documents: the World Zoo Conservation Strategy published in 1993 by the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums
and the European Union’s 1999 Zoos Directive ensuring that all member
states’ zoos commit themselves to conservation.11 A recent indication of
the conservation approach is the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums’s 2008 theme: “Changing Climates . . . changing zoos.”12 Instead of
chimpanzee tea parties and elephant rides, animal “shows” are now based
on scientific knowledge to display animals’ “natural” behaviours, at the
same time educating the public concerning the need to conserve endangered habitats, given that biological diversity is “diminishing hundreds of
times more rapidly than at any time during the past 65 million years.”13
Naturalistic enclosures seek to imitate these “diminishing” ecosystems. In
Calgary Zoo, a sign “history behind bars” notes that the disappearance of
habitat is the “most serious problem wild animals face today” and that zoos
are “the last refuge” for breeding and reintroduction programs. Zoos express
their commitment to conservation with endangered species breeding programs, many of which seek ultimately to return the species to the wild. In
this scenario zoos become arks, as Gerald Durrell14 put it, filled against the
rising tide of homo sapiens.
Zoos are immensely popular and, on this ground at least, would appear
to be perfect vehicles for educating people concerning how to participate in
habitat and species conservation. There are around 100,000 zoos worldwide,
and the equivalent of about one tenth of the entire population of the world
visits one of the 1,200 federated and accredited zoos each year. Annual
visitation rates in North America, Europe and Japan amount to around half
the population of those regions.15 It is estimated that almost all capital city
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dwellers visit their zoo at some stage in their lives16 and that, in most cities,
about 20 percent of the population visits the zoo annually (in terms of crude
numbers).17 Nevertheless, while the zoo-going public might realise they
ought to go to the zoo for an education, many admit they go primarily to view
the animals or show the animals to their children.18 Zoo publicity often expresses this tension between entertainment and education, proclaiming that
zoos can be fun and good for you (and the world) too. Adelaide Zoo’s slogan
from 1961 to 1963 was “Visit the zoo: laugh and learn.”19 The London Zoo,
where the use of the name Zoo originated, promises its visitors “Knowledge,”
‘Conserve,” but also “Something Special’ and a ‘Great Day Out.”
Endangered species breeding programs also operate in contradiction with
the zoo’s main task of exhibiting animals for the entertainment/edification of
visitors. The ‘unfashionable brown jobs’ (neglected toads, snakes, newts and
lizards), as Gerald Durrell calls them, and other subjects of captive breeding programs do not necessarily capture visitors’ attention in the way that
charismatic megafauna do. The endangered Regent Honeyeater and green
and golden bellfrog are bred off display at Taronga Zoo in Sydney.20 Indeed,
in order to maximise successful breeding for release, animals must be bred off
display as they must not become habituated to living with humans, which is
necessary for successful display of animals. Furthermore, argues Keekok Lee,
it is not the “wild” species but another, immurated, species that is actually
saved: with different skeletons, different levels of adrenalin emission, and
a different gene pool. Those in captivity would ‘never meet and interbreed
with’ those in the wild, ‘except in cases of deliberate human intervention’.
The “human intervention” of ex situ breeding in zoos for release in the wild
has also been condemned as very expensive, saving only a very few species,
critics recommending that resources be dedicated to in situ conservation instead which can also focus on habitat preservation21.
To critics like Lee,22 the caging of animals inevitably contradicts any
purported message of conservation or education. Berger claims that animals
in zoos cannot give us a self-sufficient gaze; they are prisoners, “something
that has been rendered absolutely marginal.”23 A zoo is the equivalent of
an art gallery leaving its Rembrandts out in the rain.24 Furthermore, zoos’
conservation messages are blunted by the requirements of securing and then
pleasing sponsors. At the visitors centre for the Port Phillip Penguin Parade
in Victoria, there is no discussion of the major threat posed to penguins by
oil spills, the focus on feral animals possibly because BHP and Esso are major
sponsors25. “At Sea World [San Diego] pollution and extinction and endangerment are only obliquely mentioned; when they are, they come up as more
problems that research will solve. They have no discernible social locations
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or causes.”26 At Adelaide Zoo, McDonalds trumpets its sponsored rainforest,
inviting visitors to “see the first rainforest bred in captivity.” The overall
message is ‘that saving the environment does not require substantial changes
to individual, commercial and industrial activities’, but that a manufactured
‘habitat’ in a zoo will do the trick,27 thus making it seem that “(w)ildness
itself is really obedient—to human beings, especially those that run corporations.”28 Do encounters with animals in more “authentic,” less “managed”
settings, offer a superior conservation message?
The Pleasures and Costs of Close Up and Personal
Many who experience a chance encounter with a wild animal have felt
something indescribable, ineffable. This “haecceity,” as Deleuze and Guattari describe it, takes us out of calculated space and time, out of a sense of
our bodies as human bodies: we watch whales and ‘become whale’; we watch
a sunset and “become horizon.” Deleuze calls this ‘smooth space,’ where the
only things are affects. Using these concepts, Mark Halsey criticizes the regulation of eco-tourist encounters, such as the Great Australian Bight whale
watching park where a short contained walkway has replaced the previous
openness that allowed visitors to ‘follow the whales’ along the coast, to find
a whale for themselves. Halsey argues that haecceity is no longer possible in
the park; visitors can no longer ‘become whale.’29
On the other hand, unregulated visitors in sufficient numbers interrupt
mating or hatching, or separate baby animals from their mothers. Even in
the ‘last wilderness,’ Antarctica, improperly disposed waste carrying a potentially fatal domestic poultry disease spread to wild flocks of Antarctic
Adelie and Emperor penguins.30 Wildlife tourism can also cause road kill,
pollution from waste disposal and other damage to habitat, and interruption
of foraging, for example spotlighting wildlife at night.31 Furthermore, given
that there is normally an entry fee, animal encounter sites must improve on
the unanticipated chance encounter with animals.32 This means that visitors
generally expect a close encounter, and with an animal that appears to have
chosen the meeting. Thus there is considerable pressure on site managers
to lure animals into an encounter or to take visitors close to wild animals.
“Making another being eat out of our hand— that yields a special thrill all
the greater if the animal is first made to beg and if it is large enough to crush
us in another setting.”33 As Tuan suggests, humans can receive the “wrong”
messages at ‘authentic’ animal encounter sites, just as they can at zoos. Furthermore, feeding animals in national parks is often tantamount to signing
their death warrants, whether they are bears in Yosemite Park in the USA or
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dingoes on Fraser Island off Queensland.34 Macaques have become aggressive
beggars in Malaysia, Singapore and Hong Kong.35 In Thailand, the response
is to file the teeth of and administer amphetamines to gibbons and monkeys,
making the monkeys both active and safe in their contact with the tourists.
In Amboseli National Park in Kenya, vervet monkeys raiding the lodge for
food find themselves in uncomfortable proximity with each other, causing
fights as well as tourist bites.36 Elephants fed with bananas overturn and rattle
cars in Uganda. Iguanas on Galápagos are leaving their territories to beg from
tourists.37 Habituation to provisioning can attract animals’ predators, induce
loss of foraging skills, entice provisioned animals to turn to commercial crops
(for example birds acquiring a taste for orchard fruit) and reduce animals to a
diet with inadequate nutrition.38 From 1993 feeding dolphins was prohibited
in United States waters because provisioned dolphins stole baits from fishing
lines and crab nets, thus increasing complaints from fishers as well as threats
against dolphins.39 Because of the desire to feed, some national parks accept
the existence of “sacrifice animals,” which are fed by tourists and destroyed
when they become troublesome,40 clearly posing questions of inter-species
etiquette41 for human visitors who thus sign an animal’s death-warrant.
A common response to the contradiction between the desire for a
close behavior-rich encounter and the negative impact this can have on
wildlife is orchestrated feeding. If the tourist group enters the habitat, the
interaction is controlled by a guide to minimise risk to both tourists and
animals, while a carefully monitored amount of food is supplied and the
impact on animal behaviour is regularly assessed.42 An alternative is an
animal display enclosure as part of the visitors’ center, which might house
orphaned animals and sick or injured animals undergoing treatment. The
tourist encounter with these animals is also interpreted by guides or rangers.
“(F)ace-to-face interpretive contacts with the public” have been described
as the most successful behaviour regulators; they can also provide education
for future behaviour and attitudes. Without such regulation and monitoring,
widespread ignorance, carelessness and selfishness means that it is not
unusual for visitors to feed “inappropriate ‘food’ items, shout, throw objects
and chase wildlife in an attempt to elicit a response.”43 Such are the actions
of “larrikins . . . in shorts seven sizes too small,” as Greer described Steve
Irwin’s imitators.
The above critique of zoos and other animal encounter sites might suggest
that humans should foreswear interacting with wild animals. In deference
to carbon miles, tourists should stay home and enjoy television programs
or wildlife films.44 The greenest zoo might be the virtual zoo with satellite
links to the Amazon, Great Barrier Reef and Antarctica or a virtual reality
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sensorium in downtown New York or Sydney.45 Wildscreen@Bristol is such
an electronic zoo, Bristol hosting the leading film festival of wildlife filmmakers. The site offers wildlife films and an ARKive, or “digital Noah’s ark”
consisting of “a storehouse of knowledge about the world’s endangered species” (www.arkive.org.uk).46
While the virtual experience reduces the impact of humans travelling to
authentic encounter sites, some writers argue that only through encounters
with actual animals will humans learn respect, understanding and emotional
connection. Research demonstrates that emotional connection or emotional
response is necessary to produce mental or behavioural change and a stronger emotional experience may encourage greater commitment to change.47
Moreover “that experience had to be direct, in nature itself,”48 rather than
merely reading about it or even viewing it.49 My research also reveals the
powerful impact of the tactile experience of cuddling koalas or stroking
dolphins.50
Jack Turner51 suggests that the greatest threat to the environment is what
he calls “abstract nature.” This is the kind of nature sold by Nature Company52
or watched on television as nature documentaries, Flipper, Skippy, or the
nightly weather forecast. Turner contrasts this abstract wild with actually
experiencing the awe of being in the concrete wild. Ironically, city-dwellers,
who are usually the most strident advocates of nature, fail to preserve nature
because they do not really know what they are trying to save.53 Few citysiders
ever experience that attention, perception and emotion of confronting a
grizzly bear, when “you feel yourself as part of the biological order known
as the food chain.”54 Such attention suggests a respect which runs counter
to human domination, creating something more like a stewardship. The
question arises, however, as to whether or not humans can learn respect for
the “wild” world from feeding lorikeets in a wildlife sanctuary, from training
their dog to “fetch,”55 from raising and killing the chickens we eat in our own
backyards:56 whether or not we can learn to conserve ‘wild’ animals through
our emotional connection with domesticated animals. The final section
responds to this question by suggesting that an opposition between wild and
domesticated is no longer tenable in a planet utterly transformed by human
intervention.
“Respectful Stewardship” . . .
Germaine Greer’s interpretation of Steve Irwin and the outraged response
to her comments suggest that gendered dualisms may characterise our interpretation of the non-human world. Males on average might be more likely
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to respond in terms of either domination (e.g. hunting) or rationality (e.g.
science) and females in terms of maternal nurture (e.g. animal rescue) or
emotionality (e.g. treating pets as family members)57. Nicholas Smith argues
that Australians do not reject feral cats because of the damage they do to
wildlife, dingoes also doing much damage. Rather the feral cat is condemned
as feminine (and foreign) by contrast with the dingo which is celebrated
as masculine (and Australian)58. Such gendered dualisms can be charted as
follows:
Female
cat
feral (domestic out of place)
foreign
Germaine Greer
nurture–love of animals
emotional/spiritual
love/identify with Gaia/
mother earth
Male
dog
wild (‘natural’ in place)
Australian
Steve Irwin
conquest–domination and control of animals
rational/scientific
scientific management of complex biomes
My proposal of a “respectful stewardship of a hybrid nature” attempts to
dissolve such stark oppositions, to combine management and awe, mind
and heart, and even, where necessary, both nurture and conquest. This
hybridised approach rejects both oceanic merging with the natural world
and disengaged dominion over it. These two approaches are more common
among the Australians participating in my current research project than is
the complicated balancing of the two.59 In their comments on the value of
sustainable development, a minority of respondents valued growth ahead of
the environment, which was reduced to a raw input for economic development (the domination model). The majority wrote in terms of nurturing
the environment, even merging with it. In the former camp were comments
that “sustainable development . . . seems counter to the entire structure of
economic/industrial development and indeed to the history of human kind”
(father, Perth); “without people or progress there’s not much point in having
an environment” (male, high school student, Perth).
Some of those taking the opposite tack went so far as to express misanthropy towards fellow humans as environmental destroyers:60
We have to look after our planet. Human life is a parasite, all we’re doing is
feeding off mother nature without giving back. That needs to change (male,
high school student, Melbourne).
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Man has brought this pox upon itself. Leave the environment out of it (male,
high school student, Perth).
The environment is about the strongest thing that I feel because nobody can
stick up for the environment and animals but people can easily stick up for
people (mother, Perth).
Oceanic merging was explicit in these comments:
We are part of the planet not owners of it . . . humans are not necessarily better
than anything else on the planet (female, high school student, Sydney).
Humans and the planet are one thing, you know. We have sort of separated
that and made it as though we rule the planet but we should be taking care of
what we have been given (female, high school student, Perth).
The final quotation combines both the idea of oneness and stewardship: “we
should be taking care of what we have been given.” Kay Milton, in line with
Turner’s discussion of the concrete wild, suggests that merging with the environment is dangerous as it deprives nature of its “wildness,” its independence,
its ability to terrify us and turn on us.61 Val Plumwood62 identifies a hybridized approach to the environment by claiming we must acknowledges human
instrumentalism but also limit it through a meaningful dialogue with earth
others. I have called this “respectful stewardship,”63 an attitude captured by
one respondent in my research who describes the environment as a “sacred
factory” (mother, Melbourne). The environment is not something that we
can completely control either by recasting it in a warm and fuzzy way or by
exploiting it heedlessly, but nor does it have independence from the massive
consequences of human activity inflicted on it.
I am not calling for a rejection of our scientific knowledge of animal
behavior or of climate change (the “masculine” approach to nature). But I am
arguing that this should be combined with the equally valued understanding
that comes from embodied experiences of specific tracts of nature (the
“feminine” approach of emotional connection). Carers of golden eagles
never expect thanks or even intimacy from the eagles they rehabilitate.
However, they must become aware of the bird’s subjectivity if they are to
heal it.64 Plumwood draws an analogy with mothers—and indeed fathers—of
infants: “The mother does not have to give herself over to the oral pleasures
of the child. We can be delighted that our local bandicoot colony is thriving
without ourselves acquiring a taste for beetles.”65 Hybridised responses to
nature mean both that scientists respect the experiences of people who
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rescue wild animals or visit zoos and that sentimental pet-owners or dolphinlovers show willingness to learn about aspects of the natural world that are
not extensions of Lassie or Flipper. Our willingness to forgo our “homo
sapiens dividend,” to adapt Connell’s66 notion of the patriarchal dividend,
requires empathy: putting ourselves in the other’s place, seeing the world to
some degree from the perspective of an other with needs and experiences
both similar to and different from our own.
. . . of a “Hybrid Nature”
Keekok Lee offers a provocative, and convincing, argument that zoos do not
provide experiences of “wild animals in captivity,” an oxymoron. Rather
visitors to zoos see “artefactual species”—animals who bear only a “morphological” resemblance to their wild kin. They live in “naturalistic habitats,”
“simulated habitats” which are engineered to look natural—engineered
for the benefit of humans rather than the animals.67 Zoo animals experience “hotelification,” or food prepared in zoo kitchens and served up to
them. Rather than subjugation to survival of the fittest, zoo animals receive
medication to prolong their lives. They are tamed, their behaviour altered to
allow the human interaction necessary for their management. They are “immured” animals, animals within walls. The visiting public are correct to see
zoos as entertainment. Zoo visitors enjoy animals that look wild behaving in
domesticated ways, a cheetah going for a walk on a leash like a dog, an orca
obeying human commands68.
Contra the argument of Hancocks and others that conservation education is the only justification for zoos,69 Lee argues that zoos fail in their
justifications of “research, conservation (ex situ) and education” because of
the “ontological dissonance between zoo animals and wild animals in the
wild.” Visitors are not viewing wild animals within natural environments
but animals exhibited within a context “which is human-designed and human-controlled to promote human ends, albeit including, that of educating
humankind in the need for conserving wild species in their wild habitats.”
Lee cites two studies to support her claim. Kellert’s research in 1979 reveals
that zoo visitors do not express more concern about biodiversity than other
respondents in his survey but rather were concerned about the welfare of the
exhibited animals. A 1981 study of visitors to European zoos ‘were less sensitive to the need to respect nature than hikers, even after their visits.”70 Another study reveals that knowledge about animals increases only minimally
following a visit to the zoo, and sometimes decreases, while some visitors
left some zoos with more negativistic or doministic attitudes than they had
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when they entered71. However, these studies were all conducted before the
watershed transformation of zoos to their conservation commitment in the
1990s. Studies today may discover other outcomes. Indeed my own research
reveals that the attitudes of visitors to animal encounter destinations in Australia and New Zealand with a strong conservation message displayed higher
commitment to conservation than visitors to other sites. Of course, visitors
committed to conservation may be drawn to the latter sites and those less
engaged with environmental issues may be drawn to zoos: my research did
not assess causality.72 We need more recent research on the impact of zoos’
conservation messages on the perceptions and actions of visitors. Do some
visitors still come away with more doministic attitudes, given that animals
are necessarily immurated? Or do visitors’ emotional responses encourage
openness to education for conservation?
While I agree with Lee that zoos do not display wild animals, I would argue
that neither does the wild world contain “wild” animals in the terms Lee defines them. Wild animals “have come into existence, continue to exist, and go
out of existence, entirely autonomously, and therefore independently of human
intentionality and agency.” They exist “by themselves”‘ and “for themselves.”73
My notion of a “hybridised nature” suggests that there are no animals left on
the planet that exist entirely “by themselves” and very few whose existence
“for themselves” is not constantly interrupted by human intervention, whether
the interruption is intentional or not. There are no more untouched wildernesses; everything is “hybrid nature” already transformed by humans who are
part of it. Humans displace animals, competing with them for resources like
water, fresh air and food. Humans then act in a much less effective attempt to
protect these very same animals, in wildlife sanctuaries or in outlawing animal
cruelty.74 The concept of hybrid nature thus accepts the vast imbalance in
power and destructive potential between humans and the rest of the world.
Daniel Janzen suggests that we understand so-called wilderness as “wildland
gardens,” gardens that grow “wilds.” As gardens, we use them for sustenance
but we also attend to them with “care, planning, investment, zoning, insurance, fine-tuning, research, and premeditated harvest.”75 While some might
find this approach too managerialist, the concept of “hybrid nature” calls for
constant debate concerning the extent of intervention that will best meet the
needs of nature and of humanity. Respectful stewardship is not a result, but a
process, an active debate which we must come to with as much honesty and
integrity as we can. It requires us to seek the facts that weigh against and with
our desires, to feel and know the other and so de-center our “selves” and our
interests, to understand that humans have made a world in which we easily
dominate other species. Thus we have more duties than we have rights.
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I believe we can learn empathy for wild animal others through connection
with domestic companions as well as animals immurated in zoos. In both
cases, we are forced to consider the difficulties of discovering the needs of an
animal other over whom we can easily assert domination and for whom we
may readily have self-interested affection76. Vicki Hearne, an animal trainer
who has studied philosophy, retorts to critics who consider it cruel to “work”
a dog or horse: “We are in charge already, like it or not.” Good training enables a domestic animal to find its most noble self, indeed a trained tracking
dog can do something the trainer cannot. The training is based on “love” as
well as knowledge, and its objective is “shared commitments and collaboration . . . a mutual autonomy.” This occurs when the dog has taken the idea of
‘fetch’ to be something she wishes to do to the best of her ability. In tracking,
then, the handler cannot merge with the dog, because ‘it is only in the dog’s
answering illuminations that you know whether you have said anything at
all, or what you have said’. Hearne asks
What gives us the right to say “Fetch!”? Something very like reverence, humility and obedience, of course. We can follow, understand, only things and
people we can command, and we can command only whom and what we can
follow.77
As Raimond Gaita puts it, an animal’s “freedom . . . “exists only when a
concern for its welfare is transformed by respect for its dignity.”78
Similarly, zoos can only achieve their proclaimed role in habitat conservation if they both “follow” and “command” animals in their care,79 recraft
themselves as a “welfare ark” as Margodt80 puts it. Furthermore, instead of
condemning the public’s desire for entertainment, for enjoying animals that
look wild behaving in domesticated ways (a cheetah going for a walk on
a leash like a dog), zoos should work with their unique animal species to
promulgate the idea of a “hybrid nature.” Zoos have become more honest
about the difficulties of breeding animals for release in the wild, the ethical
dilemmas of managing their populations, and even about the management of
animals and exhibits to appear naturalistic (for example in behind the scenes
tours). Such discussions accept that zoos are “nurturing and creating . . . new
immurated, artefactual species”81 but that these also make a contribution to
saving “hybrid nature.”
Many zoos are extending their research, educational and fund-raising activities to encompass wildlife habitats.82 For example, Chris West, the Chief
Executive Director of Zoos SA, which is responsible for the zoo in Adelaide
and the open plains zoo in Monarto, an hour’s drive away, describes
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all our work and what we stand for: the survival of wild animals in sustainable
habitat, in a world of balance in which humans temper their consumerism to
allow for a more equitable distribution of resources with other species on our
one small planet.
He goes on to say that work “in the field,” particularly with native species,
must expand, as must attention to “the needs of the small and less glamorous types, such as frogs” as well as projecting “our message of environmental
and conservation responsibility more powerfully.” Climate change and water
pressures create huge challenges and require “a polity” of “committed and
active people” as well as those with ‘scientific input’ to continue the “deep
heritage of land stewardship.”83
In keeping with West’s message, the zoo is engaged in breeding programs,
including the “highly endangered Orange-bellied parrot,” Woman pythons,
and a partnership with Philippines Biodiversity Conservation Program to
deliver “in-situ conservation outcomes” in the Philippines. A group of school
children have become involved in saving the Painted dog in Zimbabwe;
another group spent a night in Monarto’s bush camp “to reconnect to nature and to understand our footprint on our earth”; Zoo Youth coordinators
shape how kids “see animals and conservation.”84 Encounters with Adelaide
zoo’s animals seek to promote fundraising for endangered animals and other
environmental responses framed within both a conservation message and
frank discussions of the difficulties and outcomes of managing immurated
animals, for example the Woman pythons when released into the wild were
devoured by Mulga snakes.85 While conservation is the message promoted by
the Adelaide Zoo—and other zoos—only a longitudinal study of its visitors
and friends can assess the impact of that message.
Conclusion
City zoos are a potential portal to more “authentic” wilderness experiences,
but this does not mean that they must—or indeed should—claim that their
animals are “wild.” They offer one particular example of hybridised nature, a
nature for which the public have increasingly demanded respectful stewardship. This respectful stewardship can shape human obligations in other settings. If the encounters are framed appropriately, experiences with animals in
city zoos can counter the disconnection people experience when they view
the “abstract wild”: unrealistic apprehensions of nature conveyed by “cute”
cartoon images or Steve Irwin wrestling with a crocodile. The role of zoos in
heart and mind conservation is particularly relevant for those too poor, too
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ill or too old to visit nature in more distant parts. As Richard Jakob-Hoff,
Senior Curator, Auckland Zoological Park, suggests:
I don’t believe that conservation happens in zoos any more than I believe
conservation happens on Little Barrier Island [the habitat of the endangered
kakapo, for which Auckland Zoo has a breeding program]. Conservation can
only really be achieved by changes in the human mind which result in changes
in our behaviour.86
At various sites, ranging from our back garden to a distant rainforest, we
can learn to feel the natural world differently, not as a place to express our
rejection of the feral other, or our yearning for oceanic connection with the
mother. We can learn the obligations of respectful stewardship in which we
humans are both apart from and a part of “nature.”
Notes
1. Joan Bentrupperbäumer, “Human Dimension of Wildlife Interaction,” in
Wildlife Tourism, ed. David Newsome, Ross Dowling and Susan Moore (Clevedon:
Channel View Publications, 2004), 82–112 (at 107).
2. While Steve Irwin became famous through his wildlife documentary series The
Crocodile Hunter, he claimed his most important work was conservation: “I consider
myself a wildlife warrior. My mission is to save the world’s endangered species”
by purchasing “large tracts of land” and founding the Steve Irwin Conservation
Foundation, later renamed Wildlife Warriors Worldwide. “Steve Irwin,” Wikipedia.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Irwin (March 15, 2008).
3. Among a population of 20 million Australians, Steve Irwin’s memorial service
attracted a television viewing audience second only to Princess Diana’s funeral (2.39
million viewers compared with 6.2 million viewers); Pope John Paul II’s funeral in
third place drew only 750,000 viewers. Margaret Gibson, “Whom do we Mourn? Public Mourning in the Age of Celebrity,” Nexus: Newsletter of The Australian Sociological
Association 19, no. 3 (2007): 12–13.
4. BBC News, “Irwin Fans in Revenge Attacks,” September 12, 2006. news.bbc.
co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/5338118.stm, (March 15, 2008).
5. Dan Mathews, vice president of animal rights group People for the Ethical
Treatment of Animals. “Steve Irwin,” Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Irwin,
(March 15, 2008).
6. Jean-Michel Cousteau, a producer of wildlife documentaries and son of Jacques
Cousteau. “Steve Irwin,” Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Irwin, (March 15,
2008).
7. Germaine Greer, “That Sort of Self-Delusion is what it Takes to be a Real
Aussie larrikin,” The Guardian, September 5, 2006, www.guardian.co.uk/world/2006/
sep/05/australia (March 14, 2008).
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8. “Premier Blasts Greer’s Irwin Jibe” Sydney Morning Herald, September 7, 2006.
www.smh.com.au/news/national/premier-blasts-greers-irwin-jibe/2006/09/07/115722
2236936.html (March 14, 2008).
9. Katherine Kizilos, “Rudd Joins Chorus: Stick a Sock in it, Greer,” The Age,
September 7, 2006. www.theage.com.au/news/national/rudd-joins-chorus-stick-asock-in-it-greer/2006/09/06/1157222201283.html. (March 14, 2008).
10. Matt Price, “Let’s Hope Germaine Greer is Thick-skinned,” The Australian,
6 September 2008. blogs.theaustralian.news.com.au/letters/index.php/theaustralian/
comments/greers_sting_in_the_tale/ (March 15, 2008).
11. Keekok Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2007), 93–94.
12. Chris West, “A Year of Transformation,” ZooTimes (The Official Magazine of
the Royal Zoological Society of SA Inc). March 2008: 3.
13. David Hancocks A Different Nature: The Paradoxical World of Zoos and Their
Uncertain Future, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 244.
14. Gerald Durrell, The Stationary Ark (London: Collins 1976).
15. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 112, 161.
16. Geoff Hyde and Brian King, “A Survey of Visitor and Community Attitudes
to the Melbourne Zoo,” (Footscray: Tourism and Marketing Studies, Footscray Institute of Technology, 1987), 8. For Melbourne; Nicole A. Mazur, “Zoos, Government
Wildlife Agencies and Conservation Organizations: Partners? Colleagues? or Adversaries?,” (paper presented at the ARAZPA/ASZK Annual Conference, Darwin, April
17–22, 1994), 3, 7. For Adelaide; see also Stephen R. Kellert, with the assistance of
Joyce K. Berry Activities of the American Public Relating to Animals, (Washington: Department of the Interior, United States Fish and Wildlife Service, 1978), 50, 52).
17. Bob Mullan and Garry Marvin, Zoo Culture, (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London 1987), 132–133.
18. Mullan and Marvin, Zoo Culture, 135; Amanda Townsend, “Attitudes,
Perceptions and Behaviour Among Visitors at the Adelaide Zoo,” (honours thesis
submitted for Bachelor of Arts, Department of Psychology, University of Adelaide,
Adelaide 1988; Stephen R. Kellert, “Policy Implications of a National Study of
American Attitudes and Behavioral Relations to Animals,” (Washington: Department of the Interior, United States Fish and Wildlife Service, 1978), 58; Kathryn
Moar, “Determination of Visitors: Perceptions of the Adelaide Zoo,” (honours thesis
submitted for Bachelor of Science, Department of Psychology, University of Adelaide), 38 for Adelaide Zoo.
19. Kay Anderson “Animals, Science and Spectacle in the City” in Animal Geographies: Place, Politics, and Identity in the Nature–Culture Borderlands, ed. Jennifer
Wolch and Jody Emel (London: Verso, 1998), 45.
20. Sian Powell, “The New Zoo” The Weekend Australian Magazine, February
22–23, 2003, 27–31 (at 31).
21. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 87, 94–99.
22. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 104–105.
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Chilla Bulbeck
23. John Berger, About Looking, (New York: Pantheon, 1980), 22.
24. Jim Grant, interview 3 January 1993; see also Mazur, “Zoos, Government
Wildlife Agencies,” 4, 6.
25. Christina Harwood Jarvis, “If Descartes Swam with Dolphins: The Framing and Consumption of Marine Animals in Contemporary Australian Tourism,”
doctoral dissertation. (Melbourne: Department of Geography and Environmental
Studies, University of Melbourne, 2000), 134–135.
26. Susan Davis, Specular Nature: Corporate Culture and the Sea World Experience,
(Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), 231.
27. Nicole Mazur, After the Ark? Environmental Policy Making and the Zoo (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2001), 203.
28. Davis, Specular Nature, 231.
29. Mark Halsey, “Molar Ecology: What Can the (Full) Body of an Eco-Tourist
Do?” in Deleuzian Encounters: Studies in Contemporary Social Issues, ed. Peta Malins
and Anna Hickey-Moody (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 145–148.
30. Thea Williams, “Exotic pests a threat,” The Advertiser, October 10, 2000, 13.
31. David Newsome, Ross Dowling and Susan Moore Wildlife Tourism (Clevedon:
Channel View Publications, 2004), 43–44, 205.
32. Mullan and Marvin, Zoo Culture, 80–82.
33. Yi–Fu Tuan Dominance and Affection: The Making of Pets (New Haven and
London: Yale University Press, 1984), 80.
34. Adrian Peace, “Dingo Discourse: Constructions of Nature and Contradictions
of Capital in an Australian Eco–Tourist Location,” Anthropological Forum, 11, no. 2
(November 2001): 175–94.
35. John M. Edington and M. Ann Edington, Ecology, Recreation and Tourism
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 36.
36. E.J. Brennan, J.G. Else, and J. Altman, “Ecology and Behaviour of a Pest
Primate: Vervet Monkeys in a Tourist-Lodge Habitat” African Journal of Ecology, 23,
no. 1 (1985): 35–44.
37. Edington and Edington, Ecology, Recreation and Tourism, 37, 41.
38. Newsome et al., Wildlife Tourism, 43–44, 205.
39. Mark Bryan Orams “Managing Interaction Between Wild Dolphins and
Tourists at a Dolphin Feeding Program, Tangalooma, Australia: The Development
and Application of n Education Program for Tourists, and an Assessment of “Pushy”
Dolphin Behaviour,” doctoral dissertation (Brisbane: University of Queensland,
1995), 99–100.
40. Janet Richardson, Ecotourism and Nature–based Holidays (Sydney: Simon and
Schuster, 1993), 22.
41. e.g., see Anthony Weston Back to Earth: Tomorrow’s Environmentalism (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994).
42. Newsome et al., Wildlife Tourism, 207; see Orams, “Managing Interactions,”
for the development of a dolphin feeding program at Tangalooma near Brisbane in
Queensland.
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43. Newsome et al., Wildlife Tourism, 209–210, 73.
44. Krippendorf in Marc L. Miller and Berit C. Kaae, “Coastal and Marine Ecotourism: A Formula for Sustainable Development?,” Trends, 30, no. 2 (1993): 35–41
(at 40).
45. Kaye Healey, Animal Rights: Issues for the Nineties, (Wentworth Falls Healey:
Spinney Press Australia, 1992), 33.
46. Gail Davies, “Virtual Animals in Electronic Zoos: the Changing Geographies
of Animal Capture and Display” in Animal Spaces, Beastly Places: New Geographies of
Human–Animal Relations, ed. Chris Philo and Chris Wilbert (London and New York:
Routledge, 2000), 254.
47. Bentrupperbäumer, “Human Dimension,” 88; Orams, “Managing Interaction”, 54, 56.
48. Bentrupperbäumer, “Human Dimension,” 88.
49. Heather Aslin, “Speaking of the Wild: Australian Attitudes to Wildlife”, doctoral dissertation, (Canberra: Australian National University, 1996), 321.
50. Chilla Bulbeck, Facing the Wild: Ecotourism, Conservation and Animal Encounters, (London: Earthscan, 2005), 32–39, 91–103.
51. Jack Turner, The Abstract Wild (Tucson: The University of Arizona Press,
1996), xv.
52. Jennifer Price, Flight Maps: Adventures with Nature in Modern America (New
York: Basic Books, New York).
53. Turner, Abstract Wild, 28.
54. Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape,
(London: Macmillan, 1986), 201.
55. e.g., see Vicki Hearne, Adam’s Task: Calling Animals By Name (New York:
Random House, 1987.
56. e.g., see Andrea Gaynor, “From Chook Run to Chicken Treat: Speculation
on Changes in Human–animal Relationships in Twentieth-century Perth, Western
Australia,” Limina 5 (1999): 26–39 (at 37).
57. e.g., see Kellert’s data summarised in Bulbeck, Facing the Wild, 241–245, and
my own findings in Bulbeck, Facing the Wild, 220, 227.
58. Nicholas Smith, “The Howl and the Pussy: Feral Cats and Wild Dogs in
the Australian Imagination,” Australian Journal of Anthropology 10, No. 3 (1999):
288–305.
59. The comments come from a five year Australian Research Council supported
study of young Australians’ attitudes to a range of social issues, involving a total of
1240 questionnaires and 150 interviews completed across four states (South Australia made up 53 percent of the sample, Western Australia 25 percent, New South
Wales 12 percent and Victoria 10 percent). Socio-economic diversity was achieved
by sampling high school students (in the second last or last year of high school)
across the spectrum from elite private to working class government schools, located
in capital cities and in regional centers. The majority of questionnaires were completed at school in a single class period (59.5 percent of all the questionnaires). The
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Chilla Bulbeck
students took a near identical questionnaire home to their parents to complete and
post back to me (18.9 percent). I also surveyed first year university students studying
women’s studies or social sciences (12.3 percent) and youth service clients, aiming in
particular for services for early school leavers, for Indigenous youth and young people
with sexuality issues (9.7 percent of all questionnaires).
60. Adrian Franklin, Animals and Modern Cultures: A Sociology of Human–Animal
Relations in Modernity (London: Sage, 1999), 194.
61. Kay Milton, Loving Nature: Towards an Ecology of Emotion (London: Routledge, 2002), 82.
62. Val Plumwood, Environmental Culture: The Ecological Crisis of Reason (London
and New York: Routledge, 2002).
63. Bulbeck, Facing the Wild; see also Milton, Loving Nature, 53.
64. Suzanne M. Michel, “Golden Eagles and the Environmental Politics of Care”
in Animal Geographies: Place, Politics, and Identity in the Nature–Culture Borderlands,
ed. Jennifer Wolch and Jody Emel (London: Verso, 1998), 176, 178.
65. Val Plumwood, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature (London and New York:
Routledge, 1993), 160.
66. R.W. Connell, Masculinities (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1995), 82–83.
67. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 2, 25–29, 106, 35–39; see also Mullan and
Marvin, Zoo Culture, 28; Nigel Rothfels, Savages and Beasts: The Birth of the Modern
Zoo (Baltimore and London: John Hopkins University Press, 2002), 200–202.
68. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 107, 64–66,116.
69. Hancocks, A Different Nature, xviii.
70. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 102–105.
71. Stephen R. Kellert and Julie Dunlap, “Informal Learning at the Zoo: A Study
of Attitudes and Knowledge Impacts,” A Report to the Zoological Society of Philadelphia of a Study Funded by the G.R. Dodge Foundation, Philadelphia; Hancocks,
A Different Nature, xviii citing Kellert and Dunlap’s research.
72. Bulbeck Facing the Wild, chapter 2, especially 54–55, table 3.18 on 236.
73. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 50, 19.
74. Margaret Stone and Jonathan Stone “Principles and Animals,” Current Affairs
Bulletin, 63, no.3 (1986): 4–13 (at 6–7).
75. Daniel Janzen, “Gardenification of Wildland Nature and the Human Footprint” Science 279 (1998): 1312–1313.
76. See Kathleen Szasz, Petishism: Pets and their People in the Western World (London: Hutchinson, London, 1968); Tuan, Dominance and Affection, 102 for human
relations with pets
77. Hearne, Adam’s Task, 48–49, 53, 106, 76.
78. Raimond Gaita, The Philosopher’s Dog, (Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2002),
41.
79. Hancocks, A Different Nature, xviii.
80. Koen Margodt, The Welfare Ark: Suggestions for a Renewed Policy for Zoos (Belgium: VUB Universiteit Press, 2001).
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81. Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour, 4.
82. e.g., see Hancocks A Different Nature, 174–175. Further evidence of this shift
in orientation for Adelaide’s zoos comes from a content analysis of photographs
in the managing body’s magazine ZooTimes. Photographs of animals with humans
comprised over 40 percent of the total photographs in the magazine during the early
1980s and around 20 percent through much of the 1990s. In the March 2008 issue,
they constituted only 11 percent of the photographs. The trend for representing
humans cuddling animals is also downward, no such photographs appearing in the
March 2008 issue of ZooTimes or almost any other issues since the late 1990s, by
contrast with over 20 percent in the late 1980s (My thanks to Silvia, the Adelaide
Zoo librarian, for providing access to back copies of ZooTimes).
83. Chris West, “A year of transformation,” ZooTimes (The Official Magazine of
the Royal Zoological Society of SA Inc). March, 2008: 3.
84. These examples are taken from articles in the March 2008 issue of ZooTimes.
85. Greg Johnston, “It’s Deadly Out There”, ZooTimes (March, 2001): 21.
86. Richard Jakob–Hoff, “Zoos as Conservation Tool” (paper presented to the
Department of Conservation Management Techniques Training Course, Pirongia,
New Zealand, May 27, 1993.
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CHAPTER SIX
Whale and Human Agency in
World-Making: Decolonizing
Whale-Human Encounters
Inside the Ark there was a Well of darkness and a multitude of voices—
and the air was already fetid with the stench of animals confined without
windows. There were also heavy smells of rancid pitch and the fresh cut
planks of gopher wood, which gave off a perfume of almost sickening
sweetness.1
Noah. A flood. Animals marching two by two up the gangplank. The story is
well known. The ubiquity of biblical narratives throughout the world makes
it likely that many, many people have heard the story of Noah’s Ark, or, at
least, some version of it. However, it is very unlikely that anyone else has
imagined it quite like Timothy Findley has in his provocative novel Not
Wanted on the Voyage. One of the radical features that make Findley’s narrative so unique is that he has dared to imagine what the experience of the
Ark might have been like for the others on board, particularly the animals.
Inspired by Findley’s subversive text, we begin with the assumption that
Noah is not the only subject on the Ark, nor is his reason the most lucid.
The figure of Noah, as portrayed by Findley in Not Wanted on the Voyage,
serves as a metaphor for a traditional Western conceptual framework in need
of re-visioning. In our critique of Noah, we stage an ontological mutiny with
the “other” animals captive on the Ark.
Through our feminist–multispecies alliance, we challenge the patriarchy and
colonialism of animal captivity (including gene bank models of preservation),
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and imagine radical restructurings of human-animal relations. Grounded
in specific narratives of whale-human interactions, we strive to decolonize
whale encounters. With the intellectual help of the late feminist philosopher, Val Plumwood, and postcolonial theorists, such as Ilan Kapoor and
Homi Bhabha, we expose a pervasive crisis of “othering” in Western approaches to whale-human interactions and explore natureculture entanglements as discussed by Donna Haraway. Inspired by Karen Barad, we then
propose transformative encounters within which the touch of encounter
requires responsibility, reciprocity and recognition of these meetings as intraactive relations. We are particularly attentive to the socio-material contexts
of zoos and aquariums as we imagine transformative encounters through
which humans and whales come to matter.
Zoo Ark and Species Salvation
The Well of darkness itself was right at the centre of the ark and its
depth was the depth of the lower three decks. Above it, the upper and
only open deck (where Noah had his quarters in the Castle and his
Chapel with its Pagoda) formed a roof from which there hung a number of unlit lamps. Each of the other decks was open to the Well—and
each was a labyrinth of corridors and passageways that ran behind and
in between the various cages, pens and stalls where the animals were
housed.2
Who do zoos save, and from what? The potential joyfulness of encountering another free living animal is unrivalled, and an experience one would
assume is common to many. The knotted complexity of meeting a caged
animal should be unusual, but instead it is ordinary. The public and urban
availability of zoos is to be commended, while what they teach us about
other lives and compassionate encounters between species is questionable.
Individual animals live and are “met” in zoos and aquariums, yet they are
witnessed, for the most part, as representatives of a particular species. Here it
begins to become evident how certain ideas about Noah’s Ark have seeped
into Western popular imaginations and seem to have taken a particular hold
within the secular natural sciences.
Notions of salvation and preservation have long been associated with zoos
and wildlife conservation, and still appear in many forms today. Take, for example, this opening statement from a website showcasing the 2008 Watson
Fellowship project titled ‘Designing the Ark: Zoo Architecture and its Influence on Conservation,’ led by Catherine Brinkley, a student of Wellesley
College: “Much like Noah of the Old Testament, zoo curators present sam-
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Whale and Human Agency in World-Making 105
ples of wildlife, hoping to protect them from the flood of urban sprawl and
industrialization by raising environmental awareness of the ills of industry
and deforestation.”3 Often, similes and metaphorical references to the story
of Noah’s Ark are invoked when aquariums and zoos present themselves as
scientific institutions engaged in larger wildlife conservation efforts.
Beyond their claims of educating the public about biodiversity and environmental issues, zoos and aquariums promote their captivity of individual
animals as contributing to preserving the species. John Berger argued persuasively that as animals disappeared from human’s daily life, zoos became
more popular.4 As a result, “[t]he ‘zoo ark’ was born,” writes Fiona Sunquist
in her article for the International Wildlife magazine titled “End of the
Ark?—zoos,” in which she traces the evolution of zoos and their perceived
roles in society. She further comments that “[t]his new idea that zoos could
provide a temporary haven to save the last remnants of the Earth’s disappearing creatures came as a public-relations bonanza.”5 Indeed the idea of
the “zoo ark” has been strongly embraced by the public and scientists alike.
Captive breeding programs abound and have become the gold standard
upon which the success of aquarium and zoo husbandry is largely judged.
Biologists, veterinarians, trainers, and keepers attempt to facilitate and
manage the reproductive activities of animals under their care, with the
greatest emphasis on those belonging to endangered species. These efforts
vary widely across zoos and aquariums but the results are consistently poor
as the majority fail to reintroduce any bred animals into wild habitats.6
According to a 1994 study of reintroduction projects, the success rate of
survival tends to be low, with only 11 percent actually establishing wild
populations.7
Moreover, research has shown that captive breeding programs are not
only less effective than habitat conservation projects, they are dramatically
more expensive. Zoologist Sky Alibhai and veterinarian Zoe Jewell have
been conducting a long-term research study of black and white rhinos in
Zaire for over a decade, and are actively involved in wildlife conservation
in the area. Comparing the cost of in-situ (wild habitat) conservation to exsitu (captive) conservation, Alibhai and Jewell have shown that the entire
annual operating costs for the Garamba National Park are equivalent to the
cost of keeping just sixteen rhinos in a zoo (one captive rhino costs $16,
800 versus the $1,000 cost of maintaining one rhino in wild habitat).8 They
argue that beyond cost effectiveness, money put toward the maintenance of
Garamba National Park would protect 31 Northern white rhino, as well as
the many other animals who live there, including 4000 elephants, 30,000
buffalo, and “the entire giraffe population of Zaire”!9
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Despite the relative cost and low success rates, captive breeding programs
continue to run in zoos and aquariums all over the world. To these ends,
Sunquist points out that:
[t]o minimize inbreeding, zoos came up with an elaborate computerized mating
system known as the Species Survival Plan, or SSP. All captive gorillas, for
example, or Siberian tigers or snow leopards, were entered into the system as
single populations, providing zoos with records so they could exchange animals
in breeding loans.10
Referring to an SSP for endangered tiger species in her recent book When
Species Meet, Haraway explains that “the purpose is to provide a genetic
reservoir for reinforcing and reconstituting wild populations.”11 The general
idea is that animals already existing in zoos and aquariums can be genetically catalogued and the information pooled globally across institutions to
form a “master blueprint”12 for each endangered species. Such a network of
zoos, aquariums, computer data banks, breeding programs, and animal loan
systems is thus considered a virtual Ark, ideally designed and maintained by
humans (countless Noahs, if you will) to protect endangered species from
extinction. Rife with financial language, this gene bank model of DNA
repositories and animal loans and transfers is demonstrative of the commodification of captive animals. Since so few zoo animals are ever released back
into wild populations, skeptics ask whether captive breeding is not more of
a rationalization for keeping animals in captivity while encouraging visitors
and increasing revenues.13 SSPs and the management of captive populations
have many shortcomings which have been rigorously detailed elsewhere.14
Considered here are those shortcomings most directly related to the sexism,
racism and crisis of reason suffered by our figurative Noah.
To begin with, SSPs assume a fundamental moral justification for keeping animals in captivity for the purposes of display and management. They
function with the notion of an individual animal as a generic representative of the species, which assigns value to the species over and above any
single individual.15 Furthermore, they ignore the individual developmental
and behavioral history of each animal, which has particular repercussions
for survival outside a captive environment. Appealing to a preservation
mentality, captive animals are presented as ambassadors, representatives
of their counterparts living “in the wild,” whose own freedom is sacrificed
to ensure the survival of the species. This transposition of identity and
value, from unique individual to an interchangeable member of a species,
is the ethical underpinning for many conservation biology and wildlife
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preservation strategies, such as an SSP. Vital decisions are made based
upon these values.
Setting aside problems with the very definition of “species,”16 the status
of an individual is further diminished as the captive-animal-as-speciesrepresentative is then reduced to a carrier of the genetic material which
characterizes the species. The genes become reified as entities which can be
protected and manipulated, and considered more valuable than the actual
life lived by a “whole” animal.17 In effect, the species is conceptualized as a
machine which can be divided up into smaller and smaller parts. A pod of
orcas, for instance, can be seen as a collective machine, isolated first from
complex relations with habitat and other beings. Multiple layers of context
are stripped away conceptually and physically as an orca is taken from the
pod and isolated in captivity, tissue is taken from the orca and isolated in
a lab, cells are isolated from the tissue and so on down to the smallest unit
of genetic material, which is what is actually “preserved.” As evolutionary
biologist Richard Lewontin persuasively argues, each individual organism is
a unique amalgamation of a whole body being in the world, with internal genetic and cellular events, and external environmental relationships.18 In the
zoo’s process of preserving the species, we misplace the whole animal and all
of the lived complex inter- and intra-actions. J.P. Rini’s cartoon (featured in
Haraway’s When Species Meet) satirically portrays this dramatic loss. A female
and male figure, presumed to be Noah and his wife, peer over the side of the
Ark at the crowd of various animals waiting expectantly to board. The male
figure announces, “Actually, we’re only taking tissue samples.”
Staging an Ontological Mutiny
On the second deck there were birds and reptiles and insects caged
and confined with bars and wire. . . . On the third deck, the beasts of
medium size were housed in pens and box stalls. Gutters ran beside the
passageways here and emptied into spillways that, in turn, were emptied
through spouts into the waters outside. . . . On the fourth and lowest
level were all the beasts whose size it had been feared would sink the ark:
and here the darkness was absolute.19
In our complex technological cultures, the mechanistic paradigm evident
in captivity and wildlife conservation programs, such as a SSP, seems like
a hangover of rationalism, a conceptual framework which orders the world
into old dualistic categories like mind/body and civilized/savage.20 The late
feminist philosopher, Val Plumwood, observed that dualisms “create a radical
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discontinuity between the group identified as the privileged ‘centre’ and those
subordinated.”21 Plumwood identifies dualisms as sets of inter-locking oppressions that police the boundaries against any unlawful flow of ideas across the
divide, for example, between human and animal. She has a sophisticated
analysis of the power of dualisms in human-animal relations and practices.
For instance, she claims one of the reigning assumptions embedded in the
success of dualistic power inequities is to radically exclude or hyper-separate
the Other as inferior, as something that humans have no continuity with.22
In European cities in the 1860s there were travelling exhibitions of dead
blue whales, and these offer a vivid example of radical exclusion. Although
they are the largest mammal on earth, blue whales were killed, preserved
(badly—they sold perfume to overcome the stench), and publicly exhibited.
In one such exhibit near Gothenburg, Sweden “having tea inside the whale
was a popular attraction for those who could afford it.”23
The radical exclusion of animals, such as the kind exemplified by afternoon tea inside a blue whale, is typically made possible by a conceptual
homogenization of all “Others.” With the “Master” at the centre, everything
else is just ‘the rest.’ There is no allowance for distinction in “inferior” others.
They are thought of as a uniform group which conforms to a certain stereotype that categorizes them as “naturally” inferior to the Master. An obvious
example is the casual and ubiquitous Western categorization of humans and
animals, where humans are identified as a distinct species and every other
species in the Kingdom Animalia is lumped together. At another scale, the
homogenization of animals serves to erase individuality among those of the
same species. At aquariums, like Sea World, orcas are not presented to the
public by unique names; rather, they are indiscriminately called “Shamu.”
Each individual is seen as a generic representative of the species Orcinus orca,
and this attitude is extended to all of the captives at Sea World.
While conducting field research at Sea World, Orlando, for instance,
coauthor Traci Warkentin overheard a family exclaim: “Okay, we’ve done
the dolphins,” as they left the dolphin pool.24 On the surface, this comment
may seem harmless, but homogenization such as this can lead to indifference
and objectification toward the dolphins. When dolphins are perceived only
as objects of entertainment, human subjects tend not to concern themselves with ethics. Objects can be used as mere means to ends, like profits
for Sea World, rather than ends in themselves. Thus, as Plumwood warns,
“[h]omogenisation supports instrumentalism, incorporation, and radical
exclusion.”25 As a result, a conceptual wall divides superior human subjects
from inferior animal objects, and the practical consequences are that animals
can be owned as property and treated as consumable products.
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The great wall constructed between human and animals runs parallel,
unfortunately, to the divide between some privileged humans at the centre
and other humans constructed on the periphery. In 1906 at the Bronx Zoo,
the racist caging and exhibition of Ota Benga, a Congolese man of the Batwa
people exemplifies this haunting history.26 Ota Benga was housed in the
Monkey House where he appeared in “the cage wearing a loincloth, frolicking
with the animals, with bones strewn about his feet suggesting the notion that
Ota was a cannibal.”27 There was a sign on the exhibit which read: “The African Pygmy, Ota Benga.” Age: twenty-three years. Height: 4 feet 11 inches.
Weight, 103 pounds. Brought form the Kasai River, Congo Free State, South
Central Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner. Exhibited each afternoon during
September.”28 As Timea Szell notes “the language here is identical to that
used to denote other animals.”29 Fortunately, African-American clergymen,
like Reverend R.S. MacArthur of the Calvary Baptist Church protested,
“We send missionaries to Africa to Christianize the people and then we bring
one here to brutalize him.”30 Ota Benga was eventually released to the clergy
because the Bronx zoo director William Hornaday labeled him “unmanageable;” tragically, Ota Benga committed suicide ten years later.31
Since we are staging a mutiny on the zoological ark we count Ota Benga
as an ally32 because “he was deeply curious about the ways of white people.
A hunter par excellence, Ota initially tracked and followed the crowds at the
zoo . . . he was fascinated by the very concept of the exhibition of caged animals—some of whom were made to act in “human” ways to amuse and excite
the public.”33 Despite how outraged we are by the fact of Ota Benga’s zoo
captivity, a crucial question is the one posed by Hari Jagannathan Balasubramanian: “What is it that most of us do not condemn today and are complicit
with that in 2107 will seem utterly outrageous?”34 Perhaps, in 2107, zoos will
seem utterly outrageous.
Lewontin (2000) explains that as organisms develop in specific places
they “create, modify and choose the environments in which they live.”35
Beings are always in dynamic, reciprocal relation to their environments as
they make, remake and move through their worlds. Of course, zoo animals
have agency, but it is a limited form, with overseers and confinement supposedly for their-own-good, and for the good-of-their-kind. Aquarium and zoo
animals can act, albeit in a captive social environment where their choices
are severely circumscribed. Captured animals are denied the sociality of their
own birthright, place and choice, and restricted from immersing themselves
in the immense sociality of their worlds.36
Theoretical particle physicist, Karen Barad’s relational ontology acts as a
corrective for rationalism’s violent isolation of being. Relata-within-relations
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is a conceptual idea proposed by Barad, whereby the word “relata” is substituted for words such as entities, objects, subjects, or things to highlight that
everything is in relation. In Barad’s theory on agential intra-action, her radical
theoretical shift assumes bodies in relation matter more than objects. As Barad
describes, “All bodies, not merely ‘human’ bodies, come to matter through
the world’s iterative intra-activity—its performativity.”37 What, then, are
the intra-actions of captivity and who comes to matter? What do aquarium
animals perform and for whom?
Unsettling the Ark: Materiality and Agency in Captivity
The ark—becalmed and heaving beneath the fog—was surrounded on
all sides by hundreds of playful and frolicking creatures—leaping out of
the water, waving their flippers at the ark and its occupants and calling
out: “Hallo! Hallo!” before they fell back beneath the surface. . . . “Stop!”
cried Mrs. Noyes—searching wildly for Noah. “Stop! Can’t you see they
want to be friends?” . . . But Noah refused to hear her . . . “Madam—he
called down through the smoke of his beard—as he raised his arm and the
black umbrella to heaven—these are the creatures of hell! Pirates from the
pit! Spewed from Satan’s mouth! Do your duty woman. Kill them!” Mrs.
Noyes turned away. Sick.38
At the various sites, and in the diverse spaces, of informal animal encounters—in aquariums, zoos, museums, on wildlife trips—humans and other
animals interact. Some of the more generic assumptions implicit in many of
these practices are: animals are resources; animals are there to entertain us;
and animals are exotic others that we can sensationalize and romanticize.
Many of these interactions reproduce colonizing aspects of human-animal
relations. How can we decolonize human relationships with animals and the
colonizing representations that often make up these spaces? Along with the
compassionately rebellious Mrs. Noyes (Noah’s wife) and her talking cat,
Mottyl, it may be time to consider abandoning ship.
If we recognize with postcolonial studies that the colonizer and the colonized are interdependent, we may be able to destabilize human understandings of animal captivity. We will rely on postcolonial studies scholar, Ilan
Kapoor39 to help us in our endeavour, as he draws on the theories of the late
Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak and Homi Bhabha. We are well aware that
postcolonial studies are focused on human subjugation, but we will use their
theoretical insights to peer into animal subjugation. It would be safe to say a
globally dominant set of common actions is to catch, drug and violently remove animals in order to secure them in captivity. Our purpose, like Spivak’s
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is to “advocate the modes of “negotiation” and “critique,” which unsettle the
dominant from within.”40 We intend to cause indigestion from within the
belly of the beast, so to speak.
Kapoor elucidates Homi Bhabha’s notion of “hybridity” as an ambivalent
“psychic process in which the colonizer fears, and so distinguishes himself
from, the colonized “other,” but simultaneously needs or desires the other’s
existence from which to oppositionally be recognized as master.”41 The
ghost of Ota Benga is whispering between these lines. An important aspect
of Bhabha’s work shows “how hybridity can create openings for agency”42
because “the discursive instability, while rendering the master’s narrative
contradictory and ambivalent, can also empower the subaltern to resist
and interrupt it.”43 Just as Ota Benga would visit the zookeeper’s office and
cause havoc on many an occasion before he was eventually “freed.” Kapoor
recounts Bhabha’s example of resistance found in the nineteenth century
records of Christian missionaries who tried to convert Indian villages (outside Delhi). The villagers resisted and demanded “an Indianized Gospel [or
a “vegetarian Bible”!] . . . using the powers of hybridity to resist baptism and
to put the project of conversion in an impossible position.”44
There is no doubt that humans have power over captive whales and dolphins. For Kapoor and Bhabha, however, “there are no relations of power
without agency” and power is concerned with “making possible and making
trouble, both at once.”45 There are innumerable examples of the creative
agency of captive whales. With amusement, Warkentin recalls being at the
beluga pool in Marineland, Canada where she witnessed a beluga demand
the attention of the head trainer by blasting him in the face with a wellaimed mouthful of water.46 Just minutes prior, the trainer had been using a
metal pole to prod the beluga away from where he was leaning over a wall
into the pool, so he could work with a different beluga. Much more serious
cases of agency can be found, however, in news headlines over the past several years about orcas at Sea World “attacking” their trainers. For instance,
on November 29, 2006, Kasatka, a thirty year old female orca, grabbed her
male trainer, Ken Peters, by the foot and held him underwater at the bottom
of the pool for several minutes during the new “Believe” show at Sea World,
San Diego, in California.47
Although the trainers believe they are in control of the whales, these
examples demonstrate that power can quickly be subverted in unexpected
ways. The beluga and orca whales in these examples quite clearly asserted
their agency, their ability to make things happen, even under the material
conditions of captivity that restrict the range of opportunities for action. It is
therefore imperative to examine how agency, oppression, and the circulation
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112
of power in complicated contexts like aquariums are related to the material
structures, not just the social relationships and routine practices.
In a subtle critique of Bhabha, Kapoor draws upon Benita Parry, to reveal
that “what is missing is an analysis of the relationship between materiality
and agency and the limits material inequality impose on subaltern “negotiation.”48 This particular insight resonates well with the previous example
of the beluga at Marineland, Canada. In the context of Arctic Cove, that
whale, like the other belugas incarcerated there, is dependent upon the
trainers for food. Relationships between trainers and captive whales are very
complicated. They can develop over long periods of time, through intimate
interactions. There can be very strong emotional bonds, at times likely
involving aversion, apathy, as well as affection. In any case, there remains
a constant imbalance of power. The trainers control who gets to eat, what
they eat, how much and when they eat. There is virtually no way for a beluga
to obtain food for themselves. Moreover, at the end of the day, the trainers
can leave, while the belugas are always confined to the pool. These material
realities matter, as do the material structures of the place.
In Arctic Cove at Marineland, the pool is surrounded by a “half wall,”49
which acts as a physical barrier between the beluga whales and humans. At the
same time, because it is a half wall, it enables limited access for any body. The
human trainers can lean over the wall and reach down into the pool, as can
strangers. Trainers can also extend their reach with technologies like the pole.
The interactive horizon for the belugas is considerably more restricted since
the depth of the water keeps them situated well below and encircled by the
wall. It would take considerable effort to propel themselves up and out of the
water to make contact with humans. The main avenue for physical contact,
which could range from gentle touching to forceful biting, is when humans
reach their hands and arms down as they lean over the wall. However, as one
of the belugas demonstrated, their reach may be extended by their ability to
spit mouthfuls of water over the wall, a creative technique. Here again, though,
the humans hold more power in controlling the interactions. To avoid interactions, the belugas’ only real option is to swim away from the wall altogether,
in which case, they forfeit eating the fish offered by the trainers. Another
material reality of the pool is the total lack of places to hide. The belugas are
always visible through the clear blue water, from the surface and from the viewing windows below, and there are no nooks or crannies to duck into. Already
vulnerable due to the enclosure of the pool, the belugas are also constantly
exposed, with no opportunities for partial refuge.
We want to go beyond what Edward Said called “counter-narratives” to
narratives that disrupt and transform the official natural histories, and ques-
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tion some of the reigning truths in aquarium environments. Wild living,
wide-ranging whales accustomed to travelling freely through the oceans are
imprisoned. They suffer. They suffer the loss of family members, the sounds
of their home, the touch of ocean waves. In aquaria, whales are touched by
strangers and trainers in exchange for their sustenance. How would captive
environments change if whales were seen as subjects with histories, families,
cultures, and habitat needs not entirely discontinuous with human beings? If
we greeted whales as mysterious Others with whom we are interdependent,
would we incarcerate them? Could we envision novel modes of encounter
that might cultivate and grow deeper knowledge-making across species,
without abusing or degrading other animals?
Meetings that Matter:
Transformative Whale-Human Encounters
Few writers could successfully present a half-blind, sentient cat in heat
as a narrative center. The author [Timothy Findley] carefully studied his
own cats, but he also spent time crawling around isolated locations, one
eye closed, to get the animal’s perspective. On one occasion, a surprised
couple taking an early-morning walk mistook him for a drug addict.49
In order to address what is the matter with many of our captive meetings
with whales we will outline some examples of transformative, decolonizing encounters. As Barad exclaims: “All real living is meeting. And each
meeting matters.”51 We will exercise questions about response(ability),
reciprocity, vulnerabilities, kinds of touch and shared risk in the contact
zones. We will exercise our imaginations to recognize whale perspectives
in these meetings, and be open to the possibility that our capacity to envision novel modes of encounter may be enhanced by crawling around on
the ground with one eye closed. As one example of a novel encounter,
the underwater viewing area where humans meet captive whales at an
aquarium could be transformed by reversing the lighting scheme to illuminate the area where humans stand, while dimming the lights inside the
tank. Such a simple modification could enable the whales to look out at
humans without being completely visible themselves, which may provide
a more interesting and less vulnerable space for them. Furthermore, the
human visitors would feel more visible and would be able to discern that
the whales are looking at them. Humans would then be encouraged to
recognize that they are not the only ones looking through the glass, that
the whales can and do look back.
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Indeed, Warkentin witnessed an inspiring encounter in which not only
did a young female orca whale look back, she actively engaged with the
children on the other side of the glass.52 It occurred at the underwater viewing window of the orca pool at Marineland, Canada. A few young children,
probably between the ages of six and eight, had slid under the restraining bar
and were pressed up against the glass of one of the large rectangular windows.
They were very animated, calling the baby orca by her name, “Athena,” and
moving their arms and hands around on the glass. To their delight, Athena
broke away from her mother and their repetitive circling of the pool, and
made a beeline over to the children. She floated down so that they were at
eye level, and engaged them with eye contact, vocalizations, and interactive
gestures.
At one point, the children and Athena began to imitate each other’s
movements: Athena nodded her head up and down, then the children nodded their heads up and down; the children shook their heads from side to
side, then Athena shook her head from side to side. These interactions continued for approximately twenty minutes. Throughout, the children were attentive to Athena’s body and her gestures, just as she was to theirs, and they
used their bodies to express themselves and communicate with each other. It
is significant that this interaction arose between young children and a young
orca. It raises primary questions about potential differences between youth
and adults in whale-human interactions in captive places. The children were
not content to stand behind the barrier or to accept the restrictive layout of
the space. They were very expressive in their movements, and more open in
their bearing than any of the adult humans who were present.
The human children did not appear self-conscious in their actions and
spoke directly to Athena as though she could hear and understand them.
They addressed her by name, as a subject and unique individual, enacting an
intersubjective space of interaction. By contrast, their parents and the other
adults all appeared to obey the rules, standing back behind the railing, in the
dark, and quietly observing from that distance. Also, there was a noticeable
difference between the young orca, Athena, and her mother, Kiska, an adult
orca. Athena did not behave in the same way as Kiska, who repeatedly swam
by the window with her eyes closed, rarely, if ever, stopping to look out or
make eye contact with the humans on the other side of the glass. Several
times, Athena broke out of the routine circling of the pool and swam directly
over to where the children were. She obviously took notice of the children,
and sought to engage with them, despite the hindrances of the lighting and
other barriers to interaction built into the space. Imagine the kinds of interactions that might happen if the spaces and practices of encounter actually
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encouraged recognition of whale subjectivity, and enabled reciprocity and
choice. Such spaces and practices do already exist outside of captivity, and
exemplify the kinds of transformative encounters the authors celebrate and
hope to promote.
In the Rockingham Dolphin Swim, for example, humans meet free-living dolphins in Rockingham Bay, near Perth in Western Australia53. Once
the boat is out in the Bay, human participants are organized into groups and
instructed to form a chain behind their guide. They are explicitly instructed
not to swim, and not to reach out to touch the dolphins. The guide has a
small motor for jet propulsion and pulls the human chain around on the
ocean surface so that dolphins may swim freely around, and beneath the
human chains. Dolphins living in the Bay are then encouraged to approach
and interact with the humans through play. A staff member equipped with
a motor performs all kinds of acrobatics underwater, swimming around and
playing with the dolphins who come near.
There is an explicit respect for dolphin autonomy and the prioritization
of their welfare by the staff of the Rockingham Dolphin Swim. They have
a strict policy not to use fish to attract the dolphins, and instead tried to
engage them with play. They also limited the time spent with each group of
dolphins, so as not to take advantage of their willingness to connect, nor to
risk pestering them with too much attention. These practices demonstrated
a serious respect for the dolphins’ autonomy and a keen awareness of their
agency, by controlling human bodies and ensuring they were as unobtrusive
as possible. At any time, the dolphins living in Rockingham Bay could have
lost interest or, for any reason, chosen not to come near the humans, so the
company’s practices were also extremely pragmatic.
In another transformative example, the authors were privileged to witness
human interactions with free-living dolphins at Monkey Mia in Western
Australia. In this unique setting, Indo-Pacific Bottlenose Dolphins (Tursiops
aduncus)54 routinely visit a stretch of beach to interact and to participate in
a feeding program run by the local conservation authority: the Department
of Conservation and Land Management (CALM) for Western Australia.
It was the job of CALM Rangers to both educate and police the public, as
there were strict visitor rules governing the “dolphin interaction zone”, and
visitors were informed of them over and over again, verbally, and through
signs, pamphlets and various other forms of media. These rules were largely
prescriptive of how visitors should and should not move their bodies in relation to the dolphins: “do not touch the dolphins,” “do not stand further than
ankle-deep in the water,” “do not approach the dolphins.” The space which
the human visitors shared with the dolphins was infused with the presence
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and purpose of the CALM Rangers and volunteers, who were noticeably
monitoring everyone’s movements.
Human visitors were only allowed to enter the water and approach a
dolphin when they were specifically chosen and instructed by a Ranger or
volunteer to give a particular dolphin a fish. Only a chosen few were given
privilege during each feeding session. Of all the rule violations, the most
contentious and recurrent problem involved touch; the desire to touch, or
be touched by the dolphins. Touching was not allowed at Monkey Mia,
(although it was in the past), and the beach interactions were primarily organized by a ‘no touch’ protocol, enforced bodily and verbally by the CALM
Rangers. At issue was the risk of disease transfer, as stated in the Ranger’s
commentary to the public. Another reason, more implied than verbalized,
was that there were too many people, and if everyone tried to closely approach the dolphins and touch them, the dolphins might feel harassed and
leave.
It seemed generally known that Monkey Mia was a sleepy fishing village
before it became a famous tourist destination for the dolphin interactions. In
the past, activities were unregulated and people had opportunities to interact
spontaneously with the dolphins, and apparently the dolphins often played
with humans and allowed humans to touch them.55 Now that there are
hundreds of people flocking to this remote place every day, CALM policy is
that unregulated interactions are simply not safe for the dolphins. Warkentin
spoke with several of the Rangers56 about their rule enforcement and found
that they were sympathetic to the wishes of the tourists to get closer to the
dolphins and to interact spontaneously; however, they also believed that it
simply would not be feasible or safe anymore. Their concerns for the protection of the dolphins were both personal and pragmatic. The Rangers said
that they wanted to protect their unique relationships with the individual
dolphins who come to the beach and participate in the feeding program, and
that they also feared that if the dolphins were overwhelmed by the public,
they might choose to go away and possibly never come back to the beach.
Their fears spoke to a cherishing of, and responsibility for, the special relationship that has developed over time between the Monkey Mia dolphins
and the CALM Rangers and volunteers, and to a careful commitment not
to transgress the bounds of appropriate behaviour, or established etiquette
between them. It was apparent that the Rangers and volunteers genuinely
cared about, and respected the dolphins, and their ‘rights’ not to be touched
or harassed. It appeared that their dedication to protecting the autonomy
and safety of the dolphins of Monkey Mia was very affectively effective, in
that their embodied presence was often enough to keep tourists in line, and
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in a line quite literally. There were no walls or other barriers to separate the
throngs of humans from the dolphins, only the few Rangers and volunteers
maintaining a respectful distance. The willingness of the dolphins to come in
so close seemed to indicate a certain trust they place in the Rangers to keep
things safe and under control.
Indeed, Monkey Mia was all the more extraordinary for its dolphin-human interactions because they were not coerced, or artificially encouraged.
The dolphins actually had a choice whether or not to interact with humans,
or to participate in the feeding program, and they typically chose to participate. At any moment they could have swam away into the massive bay and
not returned to the beach, but with remarkable regularity, they did return,
even at times outside the fixed schedule of feedings when there was no likelihood of being offered fish. Meeting free-living dolphins at Monkey Mia provides an ideal contrast to typical whale-human encounters in captivity. At
Monkey Mia, the dolphins are self-sustaining; they are not dependent upon
humans for their food.57 As with the Rockingham Dolphin Swim, humans
must enter the dolphins’ oceanic environment, and risk exposing themselves
to cold temperature, ocean currents, and the unpredictable actions of the
dolphins and other marine animals. Humans and dolphins are vulnerable to
each other in these unique Australian sites. To a limited degree, risks and
choices still exist in captivity, which Athena demonstrated when she chose
to interact with the human children at the underwater window at Marineland, Canada. She could have stayed far from the window that day.
As these examples suggest, transformative encounters are where curiosity,
agency and performativity are not exclusively human, and where vulnerability and openness are shared across species. Transformative encounters reveal
the inadequacy of the ZooArk model of conservation with its corresponding
assumptions of decontextualized and discrete entities. Isolated genes do not
a whale make. As Barad reminds us, there is a “fundamental inseparability
of epistemological, ontological and ethical considerations.”58 A whale comes
to be through myriad intra-actions of micro and macro scales, of social and
environmental relata, and it is the whole whale that we may come to know
and meet, it is the whole whale that matters. Through Barad’s work we further recognize “the role of human and non-human, material and discursive,
and natural and cultural factors”59 in zoos and aquaria, two common forms of
socio-material practice in our world. If whales are there to entertain us we
can marvel at their trainability, but what do we lose in those encounters?
We lose our curiosity about who they are and who they could be; we become
deskilled in wondering and thinking about what might happen between us
and them. We are fed an impoverished relational diet. We strengthen the
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walls between us and them, add homogenizing agents, and diminish the possibilities for relating across species. As Haraway points out “the categorical
separation of nature and culture is already a kind of violence, an inherited
violence.”60 And, we would add, it is a colonizing violence.
In our whale encounters there must be possibilities for reciprocity to occur,
with the least amount of harm or coercion to anyone, because “we participate
in bringing forth the world in its specificity, including ourselves”61 and every
encounter ethically matters. As this paper has argued the capacity for shared
vulnerability is important in human encounters with other animals, and we
need to imagine and create more environmentally just meeting spaces where
each animal has the power to choose the level of risk and intimacy in their
encounters, and whether they want to resist or show up at all. Although our
lives are entangled in world-making, decolonizing transformations will begin
when we respect the autonomy of others, abandon the Ark, and accept the
risk that, given the choice, some will not come to meet us.
Notes
1. Timothy Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage (Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2006),
188.
2. Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage.
3. Catherine Brinkley, “Designing the Ark,” About the Project, www.zooark.com
(August 6, 2008).
4. John Berger, “Why Look at Animals?” in About Looking (New York: Pantheon
Books, 1980). As influential and persuasive as Berger’s argument has been the conversation has been substantially critiqued and extended in two 2005 essays: Nigel
Rothfels, “Why Look at Elephants?,” and Jonathan Burt, “John Berger’s “Why Look
at Animals?”: A Close Reading,” both in Worldviews 9, no. 2 (2005).
5. Fiona Sunquist, “End of the Ark?—Zoos,” International Wildlife Magazine,
findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1170/is_n6_v25/ai_17632858 (August 6, 2008).
6. Andrew Dickson, The Zoo Inquiry, World Society for the Protection of
Animals Report, September 5, 1994. For further reading, Dickson cites the following
article: S. N. Stuart, “Re-introductions: To What Extent are They Needed?” Symp.
Zool. Soc. Lond. 62 (1991).
7. Noel Snyder, Scott Derrickson, Steven Beissenger, James Wiley, Thomas
Smith, William Toone, and Brian Miller B, “Limitations of Captive Breeding in
Endangered Species Recovery,” Conservation Biology 10 (1996): 338–348.
8. Sky Alibhai and Zoe Jewell, “Saving the Last Rhino: In Situ Conservation or
Captive Breeding?” Rhinowatch, 1993. We gratefully acknowledge Rob Laidlaw for
pointing us to this reference and consulting with us on captive breeding programs
in zoos.
9. Alibhai and Jewell, “Saving the Last Rhino.”
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10. Alibhai and Jewell, “Saving the Last Rhino.”
11. Donna Haraway, When Species Meet (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2008), 146–147.
12. Haraway, When Species Meet, 146.
13. See Greg Miller, “Today’s Zoos—The Last Menageries,” New Scientist 173
(2002): 41–43, for a concise argument.
14. See, for example, Haraway, When Species Meet, 146–147.
15. Karen Davis finds this ethics of valuing wholes over the individuals who
comprise them a serious flaw within deep ecology, one of the dominant fields in environmental philosophy. Her critique of deep ecology’s utilitarian approach to issues
of ecological conservation further highlights a moral superiority given to masculinized
ideals of “natural, wild, and free” over and above those beings perceived as “domestic,
tame, and confined.” See Karen Davis, “Thinking like a Chicken: Farm Animals and
the Feminine Connection,” in Animals and Women: Feminist Theoretical Explorations,
ed. Carol J. Adams and Josephine Donovan (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995).
16. Species is a slippery concept. The definition of “species” that has been established and applied in Western natural sciences is arguably arbitrary, dependent upon
who provides the definition and for what purpose. It assumes a very rigid ontology of
extreme individual isolation while at the same time denying individual uniqueness
to the extent that any member of a species can be representative of the whole species
by virtue of carrying a set of genes for the general, yet distinguishing characteristics
of the species. For persuasive discussions, see Lynda Birke, Feminism, Animals and
Science: The Naming of the Shrew (Buckingham: Open University Press, 1994), and
Donna Haraway, Modest_Witness@Second_Millennium.FemaleMan©_Meets_OncoMouseTM. (New York: Routledge, 1997).
17. Haraway points out that “an SSP is a trademarked complex, cooperative
management program of the American Zoo and Aquarium Association (AZA),
itself a controversial organization from the point of view of people committed to the
well-being of the individual tigers in captivity who are enlisted in an SSP”: Haraway,
When Species Meet, 147.
18. Richard Lewontin, The Triple Helix: Gene, Organism and Environment (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 17–18. Moreover, Lewontin further
states: “There exists, and has existed for a long time, a large body of evidence that
demonstrates that the ontogeny of an organism is the consequence of a unique interaction between the genes it carries, the temporal sequence of external environments
through which it passes during its life, and random events of molecular interaction
within individual cells.”
19. Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage, 188–189.
20. For more on patriarchy and dualisms, see Val Plumwood’s comprehensive discussion in Feminism and the Mastery of Nature (London: Routledge, 1993). Plumwood
also presents a cogent critique of rationalism in her more recent book, Environmental
Culture and the Ecological Crisis of Reason (London: Routledge, 2002).
21. Plumwood, Environmental Culture, 101.
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120
22. Plumwood, Mastery of Nature, chapter 2.
23. Joe Roman, Whale (London: Reaktion Books, 2006), 173.
24. Traci Warkentin, Captive Imaginations: Affordances for Ethics, Agency and
Knowledge-making in Whale-Human Encounters” (PhD diss., York University,
2007), 316.
25. Plumwood, Mastery of Nature, 54.
26. Coauthor Fawcett is grateful to Timea Szell of Barnard College who presented
and shared her fascinating and critical paper, “Caged: Pedagogical and Theoretical
Implications of Ota Benga’s 1906 Exhibition in the Bronx Zoo of New York City”
at the Annual Conference of the International Society for Anthrozoology, Human
Animal Bond: Theory, Research and Practice held August 13–15, 2008, at the University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada.
27. Szell, “Caged,” 1.
28. Wikipedia, “Man and Monkey Show Disapproved by Clergy,” New York
Times, 10 September 1906, 1.
32. In the D.R.Congo, Kinshasa and the U.S. there is a group called the Ota Benga
Alliance for Peace, Healing and Dignity, which is committed to social justice projects.
34. Hari Jagannathan Balasubramanian, comment on “The Ota Benga Story,”
Thirty Letters in My Name Blog, comment posted December 19, 2007, thirtylettersinmyname.blogspot.com/2007_12_01_archive.html (21 September 2008).
35. Lewontin, The Triple Helix, 18.
36. “John Livingston: The Making of a Naturalist,” The Nature of Things TV
Program (Toronto, CBC, 1999).
37. Karen Barad, “Posthumanist Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How
Matter Comes to Matter,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society (2003): 823.
38. Findley, Not Wanted on the Voyage, 225–226.
39. See his most recent work: Ilan Kapoor, The Postcolonial Politics of Development
(London and New York: Routledge, 2008).
40. Spivak, 1997:85 in Ilan Kapoor, “Capitalism, Culture, Agency: Dependency
versus Postcolonial Theory,” Third World Quarterly 23 (2002): 652.
41. Ilan Kapoor, “Acting in a Tight Spot: Homi Bhabha’s Postcolonial Politics,”
New Political Science 25 (2003): 563.
42. Kapoor, “Acting in a Tight Spot,” 563.
44. Kapoor, “Acting in a Tight Spot,” 563–564.
45. Kapoor, “Acting in a Tight Spot,” 566 and 567.
46. Warkentin, “Captive Imaginations,” 277.
47. See the CNN online news article ‘Orca attacks trainer at Sea World, San
Diego’ at www.cnn.com/2006/US/11/29/killer.whale/index.html.
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49. Warkentin, “Captive Imaginations,” 265–297. Traci’s discussion of the “half
wall” in her doctoral dissertation is a key part of her theoretical development of the
concept of ethical affordances in human-whale interactions, which she elaborates in
“Whale Agency: Affordances and Acts of Resistance in Captive Environments,” in
Animals and Agency: An Interdisciplinary Exploration, ed. Sarah McFarland and Ryan
Hediger (Leiden: Brill, 2009) 23–43.
50. Timeshredder, review of Not Wanted on the Voyage, Everything2 Blog, comment posted March 24, 2007, everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=1873793 (September 20, 2008).
51. Karen Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2007),
353.
52. Warkentin, “Captive Imaginations,” 244–252 and 286–289.
53. Warkentin, “Captive Imaginations,” 223–228.
54. What with taxonomy being such a problematic science, there is still some
uncertainty regarding the classification of the Monkey Mia dolphins. Research by the
Dolphins of Monkey Mia Research Foundation suggests that they are a hybrid of the
more common Bottlenose Dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) and Indo-Pacific Bottlenose
Dolphin (Tursiops aduncus).
55.vFor instance, see Rachel Smolker’s account of the history of Monkey Mia in
her book, To Touch a Wild Dolphin (New York: Doubleday, 2001).
56. Warkentin, “Captive Imaginations,” 167–170.
57. According to CALM: Only the adult females are given fish in the feeding
program. They are given a maximum of 2 kilograms of fish per day, which is meant
to not affect their feeding habits as they require about 20 kilograms per day. Juveniles
are brought into the feeding program only after they have demonstrated that they
can forage successfully for themselves offshore, which is confirmed by the researchers of the Monkey Mia Dolphin Research Foundation. The beach dolphins follow
a matrilineal ancestry, as the daughters of the original beach dolphins have been
included in the feeding program and their daughters will join in eventually. All
calves stay with their mothers and suckle until they are four years old, after which the
females continue to stay with their mothers while the males spend increasingly less
time with the family group and begin to form ‘alliances’ with other males.
58. Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 26.
59. Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 26. We are particularly inspired by
Barad’s notion of agential realism, which is described by this quotation and the one
that appears just before it.
60. Donna Haraway, How Like a Leaf. An Interview with Thyrza Nichols Goodeve
(New York: Routledge, 2000), 106.
61. Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 353.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Boring a Wormhole in
the Zoological Ark
David Lulka
Zoological institutions contain vast collections of biological diversity within
a compact setting, and consequently, in managing this array of animals,
zookeepers must regulate, indeed control, the actions of animals. For this
reason, zoos are commonly criticized for stripping animals of their autonomy.
Although these critiques have merit, I do believe they overstate the point
and inadvertently augment the power of humans. I say this not to defend
zoos, but to provide an opening for reconstituting and improving these institutions. As such, I’ll counter this general critique by stating that zoos cannot
contain the animacy of zoo animals. By animacy, I am referring to the motile
capacities of animals, capacities that can eventually manifest themselves in
agency—the ability to produce change.
At a very fundamental level, zoo managers are unable to contain (that
is, control) the animacy of animals in any absolute sense, for at the scale of
the body (and the various subregions within) zoo animals retain a capacity
for agency and action despite their enclosure. More precisely, the process of
organismal development, which is the essence of life, is not wholly dictated
or regulated by human caretakers. Indeed, as I will show, some of the problematic behaviors exhibited by zoo animals reflect the inability of humans
to fully grasp the nonhumans in their command. These assertions are not
intended to suggest that resident animals are autonomous or that zoo animals determine the trajectory of their own development. Far from it, for the
human-nonhuman relationship in zoos is certainly a relationship defined by
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asymmetrical power. Yet, I do contend that this animacy harbors a power
that is frequently unacknowledged in many critiques of zoos, despite the fact
that this power can be utilized to reconfigure zoos for the better.
In this chapter, I want to highlight this distinction between biodiversity
(as it relates to different morphologies) and animacy, in order to rethink
the character of zoos and the place these institutions hold within the wider
conservation movement at the beginning of the twenty-first century. With
regard to morphologies, it is critical to acknowledge their deeply visual
character. The emphasis on morphology has deep origins, one that may
be connected at least as far back as Linnaeus’ work on private collections,
his nomenclature (which is still the predominant means of biological classification), and its subsequent influence upon the organization of the first
European zoos.1 This static image of animals was contested early on by
the likes of Buffon and Geoffroy-Saint Hillaire, who perceived change in
animals over time, but their perspectives remained largely ineffectual.2 We,
of course, know now, given the insights of Darwin, that the character of
animals is fluid. By virtue of this ephemeral condition, we can infer that
the anatomy of an animal is subtended by a motile propensity, one that
may be termed animacy (if not necessarily agency). Figured as such, we get
at the root of the schism between morphological/biological diversity and
animacy.
By contrasting animacy with morphology in this way, I do not seek to
detach animacy from materiality; rather, I seek to give animacy a more fleshy
and flexible character than the rigid perspective of comparative anatomy can
do. Corporeality, with all of its indeterminance, is an adequate descriptor of
animacy’s presence. In making this distinction between biodiversity and animacy, I hope not only to offer a new means of critiquing zoos, but to suggest
new variables that can help us reorganize our relationship with nonhuman
animals. Initially, this entails a problematization of zoos, but moves on to
provide potential openings for society to explore, as society seeks to work its
way out of its present conundrum.
In the following, I sequentially develop a means for rethinking zoos; first
diminishing the importance of the visual, then addressing the animacy of
animals through the register of vibration and movement, and finally linking
such mobile dynamics to zoo (re)configurations by utilizing the notion of a
wormhole. In presenting these options, it must be remembered that zoos are
institutions that must address a large number of problems, many of their own
doing. The options presented here are not an attempt to legitimize zoos, for
ultimately I believe some of these problems cannot be resolved. Nonetheless,
captive animals, as valid in their existence as their wild counterparts, are
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Boring a Wormhole in the Zoological Ark 125
there for the time being, and it seems advisable to construct a better home
for them, one that prioritizes animacy.
The Constraints of the Visual
The approach outlined here involves a diminution of vision as a point of critique, and as such this is no small point of departure. From the date of their
origin, menageries and zoological institutions have been spectacular places,
whether viewed from the point of design or the point of consumption. Then
as now, curators have primarily stocked these venues with exotic animals
from distant lands, and in turn classified and divided these animals according to the nomenclature of the time. Now as then, animals are purposefully
displayed to convey meaning and knowledge, the sterile, frequently cramped
cages that signified the superiority of humanity gradually being replaced by
moats and more naturalistic settings that implicitly express a sense of commonality among species.3 Meanwhile, in the past and present, the paying
customer has had the expectation of a glimpse, if not a more probing visual
examination, of zoo residents.4 Throughout, then, the visual attributes of
modern zoos have retained a privileged position. Such is known, however—
there is no new news here.
Perhaps more troubling, though, is that critiques of zoos have tended
to rely overwhelmingly upon the same visual logic that substantiated the
proliferation of these zoological attractions. Although such critiques have
generated valuable insights, I fear they are ultimately incapable of dislodging
human-nonhuman relations from their current asymmetrical state, and incapable of shifting relations into an alternate trajectory that is more productive—with all the senses that word implies.5 This may be best illustrated by
Berger’s postulation of an abyss between zoo animals and humans, which he
bases upon their respective observance of one another.6 For all their benefits,
these visual modes of analysis have often prioritized the social, disregarded
the material, and remained locked within antinomies of power that suggest
few mechanisms for change. As such, they frequently reaffirm the status
quo, despite their efforts to upend prevailing power relations through textual
means.
To clarify the nature of the present approach and specify the degree to
which it diverges from representational analyses, a brief discussion of the
visual and how it regulates our thinking about zoos is necessary. Ever since
the metal bars and sparse concrete enclosures of menageries and early zoos
became unpalatable and unacceptable, the evaluation of exhibits has been
based upon the degree to which exhibits approximate the look of a species’
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native habitat.7 Consequently, conceptions of nature and its physical appearance have molded assessments of zoo enclosures. Enclosures bearing the mark
of artifice are generally deemed bad and unsuitable. For instance, in her examination of the penguin exhibit at Sea World (admittedly a marginal zoo),
Davis suggested that the naturalistic elements of the environs were more
soothing to park visitors than to the penguins housed.8 As a result, substantial amounts of money are spent on enclosures in order to meet prevailing
aesthetic requirements.
Some of this attitude may have been (and still may be) the result of romantic imaginings, but this assertion trivializes public opinion and obscures
the depth of its mindset. To the contrary, ecological thinking has permeated
much of the public consciousness, and the notion of habitat (and its value)
rings true with many individuals, whether they be zoo visitors or not.9 The
schooling of the citizenry (by various institutions, including zoos themselves)
has created an ethic of inhabitation that draws on contemporary strands of
science that are vastly different from romantic notions of sublime nature. In
this sense, the public is knowledgeable, not naïve, for it sees a connection
between animals, their surroundings, and their survivability.
At the same time, however, these enclosures, these habitats, no matter how
small they may be, are vistas with all the trappings of a landscape perspective.
Ultimately, as I will indicate further below, it matters little whether boulders, a
tree, or a nook satisfy either the ecological perspective or the aesthetic demands
of the day, for in either case a sense of permanence is grafted onto animal enclosures. The ecologically-minded good will of the observer, far removed from
the sense of superiority previously emboldened by the acquisitiveness of former
empires, does not alter this condition, and consequently the distance between
romanticism and an ecological agenda within a zoo is not as great as we would
like it to be. In both cases, the accoutrements that comprise the naturalistic
setting are objectified in the process, and, by association with these settings,
the same status adheres to the resident animals. Objectification may sound too
sterile and theoretical in this context, but it is really just another means of conveying the process of sedentarization, a process that has become common in
the modern world, whether by dint of international borders or zoo enclosures.
Presumably for such reasons, Spotte refers to these zoo environments as “static
Edens.”10 Perhaps more insidiously, the provision of resources (food, water,
a mate), which is an explicit act of giving and good will, only deepens this
feeling of human satisfaction and nonhuman sedation. We are doing good by
allowing this animal to be. It knows no deprivation, since its habitat is reasonably (if not fully) stocked and all of its basic requirements are met. Yet, animal
welfare and animal agency are not one and the same.
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All in all, this perspective is saturated, by which I mean there is a real
attempt by zoo managers to fill a void, all within the limited space of a zoo
enclosure. To the extent that habitat designers seek to arrive at a point of
equivalence, wherein the inner world of the zoo approximates the outer
world of nature, it is moving toward a condition of stability. This, in itself,
represents a form of closure, wherein the narrowing of the gap between nature and the zoo habitat is a whittling down into an isomorphism. Although
such developments clearly generate benefits for the animals involved, the
criteria they establish for satisfaction provide little impetus for the opening
up of new possibilities for living.
Shifting the Register of Being
Let me commence on an alternate trajectory by saying that I believe there is
more to life than a full belly, or some such equivalent. And so I want to veer
this discussion in another direction, not simply as another mode of critique,
but as a reconceptualization of animals that can potentially bring about new
possibilities. This requires taking temporality seriously in a way that grants
more importance to the future, converting the future into something that is
not simply a reflection of the past (or even the present). Without a doubt,
zoo managers do take account of the future—one of their primary objectives
is to retain a high percentage of the genetic diversity currently present in
the extant population of particular species.11 Unfortunately, this perspective is based upon a theory of loss, wherein the totality of genetic diversity
represents the outer limit of possible existences, change being produced only
by genetic mutations which are few and far between. This representation
is reductionist not only because it over-accentuates the role of genes, but
also because it conceives of genes (and their animals) as embedded within
an inevitable state of quantitative decline. This image of the zoo as a savior
of nature’s bounty seems to differ little from the iconic vision of Noah and
his ark, a specific analogy that many in the zoo community have indeed
proudly taken on.12 That other variables, such as environmental and cultural
inheritance, may be relevant to the future constitution of nonhuman species
is generally unacknowledged.13 Yet, if such epigenetic factors are granted importance, the characteristics of the future acquire a whole different quality.
We move from a mode of conservation to a mode of enlivenment. We move
from a mitigation of loss to the accommodation of excess.
Here, I want to develop ways of thinking this conversion in a way that
is tangible and guided by the importance of movement for animals. A schematization is helpful here. Keulartz noted that environmental thinking has
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accentuated two planes, each running perpendicular to the other.14 On one
plane, typically envisioned as the horizontal axis, there is ecological thought.
In this schema, the ecological axis may be figured as a zone of simultaneity, or coincidence, in which dynamism exists but is generally shrouded by
constancy. This sedentary type of thought matches well with the aforementioned visions of nature and habitat. Located on the other axis, the plane
of verticality, are evolutionary processes. In a certain sense, this vertical
plane may also be characterized by constancy, for evolutionary forces are
persistent over time. Yet, the character of evolution as we know it, whether
defined solely in genetic terms or more roundly, inherently involves change,
a change that may be quite turbulent over time. Altogether, animals reside
on both of these planes in an elliptical manner.
What is critical to note here is that the relationship between these two
planes is typified by tension in which the animal plays an active role. The role
of niche construction in biological development and evolution illustrates this
point most clearly, for niche construction occurs when animals alter their environment through various physical movements (of their limbs or other bodily
process, such as excretions) or when animals move to another site.15 In combination with other factors (e.g., genetic mutations or “cultural inheritance”),
animals pull themselves along the vertical axis by means of niche construction
and away from the pre-established dictates of the ecological plane by partially
establishing a new selective regime. This dynamic facilitates the emergence of
new biological capacities, yet organisms must remain in contact with—that
is, return to—the horizontal/ecological plane. As such, this is not an autopoietic process (as per Maturana and Varela), wherein the organism creates and
regulates itself, but rather one which is deeply embedded in assemblages that
are only minimally controlled by the organisms themselves.16 Consequently,
out of this necessary interplay, not only do animals change, but so does the
ecological foundation, which is transformed by the novel biological functions
and behaviors of organisms. That is, organisms return gifted anew, enabled to
partly refashion the ecological plane. As a result, neither the organism nor the
landscape remain the same, and the circular relation between species and habitat (in which no change occurs) is transformed into an elliptical pattern which
has a motile propensity of its own, a history in other words, since neither land
nor animal can return to form. This insight is relevant not only to processes
within natural environs, but also to artificial surrounds, including those found
in zoos. From this elliptical pattern, many lessons can be extrapolated, but the
most relevant pertains to the unyielding arc of divergence and reconstitution
that stands in stark contrast to idealized visions of animals, nature, and the
relationship between them.
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This schema provides an initial means of thinking animals anew, one
that is, above all, less reliant upon the visual attributes of animals and
their habitats. This schema stands in agreement with the recent movement
toward “non-representational theory.”17 Unlike representational critiques,
which frequently cannibalize everything but the language they rely upon,
non-representational theory commonly focuses upon the role of affect. The
notion of affect has been understood in different ways, one approach being
to conflate it with the conception of emotion. Yet, as the debate between
Thien and McCormack illustrates, emotional geographies and affective
geographies are not the same, and real consequences emerge from their
conflation.18 Most importantly for the present discussion, McCormack has
pointed out the deficiencies of Thien’s emphasis on emotions, for “it foregoes the possibility of cultivating ethical sensibilities attuned to non-human affective energies and agencies, including, for instance, those involving animals.”19 This is significant, for the uncertain and inexact sensations
denoted by “affect” legitimize the presence and constitutive impact of
material bodies in ways that are compatible with the notion of corporeality.
Thus, Clough notes that “affect points instead to a dynamism immanent
to bodily matter and matter generally.”20 This approach does not discount
the possibility of animal emotions (which has been frequently criticized
by “legitimate” science), but does assert that there is more of importance
than cognition. Although affect can generate emotional responses, it is
critical not to conflate affect with mental capacities. In part for this reason, Lorimer designates this approach as “more-than-representational.”21
Indeed, even in discussion of human matters, the role of the body and
movement is a pronounced feature of this perspective. For instance, in her
analysis of Susan Stinson’s writings, Colls notes, “Here, the fat body has its
own bodily topographies and is governed by its own force and momentums;
it has motion, waves, ripples; ‘it’s a bodily element with its own purpose
and beauty’.”22 Others have emphasized the mobile or kinesthetic aspects
of human life.23
To be more specific, affect emerges from contacts with other living
and non-living entities, contacts that give rise to sensations experienced
throughout the body. Grosz, for one, notes:
Sensation fills the living body with the resonance of (part of) the universe
itself, a vibratory wave that opens up the body to these unrepresented and
unknowable forces, the forces of becoming-other. The body does not contain
these forces but rather is touched by them and opened up to some of the possibilities of being otherwise, which the universe contains through them.24
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The focus on relations therefore points to the underlying importance of
movement and thus aligns with the elliptical pattern noted above. As Deleuze and Guattari have suggested in varied ways, it is this quality of movement and transformation that may be considered the fundamental property
of entities, as opposed to any particular physical attribute.25 Evolution, not
as a stepladder or as the “chain of being,” but rather as a contingent series
of bifurcations that dramatically alters the physical constitution of beings,
seems to support this contention.
Given these parameters of movement and affect, we can now redefine the
nature of animals by stating justifiably that animals are first and foremost
vibrations. Again, Grosz notes that, “Vibration is the common thread or
rhythm running through the universe from its chaotic inorganic interminability to its most intimate forces of inscription on living bodies of all kinds
and back again.”26 This conception of the animal (and other entities) as
vibrations is highly significant, for it changes the register of analysis, moving
us away from visual criteria and toward other qualities. Nancy contrasts these
registers in stating:
There is, at least potentially, more isomorphism between the visual and the
conceptual, even if only by virtue of the fact that the morph , the “form”
implied in the idea of “isomorphism,” is immediately thought or grasped on
the visual plane. The sonorous, on the other hand, outweighs form. It does
not dissolve it, but rather enlarges it; it gives it an amplitude, a density, and a
vibration or an undulation whose outline never does anything but approach.
The visual persists until its disappearance; the sonorous appears and fades away
into its permanence.27
We begin, then, to get a feel (not exactly a grasp) of the animacy not contained by zoos, the animacy unable to be contained by zoos, and yet which
is a fundamental aspect of the biodiversity contained by zoos. This register
of sound, noise, or more generally vibration, certainly offers an alternate
method by which we might critique current zoo practices. This vibratory
conception certainly differs greatly from Spotte’s static Edens, wherein, “A
zoo exhibit consists of a single, immutable event—its presence. It travels
nowhere and seeks no change of venue.”28 More importantly, these various
insights suggest new ways for thinking about animals, for thinking about
zoos, and for thinking about future engagements between humans and other
animals. Above all, they allow us to think of animals in ways that are not
visual, morphological, or rigidly categorical. Indeed, we can say that the visual attributes of the animal, and the objects surrounding it, are secondary to
these other qualities. This means thinking of animals primarily in terms of
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process, an attitude of speculation that should be far from revolutionary, for
it is actually deeply rooted in biological thought.
Movement as an Architecture of (not for) Being
The question then becomes how we can perceive the animal as a process
rather than a taken-for-granted being? How can we learn, in a certain respect, from (zoo) animals in order that we may redevelop and engage in
new ways? What do their spatial patterns and active behavior tell us? These
questions are not to be wholly separated from humanity’s presence, since we
too are active influences, in the field or in the zoo, upon the movement(s),
and hence the constitutional development, of nonhuman animals. Whether
these human impacts are intentional, accidental, beneficial, or harmful matters little in the sense that they are all real and consequential, part of the
composite nonhuman, whether we like it or not.29 This reality should not
be viewed as a defeat, as the inability to preserve nature, but rather as the
removal of a theoretical encumbrance, a removal that opens up real possibilities. These human-nonhuman relations are all part of the totality of
movement, an aspect of the larger aggregate of nonhuman vibration that is
never a totality in the sense that it never reaches completion, except perhaps
by virtue of death (in the case of the individual) or extinction (with regard
to species). This shift in perspective toward vibration, which is inclusive of
human influence, also opens up the scale of analysis and reconceptualization,
for conservation techniques take place not only on the local scale, where
they very often engage with interior aspects of the nonhuman body, but also
on a global scale. Altogether, these global and local movements create an
architecture of (not for) being through becoming. That these movements
through hybrid spaces cannot be separated from the substance of animals, but
rather become part of their architecture, is critical, for it discredits the notion
that nature “in itself” is being preserved in zoos or elsewhere.
On the global scale, of course, conservation efforts take place in situ and
ex situ. We generally assume that in situ vibratory movements are sufficient to
sustain populations if habitat destruction and poaching are curtailed. What
is most relevant here, however, is the manner in which segments of the conservation movement have conceptualized and propagated the idea of zoos as
a (if not the) fundamental component of conservation, in ways that parallel
Callon’s notion of an “obligatory passage point.”30 The “obligatory” obviously
compels movement, but for the moment, I want to put aside the question of
whether zoos are obligatory, and focus rather on the other two elements of
Callon’s term. I want to think, in other words, of the way in which zoos are
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passages within larger conservation networks, the way in which a zoo (as a
point) can perhaps function as a passage in itself, and the manner in which
this structural organization fits within the entire vibrational imperative set
forth above. I am curious as to what types of vibrations the conservation network of zoos sets into play, how these institutions manifest a flow (or don’t),
and, above all, how zoo animals respond to, exhibit, and generate these flows
within their very own bodies. Although the obligatory movement of animals
into zoos is regularly justified on the negative state of in situ conditions, it is
fair to say that ex situ facilities must also satisfy requirements (ones I would
term vibratory) for zoos to be justly called obligatory.
In broad terms, the movement of zoo animals can be subdivided into three
phases: (1) capture, (2) maintenance and breeding, (3) and reintroduction.
Theoretically, this corpus of conservation forms a circular pattern, one that
is largely geared toward preservation and a return to nature rather than the
agency and excess illustrated by the elliptical pattern outlined above. Although these three phases of conservation are not entirely separate in time,
the predominance of particular phases has shifted. By necessity, the capture
of wild animals was initially predominant, but its importance has diminished
as breeding populations within zoos have been established. A glance at studbooks for various species gives an indication of this trend.31 For instance, the
studbook for the pygmy hippopotamus as well as the Andean, Sloth, and Sun
bears show the predominance of wild-born bears up through the 1960s in
the United States.32 Until the mid-1980s, the vast majority of short beaked
echidnas also came from the wild.33 The era of wild-born zoo animals is not
over, however. According to the International Species Information System
(ISIS), the primary keeper of records on zoo animals, 80 percent of mammals
and 60 percent of birds in zoos are captive-born, meaning a significant number are still procured from the wild. 34 As the studbooks for the Kori Bustard,
Asian elephant, and cheetah indicate, wild-born animals are still brought
into the zoological fold.35 Indeed, the studbook for the cheetah indicates that
the number of wild-born cheetah in captivity rose in 2006.36 So there is turbulence with regard to the interchange of wild and captive, one that makes
the reconsideration of zoos and conservation practices more imperative, not
simply with regard to zoological environs but also with respect to species’ in
their traditional range.
In contrast, the bulk of zoological efforts now revolve around activities designed to maintain and breed animals that were themselves born in zoos. ISIS
states that their database contains information on 2 million animals, comprising 10,000 species.37 Many, if not most, of these animals are not threatened or endangered.38 While there are a plethora of activities that comprise
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this phase (e.g., habitat construction, feeding of animals, monitoring of
animals health, artificial insemination, transfer of animals), the momentum
of conservation efforts seems to have stalled in this second phase, for it does
not typically generate enough impetus to complete the circular network of
conservation. The hum of activity within zoos stands in stark contrast to the
relative paucity of action moving away from zoos. There is decay in the level
of action as one moves outward.
Few zoo animals are (re)introduced back into their species’ natural
habitat. Undoubtedly, there have been prominent, successful reintroductions—notably the black-footed ferret, the California condor, and the
Arabian oryx—but the number of species and animals involved in reintroductions are small in comparison to the number of rare species/animals
in zoos, let alone the additional horde of common species housed in these
facilities, for which there appears no interest, need, or hope for reintroduction. A review of the documents produced by the IUCN’s Re-introduction
Specialist Group indicates that many (seemingly most) reintroduction
projects utilize animals from other wild habitats/populations or specialized
facilities (such as the Gerald Durrell Endemic Wildlife Sanctuary in Mauritius), not zoos.39 Supporting this claim, Beck and colleagues assert that
state and federal wildlife managers are the primary forces behind reintroductions.40 Similarly, in noting the small number of zoo animals that were
used in reintroduction programs, Price and Fa state that, “Overall, while
zoos have been responsible for some major successes in reintroductions,
they appear neither to have been the sources of animals nor even to have
the animal collections to meet the reintroduction priorities of the future.”41
Accordingly, it may be concluded that the circular pattern of conservation
activities involving zoos does not reconnect with the habitat that initially
enabled the circuit to begin.
Importantly, this situation suggests that zoos do not usually function as
passage points, at least as far as individual animals are concerned. Rather, the
objective of species conservation finds its passage through the bodies of zoo
animals, but most of these animals do not find passage to their native lands
through acts of conservation. These conservation networks are lineaments
that potentially provide for the passage of some material (e.g. genes) to a distant future and place, but not typically other materials (namely, the animals
that propagate those genes).42 This is the rupture that divides the so-called
scientific concerns of the conservation community from the ethical concerns
of social scientists and many members of the general public.43 It thus becomes
even more imperative that zoos become passages in themselves—if that is
even possible—to warrant their continuation.
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That few exits exist for animals in zoos seems to contradict the concept of
animals as vibrations, for the zoological cul-de-sac, or dead end, is antithetical to the property of motion. Indeed, although lifespans vary among species,
many zoo animals spend a long time within specific zoo enclosures. The
studbooks compiled for individual species provide numerous examples. For
instance, at the age of one, a chimpanzee named “Hank” (stud# 1107) was
caught somewhere in Africa in June of 1976, transferred to the Chattanooga
Zoo in Tennessee on October 15, 1976, and has remained there to the present.44 A female Asian elephant named “Geeta” (stud# 176) was caught in India in June of 1958, transferred to the Los Angeles Zoo on December 8, 1959,
and remained there until she died in 2006.45 A female cheetah named “Zena”
(stud# 1412) was born at Whipsnade Zoo on March 27, 1983, transferred to
Doha Zoo in Qatar on December 4, 1983, and stayed until she died in 2002.46
These are considerable lengths of time that speak positively to the ability of
zoo managers to sustain animals. And yet, while it is inadvisable to assess
these durations in terms of years, because these perceptions cannot help but
be influenced by our relative notions of time, these lengths are important.
This is so not because of the years involved, but because they represent a
lifespan, that is a totality, each of which is equivalent to the others despite
their difference in years. From a being’s perspective, a totality is one and the
same, for it is all that one ever knows. Thus it matters little whether we are
referring to animals of a comparatively long-lived species, such as those listed
above, or a male southern three-banded armadillo named “Lincoln” (stud#
270) who was only captive from September 3, 1992 to February 5, 2003, or
an unnamed female rhinoceros hornbill (stud# 90) who was born on May 11,
1993 and died on October 28, 1996.47
Given these durations, we must ask how the vibrational aspects of animals
persist amid this condition of stasis. That they do persist is required by the
notion that animals are vibrations at their core. The enclosure of animals
seems to negate this notion, but, by definition, it cannot be otherwise. Long
ago, Aristotle noted that movement is an inherent feature of life, but modern
science has likewise illustrated this penchant, for example noting “dynamic
instability” at the cellular level.48 The apparent negation of vibration in zoos
is a scalar effect predicated upon the limitations of our vision, and so while
animal life, controlled and dictated by humans in zoo environs, may lack
the overt quality of vibration, it nonetheless embodies it. In actuality, there
is no such thing as a living body that lacks movement. Though humans are
quite proficient at stifling movement at the organismal level, they are quite
incapable of achieving stasis at the cellular or molecular level. As noted at
the outset, humans cannot contain the animacy of animals. Helpfully, this
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human incapacity leaves a door open through which nonhuman potentialities may emerge.
Although the animacy of zoo animals is certainly obscured and dampened
within the global networks of animal exchange, it persists throughout the
duration of a lifespan. Nonetheless, this assertion does not ensure that the
vibrational qualities that persist are productive. That is, at the level of the
body, there is no guarantee that the architecture of movement an animal
manifests in its daily being amounts to an ability to generate change. There
is no guarantee that a being is also a becoming in any substantial sense.
The persisting animacy of zoo animals, and the extent to which it cannot
be entirely controlled by zookeepers, can be seen in the daily movements of
animals within their enclosures. Here, specifically, I want to refer in some
detail to movements categorized as stereotypic behavior. According to Carlstead, stereotypies are defined by movements that are repeatedly performed,
invariant in form, and have no apparent function or goal.49 Stereotypic
behavior is manifest in many ways, including head rolling, pacing, obsessive
licking and other oral behaviors, and patterned swimming.50 As Elzanowski
and Sergiel indicated in their study of elephants, these behaviors are linked
to appendages of the body, such as trunk-swinging, but can also be associated
with a more general swaying of the entire body.51 Stereotypic behavior in
zoos is pervasive in different ways. It is not restricted to a particular species,
genera, or family, but rather extends widely throughout the animal kingdom.
Stereotypies can take up a considerable amount of time. Hogan and Tribe
found that stereotypies took up 20 percent to 50 percent of wombats’ timebudget.52 Vickery and Mason found that the frequency and invariance of
stereotypies are correlated with one another.53 Studies have also found that
stereotypies increase with age, a fact suggesting that our inability to reintroduce animals into their historic habitat (and thereby limit the length of
captivity) is problematic for yet other reasons.54 The exact number of animals
exhibiting stereotypies is uncertain, but Mason and colleagues conservatively
estimate that at least 10,000 zoo animals exhibit “abnormal repetitive behavior.” 55
What are we to make of these movements in a theoretical sense? Firstly,
these stereotypic movements are clearly vibrational in nature, though they
may not appear to be natural at all. Again, then, we experience a disconnect
between the appearance of nature and fundamental (vibrational) properties
of nature. In these cases, however, clinical evaluations of nature are based
more upon movements than its material form. But to state this as such does
set up a false bifurcation. Rather, in line with the principles established
above, it is better to think of these movements as creating an architecture of
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being, a form of its own, albeit one that is recognizable to professionals and
the public by virtue of its idiosyncratic movements. Ironically, this aberrant
patterning is helpful, because the realization that movement is a part of an
animal’s constitution only becomes apparent to many observers when patterns of movement are abnormal. In most other cases, this implicit understanding of the animal, which is truly widespread, never becomes explicit in
the minds of most observers.
The public may view these repetitive actions as odd, as a point of laughter
even, while zoo managers generally view these same actions as problems in
need of resolution. Although I do not want to suggest that these actions are
unproblematic, for they can actually be quite disturbing, I do want to utilize
the positive aspects of these phenomena. On the one hand, stereotypic
behavior is clearly a form of intensity, one that exhibits the persistence of
animacy and the propensity of animals to channel their energy in some direction. Because stereotypic behavior has been associated with age (and by
corollary, the length of enclosure) of animals, these behaviors may be seen
as an increasingly likely means of enacting and distributing intensity when
other options are unavailable. Thus, this channeling of intensity through the
pores of the body or the perambulation of the limbs is not unrelated to the as
yet incomplete conservation circuit of capture, breeding, and reintroduction
outlined by zoological institutions.
In many ways, such repetitive behavior is analogous to a hiccup. When
a bear paces in its enclosure, it repeatedly turns back upon itself. Once
complete, each turn presents yet another opportunity to turn again. Similarly, a hiccup interrupts the normal pattern of inhaling and exhaling, the
diaphragm contracting, forcing the glottis to close and causing the body to
lurch. In the same way, the pacing animal can appear to lurch by virtue of
turns that lend it a halting character. These stereotypies are notable precisely
because there appears to be a glitch, whereby the typical and unremarkable
flow of the animal (and of time itself) is arrested. Head rolling too acts in
a similar way, creating an arc that is not very distinct from the travels of
a pendulum. Licking, as well, is dominated by movements to and fro, the
strokes possessing an endpoint but the activity as a whole seems to have no
end in mind. Though unintended, the local, embodied stereotypic actions of
these animals thus mimic the global conservation measures that have been
short-circuited in between the transition from breeding to reintroduction,
and whereby a conclusion is incessantly deferred.
Despite the apparent futility of stereotypic behaviors, they undoubtedly
possess some utility for the animal (whether it be a soothing influence or
a source of distraction), and thus there is something to be valued here. In
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addition to the debilitating problems noted by others, what this behavior
further suggests is that desirousness subtends and precedes both an animal’s
interest in any particular object and the particular motions this desire instigates toward these objects. That is, the tendency to engage exists prior to
the placement of any specific object. I am not saying that the animal acts in
an objectless void, but rather that because it is used to being in the midst,
in an assemblage, it is first driven to interact prior to any recognition of
an object’s identity or utility.56 This tendency will find its way even when
presented with objects, such as metal bars, that are fundamentally foreign to
the animal.57 As some of these stereotypic actions suggest, this propensity
may even turn an animal’s own self into an object of sorts. Such engagement
should not be understood as solely cognitive, but more as a tactile, auditory,
gustatory, olfactory, and indeed visual means of drawing connections with
one’s surroundings. It is sensual and corporeal.
Tacitly, at least, zoo managers have recognized this quality. The science
of environmental enrichment, in its comprehensive mode, is, in essence, an
actualization of this recognition. Although environmental enrichment does
frequently involve the placement of “natural” objects within zoo enclosures
(e.g., trees, pools of water, various scents and sounds), it also frequently utilizes objects that have no historical association with the particular species
involved. This includes blocks of ice or other contraptions that encase food,
plastic toys, burlap sacks, and mirrors among others. The substrate employed
within enclosures, with its tactile qualities, may also be relevant to alleviating stereotypies.58 Very often, attempts to eliminate stereotypic behaviors
involve techniques designed to occupy the time of an animal.59 Altering
the method and timing of feeding, for example, is one avenue of approach
for altering the texture of a day. Strikingly, one of the objectives of environmental enrichment is to instigate the natural behavior of animals, yet
it appears to matter little whether these behaviors are motivated by natural
or artificial objects. Therefore, in some respects at least, there is an implicit
acknowledgement among zookeepers that the fundamentals of nature run
deeper than its exact material configuration or its similarity to “nature.” By
instigating natural behavior, enrichment potentially enables zoo managers to
achieve another goal, which is to diminish or eliminate stereotypic behavior.
By engaging animals, enrichment permits the intensity that typifies life to be
more widely distributed, thereby regenerating the flow that had been previously arrested.
Enrichment, then, may be viewed as an attempt to transform the zoo
enclosure from a point to a passage in itself. In facilitating the emergence of
nonhuman ramblings within the confines of an exhibit, enrichment seeks to
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perpetuate a flow (where it persists) and unhinge animals from their moorings when stereotypes prevail. Nonetheless, it may be argued that efforts to
transform points into passages have failed. Although Shepherdson sees the
origins of zoo enrichment at the beginning of the 20th century, and Maple
notes the prevalence of the topic since the early 1980s, the zoo studies noted
above indicate that stereotypes are still very prevalent.60 Even though enrichment has certainly reduced occurrences of stereotypic behavior, many
problems remain. Ultimately, this simultaneously suggests our limited capacity to transform a point into a passage and our inability to fully control the
vibrational quality of animals. Environmental enrichment can provide many
things; indeed it can saturate space. As yet, however, it has not been able
to transform Newtonian space (space as a container) into a more dynamic
affair that is compatible with animal vibrations. And there is no guarantee
that zoo enrichment will ever be able to achieve this feat except in theory.
In turn, this may suggest that there is an element of life that environmental
enrichment, as we conceive it, is missing.
What these forms of enrichment can’t address is another aspect of life.
Traditionally, conceptions of sense have been geared around objects of attraction and have been centered around the process of cognition. Another
way to conceive animal nature, however, is through the kinesthetic sense.
The kinesthetic sense is generally defined as “the sense of limb position and
movement”.61 This sense is not wholly disconnected from the neural apparatus of the brain, but it is nevertheless more overtly distributed throughout
the body. And while this sense relates to the internal workings of the body
(the relations between muscles and joints, for example), it necessarily carries
with it a relation to the outside world, for the positionality and movement
of limbs requires an exteriority that supports and yields in some manner. In
some regard, zoo professionals are certainly aware of this aspect, but for some
reason, perspectival or pragmatic, they have not given it the same status
as other senses. Below, a means of incorporating that sense into zoological
institutions is outlined.
Searching for a Wormhole
Animal bodies, while constituted out of relations, have their own Newtonian
demands. Presently, what the project of environmental enrichment has not,
and cannot, manifest is space, at least in a substantial manner. Space is the
inherent deficit of zoo enclosures, one from which they cannot recover. In
their study of large carnivores, Clubb and Mason concluded that the primary
factor harming the ability of animals to adjust to captivity is not their in-
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ability to hunt, but rather their inability to range widely.62 In addition to
noting captivity’s negative impact on infant mortality, their analysis further
notes that the frequency of pacing is directly correlated with the size of a
species’ home-range in the wild. A similar analysis based upon minimum
daily distances traveled—which may give a more accurate depiction of life’s
cadence—produced similar results. Clubb and Mason also drew similar conclusions with regard to elephants.63 They note that the median herd home
range for Asian elephants is 113 km2, while the median herd home range for
African elephants is 1975.7 km2. Interestingly, Poole and Granli note that
because elephants have the lowest energetic cost of walking for any land
animal, “Proponents of the modern zoo have used this fundamental energetic truth to argue that since elephants in captivity are provided with food
and water they don’t require large spaces.”64 The logic of saturation seems to
come into play again here, this time not in reference to the enrichment of
surroundings but rather within the interior of the body. Variously, they note
that typical polar bear enclosures are one-millionth the species’ minimum
home range, and that the EAZA and AZA recommendations for outdoor elephant enclosures are 60 to 100 times smaller than the minimum wild home
range of the species.65 Undoubtedly, these are extreme examples. Yet, while
such factors are presumably more apparent with regard to large, wide-ranging
species, animals of a less expansive character are likely to experience these
constraints in a similar yet distinct fashion. 66
What I will suggest here, then, is that space (Newtonian or relative) is
the ultimate “object” of concern for animals. This is so simply because space
is the encounter in all of its heterogeneity. This perspective is not ancillary
to the notion of animal as vibration, but instead commensurate with it.
Space as an “object” of interest, and the approach of an animal toward that
space (which is simply a reverberation), is just the realization of the animal’s
architecture of being, which in itself is always, in a more preliminary sense,
its penchant of becoming. This reality has consequences. If we are to accept
both the importance of space and the limitations on space currently imposed
by zoological institutions, how can we use the insights of our new register, of
sound, movement, and vibration, to reconstruct our relations with other species—whether or not that involves the preservation of zoos or their eventual
demise?
In order to break out of this conundrum, I want to draw here upon the
notion of a wormhole. The concept of a wormhole is helpful in this context
because of the multiple meanings it possesses. On the one hand, in the most
literal of ways, it refers to a biological organism and its passage through a
material substrate. The zoological connections are obvious in this aspect of
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the term. Interestingly, the term not only applies to the actions of different
species (e.g., worms or termites), but also to species’ impacts on different
material substrates (e.g., fruit or wood). The species and the space of the hole
are temporarily coextensive. On the other hand, there is a more speculative
aspect to this term, one which emanates from the science of physics and refers to a hypothetical passage through time-space. This usage of the term was
developed by John Wheeler and refers to a tunnel or bridge that connects
different time-spaces, potentially enlarging the scope of travel by means of a
shortcut that augments expediency.67 Although the validity of such speculations is debatable, that this usage comes from physics is in itself helpful to the
present discussion, for physics is the science of matter and its motion. Thus
once again, we arrive at the notion of vibration. Combined with the different organic and inorganic materialities specified by the traditional use of the
term, we can begin to see the potential utility of the concept.
What then does this mean for our conception of zoos, conservation
practices more generally, and their potential reconfiguration? More precisely, what alterations to zoos does this suggest? Let me say forthrightly
that I am looking to bore a wormhole into the hull of the zoological ark.
On a global scale, as we have seen, this has become extremely difficult, as
there is diminishing habitat available that is suitable for reintroductions.
While I do not want to foreclose those possibilities, here I want to focus on
smaller-scale activities, the act of transforming the zoo from a point into
a passage.
Above all, then, I am proposing a zoo that is defined by mobilities. Given
the largely sedentary nature of zoos, a radical restructuring of these institutions would be required to achieve this end, one which would be inclusive
of various caveats, niches, and, yes, enclosures that would indeed lend the
new zoo its character.68 At any given point in time, this zoo would be in a
variable state of assembly and disassembly. With the exception of animals
that exhibit a clear penchant for sedentary behavior (although this is never
absolute), animals within the zoo will be upon the move, periodically moving from one enclosure to another. The exact timing, speed, and method of
facilitating these movements will be developed over time through experience with the animals at hand. Zoo personnel will also be engaged in the
process of preparing and reorganizing the space of the zoo, itself beginning
to function like an organism. In this way, the total amount of space within
the zoo that is available to each species and each animal is augmented. Ideally, this increase would resonate positively with zoo animals by triggering
reminiscences (in their muscle memory or consciousness) yet eliminating
perceptions of redundancy.
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To permit this, of course, the internal attributes of enclosures must be
reconceptualized. Though some enclosures could temporarily reflect the
historic habitat of a given species, they should not be “dedicated,” as it were,
to a species’ nature, for that would simply entail stringing animals along to
more of the same. To do so would not diverge considerably from the present
policy of enrichment, even though multiply located. Rather, this unending
labyrinth of enclosures would contain varied “habitats,” varied geometries,
and perhaps a varied composition of animal types designed to engage each
other. In such assemblages, different “affordances” (as per Reed) between
the animal and its surroundings would emerge that enliven the condition of
dwelling and inhabitation.69 In some cases, the landscape might beneficially
possess an austere quality, one frequently rejected by the aesthetic sensibilities brought to nature by humans, but which actually offers tactile, olfactory,
gustatory, auditory, and visual stimuli that bemuse, enthrall, and excite animals. In this sense, like a Rubik’s cube, each enclosure possesses innumerable
possibilities. The potential sequence of habitats, from austere to naturalistic
and otherwise, likewise contains numerous pathways. Further, to a greater or
lesser degree, zookeepers may elect to retain the landscape changes effected
by the animals themselves, whether those changes entail the formation of divits, the relocation of boulders, or even damage to institutional resources, for
those alterations would undoubtedly add to the complexity of sites and blend
with the personal proclivities of particular animals (if not necessarily the species). These self-induced changes may or may not resonate with some form
of consciousness when an animal revisits a particular enclosure during the
course of its residency, but benefits of a tacit, corporeal character are likely
to accrue for the site has become imprinted with an aspect of that animal’s
lively body. Although limited, this allowance has affinities with the process
of niche construction in more natural settings. The vibrational quality of
animals and their animacy is thus affirmed by this reformation. Overall, the
objective in developing these contortions is to develop a series of habitats
that does not fall into a condition of redundancy and thereby outpaces an
animal’s ability to sense its own entrapment.
Viewed in this way, we see that zoo designers made a critical error long
ago. At the turn of the twentieth century, Carl Hagenbach created a naturalistic zoo, a transition in form and function that has been widely applauded
and subsequently replicated. These creations certainly diffused the rigidity of
the cage, but in creating these natural exhibits, zoos became rigid in yet another way. This is our paradox. Now, in response to the limitations imposed
by this format, we must begin to think differently about materialities and
the potentialities they possess. We should allow ourselves, and the animals
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in our keep, more freedom of play. In creating the Penguin Pool at the London Zoo, Lubetkin was not inhibited by nature. His novel use of shapes and
angles should be of benefit. But he too was entrapped, this time by modernism and its edicts of efficiency.70 What the preceding discussion of vibrations
indicates is that animals are modes, modulations, ones that the modules of
zoos must be reconfigured to accommodate, but not in a modern way. A less
structured format is necessary, one that is continually amenable to reconstitution as different species move in and out of particular enclosures.
The approach outlined here is equivalent to a mode of empowerment, one
which is compatible with the fundamentals of evolution and emboldens the
agency of animals, though not necessarily (or even primarily) in a natural
fashion. As Grosz points out, the term “evolution” is derived from Latin,
the etymological origins being “to unroll.”71 This sense of unrolling certainly
suggests motion, as has been highlighted here throughout, but it is much too
linear. Instead, I would argue that it is preferable to think of biological development and evolution as a folding and unfolding process, one which thereby
contains a non-linear and indeterminate aspect.72 Although compatible with
evolutionary thinking, the approach suggested here does not conform to the
conservationist ethic of the environmental movement, for it allows animals
to find their own nature.
A labyrinthine zoo of the type I have described moves in this direction.
Typically, we think of labyrinths as spaces of confinement which over
determine the lives of its inhabitants. Yet, this truly misunderstands our
relations with the world (and the type of labyrinth I am describing). Development and evolution do not occur as a result of our detachment from
the world, with all of its rigidities, but rather as a result of our engagement
with the world. This acknowledgement agrees with Grosz’s notion of an
“enabling obstacle,” something I would say that provides feedback (and
indeed constrains) but does not determine actions to the point of objectifying its inhabitants.73 Such a labyrinth permits the process of folding and
unfolding to take place incessantly. It is open-ended to the extent that it is
perpetually reconstructed and reorganized, and not entirely subject to the
dictates of “nature.”
This restructuring of zoos would undoubtedly present challenges, but it
also suggests opportunities. Some excess space would be needed to allow for
the reorganization of enclosures before the arrival of their next set of inhabitants. Though labor intensive, this reorganization of modules would not be as
demanding as it appears at first glance, for the enclosures are temporary for
any inhabitant. Thus, while significant enrichment may be offered in some
cases, this may be compensated for by less intricate environs in other en-
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closures. Transience permits some laxity, since animals are not dedicated to
a single space and do not require it to satisfy all of their needs in perpetuity.
Given the vast collections of species in many zoos, it would indeed be
difficult to construct pathways for all of the diverse organisms within each
institution’s control. More than likely, our inability to orchestrate all of these
trajectories would force individual zoos to reduce the number of species (if
not animals) they hold within their walls. For some zoo personnel and visitors, this may be a hard pill to swallow. Yet, it seems that such a consequence
of reorganization actually falls in line with other trends in society. Over the
last few decades, a concerted effort has emerged to differentiate mainstream
consumer venues, such as shopping malls and baseball stadiums, which had
become homogenized and indistinguishable during late modernity.74 Thus
there is an unforeseen opportunity here. In being “forced” by practical constraints to reduce the number of species within their control, each zoo could
seek to individualize itself, thereby highlighting its unique value. The zoo, as
such, is no longer global, but rather becomes postmodern in a sense.
Although the livelihood of zoo animals should never be compromised for
human benefit, these changes alter the dynamic of tourism and visitation in
a beneficial way, for each zoo is no longer simply a zoo, but instead retains
an identity of its own, becoming to some extent a class in and of itself. Altogether, this reorganization would not only impact the response of tourists
from outside a given region (who may have already visited a zoo in their
own community), but it would also influence local residents. The transient
character of zoo enclosures and their relation to particular species ensures
that a zoo will always be “different” even when it retains the same collection
of species. Thus, human fatigue and boredom could be minimized and interest continually reinvigorated. Nevertheless, while these dynamics generate
economic and visual benefits, they are to be grounded in the primacy of
animal agency.
The denaturing of zoos, initially sensed as problematic, appears otherwise
once it is acknowledged that the overwhelming majority of zoo animals will
never be transferred back to nature and that those who are returned will inevitably encounter natures that have been already substantially transformed.
By virtue of the incomplete global circuits of conservation and the unlikely
prospect of their completion in the not-so-near future, ethical priorities
should shift from the ecological emphasis of conservation toward a humanitarian emphasis on welfare and agency. To do otherwise is disingenuous. This
project does link up with environmental enrichment, but in a vastly different manner from that currently envisioned by zoo managers. It allows zoo
animals to utilize their natural ability to engage, explore, and (more simply)
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make contact with surfaces, yet does not determine a priori what those surfaces will be or what those animals will be(come). It is an open-ended form
of environmental enrichment and environmental inheritance that can never
be saturated.
Notes
1. Paul Lawrence Farber, Finding Order in Nature (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
2. Toby A. Appel, The Cuvier-Geoffroy Debate: French Biology in the Decades
before Darwin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987).
3. R.J. Hoage and William A. Deiss, eds., New Worlds, New Animals: From
Menagerie to Zoological Park in the Nineteenth Century (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1996); David Hancocks, “The Design and Use of Moats and Barriers,” in Wild Mammals in Captivity, ed. Devra G. Kleiman, Mary E. Ellen, Katerina
V. Thompson, and Susan Lumpkin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996),
191–203.
4. Stephen Bitgood, Donald Patterson, and Arlene Benefield, “Exhibit Design
and Visitor Behavior: Empirical Relationships,” Environment and Behavior 20 (1988):
474–491.
5. Kay Anderson, “Animals, Science, and Spectacle in the City,” in Animal
Geographies: Place, Politics, and Identity in the Nature-Culture Borderlands, ed. Jennifer Wolch and Jody Emel (London: Verso, 1998), 27–50; Stephen Spotte, Zoos in
Postmodernism: Signs and Simulation (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press,
2006).
6. John Berger, About Looking (New York: Pantheon, 1980).
7. By this, I do not mean to suggest that the era of metal bars and sparse concrete
enclosures has ended, for many animal exhibits around the world still possess these
qualities.
8. Susan G. Davis, Spectacular Nature: Corporate Culture and the Sea World Experience (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997).
9. C.L. Puan, and M. Zakaria, “Perception of Visitors towards the Role of Zoos:
a Malaysian Perspective,” International Zoo Yearbook 41 (2007): 226–232.
10. Spotte, Zoos in Postmodernism, 17.
11. M. Soulé, M. Gilpin, W. Conway, and T.J. Foose, “The Millennium Ark:
How Long a Voyage, How Many Staterooms, How Many Passengers?” Zoo Biology 5
(1986): 101–113.
12. Ibid; Ethics on the Ark: Zoos, Animal Welfare, and Wildlife Conservation, ed.
Bryan G. Norton et al. (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995).
13. Eva Jablonka and Marion J. Lamb, Evolution in Four Dimensions: Genetic,
Epigenetic, Behavioral, and Symbolic Variation in the History of Life (Cambridge: MIT
Press, 2005).
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14. Jozef Keulartz, The Struggle for Nature (London: Routledge, 1998).
15. F.J. Odling-Smee, K.N. Laland, and M.W. Feldman, Niche Construction: the
Neglected Process in Evolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003).
16. Humberto R. Maturana and Francicso J. Varela, Autopoiesis and Cognition
(Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing, 1980).
17. Nigel Thrift, Non-representational Theory (New York: Routledge, 2008).
18. Deborah Thien, “After or beyond feeling? A consideration of Affect and Emotion in Geography,” Area 37 (2005): 450–454; Derek McCormack, “For the Love of
Pipes and Cables: A Response to Deborah Thien,” Area 38 (2006): 330–332.
19. McCormack, “For the Love of Pipes and Cables,” 331.
20. Patricia T. Clough, “The Affective turn: Political economy, Biomedia, and
Bodies,” Theory, Culture, and Society 25 (2008): 1.
21. Hayden Lorimer, “Cultural Geography: The Busyness of Being ‘More-thanRepresentational,’” Progress in Human Geography 29 (2005): 83–94.
22. Rachel Colls, “Materialising Bodily Matter: Intra-Action and the Embodiment of ‘Fat,’” Geoforum 38 (2007): 360.
23. Eric Laurier and Chris Philo, “Possible Geographies: A Passing Encounter in a
Café,” Area 38 (2006): 353–363; Justin Spinney, “A Place of Sense: A Kinaesthetic
Ethnography of Cyclists on Mont Ventoux,” Environment and Planning D: Society and
Space 24 (2006): 709–732.
24. Elizabeth Grosz, Chaos, Territory, Art: Deleuze and the Framing of the Earth.
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 80.
25. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987).
26. Grosz, Chaos, Territory, Art, 54.
27. Jean-Luc Nancy, Listening (New York: Fordham University Press, 2007), 2
(original italics).
28. Spotte, Zoos in Postmodernism, 66.
29. Sarah Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies: Natures, Cultures, Spaces (London:
Sage Publications, 2002).
30. Michel Callon, “Some Elements of a Sociology of Translation: Domestication
of the Scallops and the Fishermen of St. Brieuc Bay,” in Power, Action, Belief, ed.
John Law (London: Routledge, 1986), 196–230.
31. Studbooks contain information about the parentage, date of birth, location of
birth, current location and date of death of particular animals. An excellent source
for studbooks and studbook data is the San Diego Zoo’s Conservation and Research
for Endangered Species (CRES) center. Copies of studbooks are available at library.
sandiegozoo.org/studbook.htm.
32. Steven D. Thompson. North American Regional Studbook for the Pygmy
Hippopotamus (Hexaprotodon liberiensis) (Chicago: Lincoln Park Zoo, 2002);
Mike Connolly, Andean Bear Studbook Tremarctos ornatos: North American Regional Studbook (Tulsa: Tulsa Zoo and Living Museum, 2007); Helen Shewman and
Cheryl Frederick, Sun Bear Studbook Helarctos malayanus: North American Regional
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Studbook (Seattle: Woodland Park Zoo, 2007); Travis Vineyard, Sloth Bear Studbook Melursus ursinus: North American Regional Studbook (Cleveland: Cleveland
Metroparks Zoo, 2007).
33. Alice Seyfried, Tachyglossus aculeatus: Short Beaked Echidna (St. Louis: St.
Louis Zoo, 2003).
34. See www.isis.org/CmsHome/content/isisimpact .
35. Sara Hallager, International Studbook for the Kori Bustard (Ardeotis kori)
(Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian National Zoological Park, 2002); Mike Keele and
Karen Lewis, Asian Elephant (Elaphus maximus): North American Regional Studbook Update (Portland: Oregon Zoo, 2003).
36. The end of the “capture” phase cannot be synchronized as a whole for a few
basic reasons. In the first instance, the initial date of interest in, and acquisition of,
different species varies considerably. Thus, some species have transitioned into the
breeding and maintenance phase before other species have been acquired at all.
Secondly, the ability of zoological institutions to successfully breed particular species
has varied. The inability to breed a species necessarily lengthens the reliance upon
wild populations. Thirdly, concerns about genetic diversity may extend the length of
reliance on wild populations.
37. See www.isis.org/CMSHOME/.
38. Fifteen percent of mammalian space in zoos is devoted to threatened taxa.
C.D. Magin, T.H. Johnson, B. Groombridge, M. Jenkins, and H. Smith, “Species Extinctions, Endangerment and Captive Breeding,” in Creative Conservation: Interactive
Management of Wild and Captive Animals, ed. P.J.S. Olney, G.M. Mace, and A.T.C.
Feistner (London: Chapman and Hall, 1994), 3–31.
39. Many of the reports of the Re-introduction Specialist Group of IUCN’s
Species Survival Commission can be viewed at www.iucnsscrsg.org/STORAGE/
RSG%20CD/CITES_START.htm.
40. B. B. Beck, L.G. Rapaport, M.R. Stanley Price, and A.C. Wilson, “Reintroduction of Captive-born Animals,” in Creative Conservation, ed. P.J.S. Olney et al.,
265–286.
41. Mark R. Stanley Price and John E. Fa, “Reintroductions from Zoos: A Conservation Guiding Light or a Shooting Star?” in Zoos in the 21st Century: Catalysts for
Conservation?, ed. Alexandra Zimmerman, Matthew Hatchwell, Lesley Dickie, and
Chris West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 167.
42. The dominant genetic perspective in conservation does not wholly discount
what I have characterized as vibrations. Indeed, at the foundation of genetics is the
process of mutation, which is generally considered to be stochastic. Nonetheless, the
body of animals is often treated as a vessel in the process, and perceived to be fundamentally more stable than the genetic attributes that comprise a population.
43. This condition suggests that the only legitimate rationale for the perpetuation
of zoos is the caring feelings for wildlife they generate among the public, feelings
which may actually extend beyond the boundaries of zoos. This benefit is moderated, however, by the proliferation of wildlife documentaries which bring the image
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of wild animals into many homes and potentially function in the same manner. Gail
Davies, “Exploiting the Archive: And the Animals Came in Two by Two, 16mm,
CD-ROM, and BetaSp,” Area 31 (1999): 49–58. Altogether, I would argue this situation strongly warrants against the further capture of wild animals unless it is shown
that the animals captured will directly benefit from such action.
44. Steve Ross, North American Regional Studbook for the Chimpanzee (Pan
troglodytes) (Chicago: Lincoln Park Zoo, 2003).
45. Keele and Lewis, 2003; Jason Jacobs, pers. com., Los Angeles Zoo.
46. Laurie Marker, International Cheetah Studbook, 2000–2001 (Otjiwarongo,
Namibia: Cheetah Conservation Fund, 2008).
47. Dave Bernier, North American Regional Studbook for the Southern Threebanded Armadillo (Tolypeutus matacus) (Chicago: Lincoln Park Zoo, 2004); Lee
Schoen, North American Regional Rhinoceros Hornbill Studbook, Buceros rhinoceros (Houston: Houston Zoo, 2004). For the most part, birds and reptiles are unnamed in official studbooks, while many mammals are given names. One exception
to this pattern is the African penguin, a species that is perhaps perceived to possess
more individuality than other avian species in contemporary culture.
48. Aristotle, Aristotle’s On the Soul; and On Memory and Recollection (Santa Fe:
Green Lion Press, 2001); Tim Mitchison and Marc Kirschner, “Dynamic Instability
of Microtubule Growth,” Nature 312 (1984): 237–242.
49. Kathy Carlstead, “Effects of Captivity on the Behavior of Wild Mammals,” in
Wild Mammals in Captivity, ed. Devra G. Kleiman, Mary E. Ellen, Katerina V. Thompson, and Susan Lumpkin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 317–333.
50. S. Montaudouin and G. Le Pape, “Comparison between 28 Zoological Parks:
Stereotypic and Social Behaviours of Captive Brown Bears (Ursus arctos),” Applied
Animal Behavior Science 92 (2005): 129–141; David J. Shepherdson, Kathy Carlstead,
Jill D. Mellen, and John Seidensticker, “The Influence of Food Presentation on the
Behavior of Small Cats in Confined Environments,” Zoo Biology 12 (1993): 203–216;
Loraine Rybiski Tarou, Mollie A. Bloomsmith, and Terry L. Maple, “Survey of Stereotypic Behavior in Prosimians,” American Journal of Primatology 65 (2005): 181–196; C.L.
Meehan, J.P. Garner, and J.A. Mench, “Environmental Enrichment and Development
of Cage Stereotypy in Orange-winged Amazon Parrots (Amazona amazonica),” Developmental Psychobiology 44 (2004): 209–218; Loraine Tarou Fernandez, Meredith J. Bashaw,
Richard L. Sartor, Nichole R. Bouwens, and Todd S. Maki, “Tongue Twisters: Feeding
Enrichment to Reduce Oral Stereotypy in Giraffes,” Zoo Biology 27 (2008): 200–212;
Sue A. Hunter, Monika S. Bay, Michele L. Martin, and Jeff S. Hatfield, “Behavioral Effects of Environmental Enrichment on Harbor Seals (Phoca vitulina concolor) and Gray
Seals (Halichoerus grypus),” Zoo Biology 21 (2002): 375–387; Corie L. Therrien, Lauren,
Gaster, Petra Cunnigham-Smith, and Charles A. Manire, “Experimental Evaluation of
Environmental Enrichment of Sea Turtles” Zoo Biology 26 (2007): 407–416.
51. Andrzej Elzanowski and Agnieszka Sergiel, “Stereotypic Behavior of a Female
Asiatic Elephant (Elephas maximus) in a Zoo,” Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science 9 (2006): 223–232.
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148
David Lulka
52. Lindsay A. Hogan and Andrew Tribe, “Prevalence and Cause of Stereotypic
Behavior in Common Wombats (Vombatus ursinus) Residing in Australian Zoos,”
Applied Animal Behaviour Science 105 (2007): 180–191.
53. Sophie Vickery and Georgia Mason, “Stereotypic Behavior in Asiatic Black
and Malayan Sun Bears,” Zoo Biology 23 (2004): 409–430.
54. Ibid; Montaudouin and Le Pape, “Comparison between 28 Zoological Parks:
Stereotypic and Social Behaviours of Captive Brown Bears (Ursus arctos).”
55. G. Mason, R. Clubb, N. Latham, and S. Vickery, “Why and How Should
We Use Environmental Enrichment to Tackle Stereotypic Behaviour?” Applied
Animal Behaviour Science 102 (2007): 163–188. Most studies on stereotypic behavior are limited in scope, involving a small number of animals or locations. Additionally, most of these studies examine mammals. It is unclear, moreover, how
much this phenomenon affects other segments of the animal world and the extent
to which we are able to recognize these abnormalities in species vastly different
from ourselves.
56. Ralph Acampora, Corporal Compassion (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh
Press, 2006).
57. In saying this, I am disagreeing with von Uexküll and Heidegger, who contend
that each type of animal is only aware of a select group of objects in its surroundings.
Their perspective, again, seems to prioritize the categorical aspects of animals over
the more basic property of becoming.
58. Camie L. Meller, Candace C. Croney, and David Shepherdson, “Effects of
Rubberized Flooring on Asian Elephant Behavior in Captivity,” Zoo Biology 26
(2007): 51–61.
59. Ronald A. Kastelein, Nancy Jennings, and Jacobus Postma, “Feeding Enrichment Methods for Pacific Walrus Calves,” Zoo Biology 26 (2007): 175–186.
60. D.J. Shepherdson, “Environmental Enrichment: Past, Present and Future,”
International Zoo Yearbook 38 (2003): 118–124; Terry L. Maple, “Toward a Science of
welfare for Animals in the Zoo,” Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science 10 (2007):
63–70.
61. Uwe Proske, “Kinesthesia: The Role of Muscle Receptors,” Muscle Nerve 34
(2006): 545.
62. Ros Clubb and Georgia Mason, “Captivity Effects on Wide-Ranging Carnivores,” Science 425 (2003): 473–474; see also Ros Clubb and Georgia Mason, A
Review of the Welfare of Zoo Elephants in Europe: A Report Commissioned by the RSPCA
(Oxford: Animal Behaviour Research Group, Department of Zoology, University of
Oxford, 2002).
63. Clubb and Mason, A Review of the Welfare of Zoo Elephants in Europe.
64. Joyce Poole and Petter Granli, “Mind and Movement: Meeting the Interests
of Elephants,” in An Elephant in the Room: The Science and Well-Being of Elephants in
Captivity, ed. D.L. Forthman, L.F. Kane, and P. Waldau, (North Grafton: Tufts University, Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine, Center for Animals and Public
Policy, 2008), 6.
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65. Clubb and Mason, A Review of the Welfare of Zoo Elephants in Europe; Clubb
and Mason, Captivity Effects on Wide-Ranging Carnivores.”
66. See, for example, Hogan and Tribe, “Prevalence and Cause of Stereotypic
Behavior in Common Wombats (Vombatus ursinus) Residing in Australian Zoos.”
67. Wormhole is a colloquial metaphor for the technical term, Einstein-Rosen
bridge. That a hole can function as a bridge accentuates the potential duplicity of
these material relations; see J.A. Wheeler, “On the Nature of Quantum Geometrodynamics,” Annals of Physics 2 (1957): 604–614.
68. The patterns created by such movements would have to incorporate epidemiological concerns, relations between differently sexed bodies, and the viable
proximity of different species. This would undoubtedly result in a fewer number of
species at each institution (see below).
69. Edward S. Reed, “The Affordances of the Animate Environment: Social
Science from the Ecological Point of View,” in What is an Animal?, ed. Tim Ingold
(London: Unwin Hyman, 1988), 110–126.
70. Pyrs Gruffudd, “Biological Cultivation: Lubetkin’s Modernisn at London Zoo
in the 1930s,” in Animal Spaces, Beastly Places: New Geographies of Human-Animal
Relations, ed. Chris Philo and Chris Wilbert (London: Routledge, 2000), 222–242.
71. Elizabeth Grosz, The Nick of Time: Politics, Evolution, and the Untimely (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004).
72. David Lulka, “The Ethics of Extension: Philosophical Speculation on Nonhuman Animals,” Ethics, Place and Environment 11 (2008): 157–180.
73. Grosz, The Nick of Time, 19.
74. Jon Goss, “The ‘Magic of the Mall’: An Analysis of Form, Function, and
Meaning in the Contemporary Retail Built Environment,” Annals of the Association
of American Geographers 83 (1993): 18–47; George Ritzer,and Todd Stillman, “The
Postmodern Ballpark as a Leisure Setting: Enchantment and Simulated De-McDonaldization,” Leisure Sciences 23 (2001): 99–113.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Open Door Policy: Humanity’s
Relinquishment of “Right to Sight”
and the Emergence of Feral Culture
G. A. Bradshaw, Barbara Smuts,
and Debra L. Durham
Gazed upon, they are denied the power of the gaze.
—David Spurr
I am stared at wherever I go like an idiot member of a royal family or an
animal in a zoo; and zoo animals have been known to die from stares.
—Igor Stravinsky
Introduction
Unlike sticks and stones, words and glances hardly seem dangerous. But, as
Stravinsky alludes, the rapacious eyes of ardent fans unsettle even the literati
and glitterati, who, one might think, would be relatively immune to visual
assault. It is not everywhere that the gaze is so demanding and so threatening. While visual rights may be taken for granted in today’s dominant society, sight is wielded more carefully elsewhere. Since post-contact occupation,
Americans Indians have had to contend with the “insult of eye contact” that
clashes with more parsimonious vision in traditional cultures such as the
Navajo who prefer the fleeting glance and only stare when angry.1, 2 Intrinsic
authority and intrusive quality of sight is recognized, much in the same way
an unsheathed sword might be regarded, its use cautiously guided by strict
rules of social etiquette.3 Neither does sight prevail amongst all species as
151
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152
G. A. Bradshaw, Barbara Smuts, and Debra L. Durham
the reigning sense. A survey of neuroanatomy across taxa shows how areas in
the brain specialized for sensing have evolved differentially, rendering vision
only part of the broader repertoire of communication and knowledge-making in the animal kingdom. Bats, whales, elephants, insects, and snakes have
ways of communicating that supersede the visual band.
Nonetheless, today’s society has made sight and sensibilities nearly one
and the same. Computers and their virtual progeny have supplanted physical
communities of locale. The power to collapse space into a single dimension
has hastened the atrophy of touch, smell, sound, and taste and relegated
these other senses to restricted, furtive territories.
Something else is involved in the use of the gaze. Helen Keller brings attention to the considerable presumption of sighted society and the political
nature of vision:
Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently, I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long
walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. ‘Nothing in particular,’ she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to
such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.4
The “ideology of the gaze” characterizes visual entitlement of colonial cultures where control is exerted through the deliberate commanding gaze.
Looking becomes:
a mode of thinking . . . where the world is radically transformed into an object
of possession . . . the gaze is never innocent or pure, never free of mediation
by motives which may be judged noble or otherwise . . . [it] is always in some
sense colonizing the landscape, mastering and proportioning, fixing zones and
poles, arranging and deepening the scene as the object of desire.”5
Visual targeting and linguistic packaging render subjects into silent, disempowered objects robbed of agency and autonomy. Presuming the right to
visual possession comprises the first step in the process of objectification and
hence any fate that objectification permits, including physical possession and
death. Denial of subjectivity is the denial of the right to life itself.6 Animals
held captive epitomize this process.
Historically, modern zoos evolved with agendas and mindsets alongside
colonial occupation.7 In broad terms, colonialism is construed as a predatory
attitude directed at the control or extinction of others through political and
physical force. Similar to indigenous peoples captured and brought to European and American cities for exhibition, animals in zoos and aquaria are
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kept captive for visual consumption.8 Today, we might cringe at the thought
of humans displayed in zoos, but one hundred years ago, Ota Benga, a Congolese pygmy tribesman captured by slave traders, occupied the Bronx Zoo
Monkey House exhibit. However, capture and captivity of other species have
not ceased. Institutions who base their fortunes on forced incarceration of
individuals with brains, minds, emotions, and cultures comparable to those
of humans have been able to continue.9, 10
Attitudes have changed since the days of Ota Benga and zoos are predicted
to be as endangered as the species they exhibit (this volume). Nonetheless,
despite social sentiment and science that has brought human and other
animal rights so close together as to make the distinguishing conceptual line
between species all but vanish, the assumed privilege to see an animal when,
where, and how one wishes persists. Animals are now visual prey wherever
they live. Instead of using concrete enclosures, people employ photo-safaris,
dolphin swims, and nature walks with the result that the ravages of captivity
are recapitulated in the so-called wild.11, 12
It is also true that dramatic environmental change has made us keenly
aware of life’s fragility and that wildlife species extinctions presage our own.
Instead of searching for solutions in the warrens of the human mind, psychologists and scientists have turned to nature for solace and technological
inspiration to cure society’s ills. Healing of the mind is linked with healing
of the earth.13 But does this sudden about face from shunning to embracing
nature benefit other species? Will this invigorated hunger for intimacy with
animals bring their salvation? We assert “no” unless modernity first relinquishes its mandate of right to sight.
We discuss the how the presumption of visual and psychological possession that underlies animal objectification and is intrinsic to zoos persists
even in alternative “eco-friendly” activities. Today’s animals are held hostage to and show wounds from the same appetites that have attacked their
societies since European colonization. Bringing wildlife back from the brink
of psychological and physical extinction requires humanity to forsake its assumption of right of sight. Renunciation of human privilege eschews visual
ownership and explicitly acknowledges animal agency and its attendant right
of privacy. Conservation can only be achieved if the cultural terrain “beyond
Noah” inspires a new perceptual and ethical paradigm where animals cease
to be objects in service of science and curiosity; “close encounters” promised
by ecotourism are possible, not certain, and occur only on terms dictated by
other animals. In this shared, species-common world, an alternative narrative emerges. Using testimonial examples, we illustrate how transformation
from animals as objects to subjects initiates a new trans-species identity14 and
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a move toward feral, the surrender of social control over other species where
we become one animal among many in a world in which we used to live.15
From Close Confinement to Confinement of Close Encounters
One of the main causes credited for the failure of zoos, and the captive industry
in general, is that their “educative power and abilities to capitalize on novelty
have been eclipsed by other media.”16 Ready access to electronic media and a
social life structured around the television preempt family outings to local zoos.
Instead, wildlife is handily brought into the living room with movies, streaming web media and television channels devoted to the display of animals.
On the surface, animal shows may seem quite different from a zoo or circus
but they share similar psycho-political agendas. In both, humans retain their
role as architects of animal lives by conscribing how animals are depicted and
what they do, want, feel, and think.17 As Janet Davis points out, animals in electronic media and in real life shows still serve human goals, be they education or
amusement. Many argue that nature shows have increased concerns about animal welfare; however, if so, their impact is small relative to animal exploitation.
A recent poll found that while 73 percent of the American public is concerned
about the state of the environment, only 10 percent act on their concern.18 The
gap between awareness and action helps explain why, despite conservation efforts, the burgeoning media coverage of wildlife crises, and increased awareness
of animal suffering, human-caused species extinctions have steadily continued.
Beyond electronic capture, there is a huge commercial market built on
trade in “sentient commodities”—the capture and exportation of wildlife
ranging from tigers, to wallabies, tigers, turtles, snakes, spiders, monkeys, fish,
insects, and parrots. The impact of wildlife trade cannot be overestimated.
Recently, in one case alone, over 27,000 animals were recovered from an
illegal, international enterprise in Texas. All were slated for various uses in
captivity, and tragically, by the time officials arrived, many had been beaten,
starved, near death, or had already succumbed.19
With the establishment of the Convention on International Trade in
Endangered Species (CITES) and other governing bodies, traffic in wildlife
has become more regulated, but legal and illegal trade continue to devastate
free-ranging communities. The bulk of these individuals are used as “pets,”
while others are appropriated for research, biomedical testing, entertainment, food and other commercial products. Legal exploitation of wildlife
continues alongside the black market. Organized trophy hunting and canned
hunts have gained popularity as access to wildlife has diminishes with species
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declines. Subsequently, while their electronic representations flourish, animals remain possessions in body and mind as products to satisfy humanity.
Many people who have turned from zoos and live shows embrace alternative opportunities to encounter animals provided by ecotourism (defined as
“tourism involving travel to areas of natural or ecological interest, typically
under the guidance of a naturalist, for the purpose of observing wildlife and
learning about the environment” 20 ). Instead of bringing animals to people,
ecotourism brings people to animals and in so doing appears to reverse what
zoos and circuses create.
While the term “ecotourism” is newly minted, the idea behind it is not. Big
game hunting and safaris of various types have been a mainstay of the west for
more than a century, and they have provided the mythical fodder for novelists
from Hemingway, to Forster, to Agatha Christie. These early ecotourists laid
the ground for much of today’s trends and styles. Present-day destinations are often romanticized and engineered to provide aesthetic experiences to mirror the
past. Graceful tents set near roaring lions under transcendent African skies of
the twenty-first century look very similar to the digs of the likes of Isak Dineson,
of Out of African fame, minus the requisite genealogical pedigree and wealth.
Ecotourism’s democratization of luxury and access plays to the increased
the numbers of people who are able to travel. Hunting parties aimed to kill
now share the stage with camera parties in search of an equally dramatic
shot. Ecotourism and wildlife photography have roots in trophy hunts of the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—where privileged members of society traveled to kill and then possess the dead corpse of an animal after photographing the process. Wildlife films and photographs are not infrequently
staged, some to the point of deliberate harm to the animals in question.21
Yet despite the parallels, is it fair to regard ecotourism as an agent of damage
comparable to that brought by colonial safaris and big game hunting?
Ecotourism is arguably seen as a huge boon to many countries. In many
areas, ecotourism offers one of the very few economic opportunities in the
wake of cultural breakdown that has struck indigenous, subsistence communities with the advent of colonialism and urbanization. Various ecotourism
ventures are designed to promote the preservation of wildlife in lieu of poaching for bush-meat and the pet trade. For example, in the Amazon and parts of
Africa, indigenous hunters turned poachers are paid to protect, not capture or
kill wildlife. Dr. Pilai Poonswad, Thailand’s “Great Mother of the Hornbills,”
sternly confronted villagers who poached hornbills and successfully converted
them to ecotourist guides, thereby securing a beachhead of protection for the
vulnerable birds.22 However, while in many instances it is the only business
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sustaining people and wildlife alike, indeed the only barrier between complete
extinction and survival of a species, ecotourism is far from benign.
Casualties of the Gaze
On the surface, ecotourism presents a vast improvement over the global
slaughter promulgated by colonists. The fate of African wildlife, as just one
example, is enough to convince that any other form of human visitation to
the continent is better than the hunting culture brought by colonials. By the
turn of the last century, “great white hunters” had almost obliterated African
wildlife. Wildlife was extinguished to the extent that when the Big Five—lions, leopards, elephants, rhinoceroses, and Cape Buffalos—became part of a
significant reintroduction program to re-populate South African parks in the
1980s, many Africans encountered these animals for the first time. Wildlife
had been erased from the collective memories of local cultures.23 The story of
wildlife in South Africa illustrates the devastation that post-contact society,
now globalized, causes by an insatiable desire for possession.
After apartheid, international tourism to South Africa became politically
and economically viable once more. Private reserves with posh lodgings sprang
up like mushrooms to provide an eager public with opportunities to view the
spectacular landscapes and their animals in style and ease. Massive translocation projects involving the transfer of elephants and other species, at times
over hundreds of miles, were engineered to repopulate emptied landscapes.
On paper, these moves and other wildlife management strategies might seem
logical solutions to dilemmas created in the past, but in many cases they have
merely exacerbated the situation sometimes often with fatal consequences.
Pilanesberg National Park, located a short two hours from Johannesburg,
was the recipient of many translocations, including lions and elephants.
Soon after reintroduction to the park, a trio of male lions formed an alliance so formidable that territorial challenges from younger lions inevitably
failed. Young males were therefore forced to the park perimeter where they
frequently escaped to the surrounding landscapes in search of new territory.
Outside they encountered angry and fearful villagers unaccustomed to nonhuman predators and unfamiliar with traditional strategies that protected
people and stock. Locals complained and lions were shot. To preempt further
conflict, park rangers decided to dismantle the trio so that park territory
could be more equitably distributed among resident lions. Indeed, after one
of the three was tracked and shot dead, the alliance crumbled and young lions were able to appropriate park territory. On the face of it, the plan seemed
successful. Ample lions were available for ecotourist viewing without the
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threat of outside conflict. But according to a park ranger, the death of the
lion devastated his remaining two comrades. In the words of the ranger, the
two lions “would wail long into the night and began to waste away in grief.
They were broken.”10, 24 Pilanesberg is also the home of the infamous rhinokilling elephants. Between two South African parks, young bull elephants
killed over one hundred rhinoceroses as a result of a series of brain-altering
traumas they experienced through the process of human manipulations to
create wildlife for tourist viewing. The young transgressing bull elephants
were moved to the park after being orphaned in culls (systematic killing)
at Kruger National Park. South Africa park personnel routinely controlled
elephant numbers with culls until 1994 in Kruger National Park. From 1966
to 1994 16,201 elephants were killed or removed. The reason given for culling is that without them elephants would destroy the ecosystem within the
closed confinement of the park. Most scientists agree that this hypothesis
is spurious and that the real motive derives from politics and the press of
the ivory market. Relevant here, elephant management is chiefly driven by
economics that include optimizing tourist opportunities. To help guarantee
viewing success, the park placed waterholes in strategic locales that later were
considered to be a factor that increased environmental impacts by wildlife.10
Since culls were reinstituted in South Africa in 2008, nearly coincident with
a huge sale of stockpiled ivory and the acceptance of China and Japan (the
two biggest ivory buyers) to CITES and waterholes closed or moved, the captive elephant industry has grown stronger. Not content with passive wildlife
viewing, ecotourists may now ride elephants, safari-style.
These two personal stories of animals’ lives illustrate a microcosm of the
vast, tragic consequences of objectivism and human privilege for we understand now that physical extinction is merely the tip of the iceberg. Right of
sight and the assumption of human authority over the fate of wildlife strips
animals of their self-determination and right of life. Lions, elephants, and
other species are moved around like so many chess pieces, re-assembled into
scientifically correct demographies with no care for the profound and lifelong
emotional bonding that defines wildlife society and psyche.
Traces of psychological and cultural collapse are found among an increasing numbers of species: cougars, elk, orca, dolphins, wolves, apes, and the
list goes on. While parks, protected areas, and reserves are becoming the
only places where wildlife can survive complete annihilation due to escalating human encroachment and population, they have begun to resemble the
close confinement defining zoo life. Because most parks and private reserves
depend on ecotourism, animals must routinely encounter people, cars, and
mountain bikes that crisscross their already fragmented landscapes. The
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stress of forced observation, increased vigilance, and disruption of cryptic
habits are taking their toll.
Stress effects in free-ranging animals are only just beginning to be acknowledged by conservations biologists even though theory and data have
long established the link between environmental change and fitness. Environmental uncertainty, social turmoil, high predation, habitat reduction,
human-induced mortality, and group fragmentation are found across species
and generations. Chronic stress or developmental trauma causes dysregulation of core neuro-physiological processes that influence reproductive behaviour, rates, and fecundity. Elephants, such as the hyper-aggressive rhino-killing young males, exhibit classic symptoms of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder
(PTSD) and other profound psychological distress including intra-specific
violence, infant neglect, and depression.10 Elsewhere, in another South African Park, Addo, a history of inadequate reserve size, irregular socialization
and trauma resultant from culls and intensive hunting is thought to underlie
the near 90 percent male-on-male elephant mortality that contrasts dramatically elephant behaviour living in (semi-)protected habitats. Elephants
also exhibit diverse indicators of intra-specific aggression and stress (broken
tusks, puncture wounds, elevated corticosteroid metabolite concentrations)
associated with intense socio-ecological pressures. Behavioural alterations
track physiognomy and genetics: elephant tusklessness is associated with
chronic and acute stress.25
Human stressor effects are not limited to the land alone. Among marine
mammals, pleasure boating and commercial fishing interrupt social functions
bringing loss of social cohesion, loss of socio-ecological knowledge, alterations to normal socialization, injury and death. Social breakdown leads to
relational dysfunction among individuals that translates, in the language of
biologists, to depressed breeding and skewed sex-ratios. Diminished sociality
affects the basics of life: foraging, finding mates, fending off predators, and
rearing young: all of which reduce populations. The loss of older individuals
who are targeted by hunters may explain why some traditionally important
cetacean habitat remains deserted despite the cessation of commercial whaling. Cultural knowledge of traditional feeding grounds and migratory routes
of the North Atlantic right whale, Eubalaena glacialis, may have been lost
through extirpation of older members by whalers and a growing population of young solitary odonocetes has been created through human-caused
orphaning.
Backcountry recreation also disrupts animal societies. Attempts to avoid
humans increase stress and energy expenditures and decreases group cohesion.26, 27 Diversion of energy from foraging, mating and parental care, im-
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paired communication capabilities, and increased stress levels cause infant
abandonment and significant population-level declines in birth rates and
impact survival and reproduction through increased stress, predation, and
separation of mothers and calves.28–31 Animals are particularly susceptible to
disturbance during calving, breeding, and in the winter when forage is difficult to find. Whale watching boats or kayaks in marine or lake settings create
noise and distraction that interfere with mating displays and the ability of
social groups to remain in contact with one another, and intense sounds are
correlated with injury and death.32 Such indirect impacts help explain the
apparent lack of recovery of offshore spotted (Stenella attenuata attenuata) and
eastern spinner dolphins (S. longirostris orientalis) stocks, which were reduced
to 40 percent and 20 percent of their original size, respectively, by purseseine nets used to catch tuna. Stress from human activity, including popular
swim-with-dolphin expeditions, also interrupts key social functions, such as
nursing, mating, swimming, sleeping and play, which impedes recovery.33
Proximity to humans has other consequences. African apes are now
known to be susceptible to and even dying from respiratory disease spread by
tourists and other close encounters with people.34 In Gombe National Park,
Tanzania, chimpanzees are infected and many die from polio and flu through
contact with humans. Similarly, a study in China revealed that pregnancy,
birth and infant survival outcomes were poor in macaque groups visited by
ecotourists in comparison to social groups that lived in areas not visited by
people.35 Lonely and displaced young orcas in search of company and love
often end tragically as in the case of Luna who died in the propellers of a
tugboat.36
Ecotourism has a downside even for the people who directly benefit.
While it is promoted as a way that indigenous people can stay on their lands
and revitalize cultural practices, ecotourism often stimulates further colonization by building western-based infrastructures into these communities. Employment that is aimed to preserve wildlife supplants traditional, subsistence
ways of living and values. Similar to wildlife, community elders are left socially beached and isolated from their traditions and their grandchildren who
pursue western education and jobs in order to survive. Ironically, economic
success means greater numbers of visitors, which increases resource demands,
increases noise, and accelerates local cultural change. As a result, ecotourism
fulfills much of the same role that institutions built on animals in captivity
have in the past: money in exchange for the right of visual possession.
Promoters of ecotourism point to its educational benefits. Much like
zoos, ecotourism is claimed to have a positive educational effect by creating
empathy for wildlife among its participants. Indeed, personal testimonies
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do support this assertion in some cases. However, a review of the experiences and perceptions of short term “eco-volunteers” suggests that benefits
to animals are overstated. For example, participants at an ape rehabilitation
center in Indonesia reported that the orphaned orangutans were inferior to
and less valuable than their wild counterparts. The analysis suggests that
themes of racism, sexism, and (colonial) domination and human control of
nature emerge in the eco-volunteer experience and that those same beliefs
strongly influenced the social construction of the orangutans, that is, their
objectification and reduction to units of human use.37
Critics underscore that most eco-tourist wildlife sightings occur in
parks and reserves. Almost everywhere, popular wildlife—big or predatory
animals— live in severely confined, contrived, or significantly compromised
conditions that contrast dramatically with those to which they have evolved.
They exist in reservations, cut off and apart from the entirety of the environment of their heritage. As conservationist David Western observes: “The
trouble is that species segregation, like racial segregation, gives the subordinate party, nature, a raw deal”.38 Thus, while biophilia may provide an ethos
for environmental protection and requisite human cultural change, it also
enables a habit that leads to nature’s undoing when it includes the insistence
to consume animals visually.
These realities compel the dismantling of right to sight. There is no need
to look to the teetering stacks of statistics, scientific facts, and theories that
document the effects of visual and physical captivity on other species. Human torture survivors and political prisoners describe corrosive effects from
being visible to captors—feeling vulnerable, inspected, and even the sense of
being grotesque—because one is objectified and reduced to a visual target.39
Even capture on film has its costs. By assigning animals to the colloid world,
(mis)perceptions of animals and public cultural constructions of animals are
shaped as “ideologies of post-colonial dependence, race, gender” and other
forms of hegemony.40 Media-created conceptions of animals can perpetuate
a hunger for greater access.
Subsequently, if we seek to live in a world populated by species besides
our own, humanity must relinquish its insistence on close encounters in body
and sight. The question becomes: what is the nature of human culture without the right of objectivism to visually and physically confine?
Trans-species Living
Objectification of animal kin has created a world of its own, civilization,
where other creatures exist largely as furniture manipulated to suit human
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design. Modern human identity is defined by what animals have been assumed to lack—culture, intelligence, language, emotions, cognition, toolmaking, the ability to create art and music, and significantly, a sense of self.
This conception of an unbounded abstract existence permits us to “move
into the living rooms of other animals with little or no regard for what we are
doing to them, their friends, and their families.” 41 But recently, the illusion
of separation is less and less viable. Attributes previously used to distinguish
humans from dolphins, chimpanzees, snakes, fish, octopi, elephants, mice,
cats, dogs, and invertebrates are found throughout the animal kingdom.
Neuroscience tells us that cross-species intimacy penetrates to the tiny cells
in the brain.42 Through science’s dark glass and the awesomeness of global
change, human and animal identities blur.
Suddenly, the dynamic of visual predation alters and modern humans
are subjected to another’s gaze. It is now nature that stares back and possesses. We face other species in mirror image, each reflecting aspects of the
other—one human, the other ape, turtle, fish, or bird. In efforts to evade
nature’s eyes, we earthlings may try escape by moving to distant galaxies and
by creating ingenious medical palliatives, but an essential question cannot be
avoided: who are we without the authority of self-proclaimed privilege? It is
at this juncture of knowledge and action, where the existential rubber meets
the practical road, that a new identity is forged.
Psychoanalyst Jerome Bernstein calls the place of trans-species existence
“the Borderland.”43 In discussion of Navajo and Hopi peoples, Bernstein
illustrates how trans-species connectedness is no stranger to other human
cultures. The Borderland world re-examines the trademarks of Western
human civilization—art, music, architecture, the quest for knowledge for
knowledge’s sake and human betterment, even language—that have formed
the counterpoise to animality. The exquisiteness of a Bottacelli, the soaring
notes of Don Giovanni, and the ingenuity of blu-ray do not change, but their
assumed significance does in a world informed by other species. Old meanings can no longer be assumed with the unmooring of human identity.
Douglas Candland explores the line between what it means to be human
and not human in his work on feral children, those reared outside human
civilization by other species. He urges us to “deny the arrogance of thinking
that we are objective and devote our attention to examining our own categories . . . how we create other minds and how we investigate our own.”44
These categories are structures of control that shape everyday life, ethical
lines drawn in choosing to spray pesticide on insects entering human houses
and riding ATVs and mountain bikes with a careless arrogance that intrudes
into the homes of cryptic bears and cougars.
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Candland’s psychological philosophy brings us to the same point as science—the space where the boundary between humans and members of other
species is fluid, even nonexistent, or comparable to any other, within-species
categorization (e.g., gender, age, geographic identity). We are asked not to
understand what it is to be human, but rather what it is to shed control and
live among other animals like animals, to become feral.
“Feral” is defined here in general terms as a way of seeing and living that
is not based in speciesism, and critically, one that renounces those aspects
of civilization that privilege humans. While there are multiple examples of
feral living in indigenous cultures, associating animality with humans today is
politically sensitive—and for good reason. American Indians, Australian Aborigines, Africans, African-Americans, and all manner of indigenous peoples
have been described as animals by colonists as a way to express their inferiority
to Europeans. The phrase “living like an animal” still represents an epithet of
disdain hurled at those who, similar to feral children, do not conform to standards of civilized living. The consequences of such labeling are devastating.
Along with the stripping of culture, indigenous languages have been
destroyed, voices silenced, and with them the ability to communicate with
other species. In the wake of cultural decimation, civilized life has become
the only means of survival and hope for retaining agency, albeit within the
suffocating confines of colonial reality. Subsequently, political and economic
liberation of feral cultures are commonly tailored commonly to symbols and
language that distance “native from nature.” 45 To reassociate animality
with indigenous peoples, therefore, hints of throwbacks to institutionalized
denigration.
However, the re-appropriation of “animal” for human life is critical. It is
essential for disentangling the psychological and political ropes that prevent
the embrace of animality and hence impedes the dismantling of speciesism.
Being animal acknowledges partnership in coexistence and meaning with
those—indigene humans and other animals—who have been reduced to props
on a colonials-only stage.
Unlike objectification, animistic and totemic perception does not refer to
the seer but to the phenomena of the natural world whose meaning derives
from what connects two nouns. Knowledge in feral cultures is not acquired
through the anonymity and separation of a book or third party, but through
long hours of direct observation and “deep, empathetic states”. Aborigines
“spend long hours watching and listening to animals … they imprint these
animal characteristics in their own neuromuscular systems”. Feral knowledge
is not only observational but also participatory and relational, characterized
by an “an ability to identify with and enter into their environment.”46
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Likewise, longtime parrot caregiver and scholar Phoebe Linden Greene
speaks of the nature of seeing in context of her relationships with over one
hundred parrots she has known during three decades:
The human entitlement called right to sight without mutual consent in relationship is exploitive and demeaning and entirely unrelated to mutual viewing. Mutual viewing happens when two or more interested and engaged beings
share simultaneous experience. The opposite of objectification, mutual viewing deepens interconnectedness. Cella, (Eclectus roratus vosmaerie), is a master
seer. She looks deeply and intently; I follow her gaze and when everything
works right, we see what we each sees. She looks not at me, nor I at her, but
we notice what holds our attention, and we attend to its sameness. When I see
what she sees and it blazes in my mind, I am lifted even as the limits of limited
human peripheral vision color vision constrict my experience. It’s an interesting study—especially with parrots whose eyes are on the sides of their heads,
who enjoy stereoscopic vision and who see colors in the ultraviolet range.47
Greene Linden’s (in)sight is composed of multiple senses with the goal of being seen, felt, smelled, and heard as much as to see, feel, scent, and listen. The
privilege of seeing and watching one and another is attainable only through
mutual consent and sustained time together, getting to know each other for
the purpose of living well together. Parrot and human well-being are contingent upon each other. Animal is someone other than the terminus of a stare.
The dissolution of structures and customs segregating everyday human living
and meaning making from other species also entails the dissolution of linguistic
barriers. Choosing species-neutral language re-works the boundaries created by
unequal power.48, 49 Instead of insisting on separate terminology for humans and
other animals, communication shapes to its cross-species users. Animals cease
to be objects that “exhibit fear behaviors”; instead, similar to humans, as agents
of their own experience, they “feel afraid” or “are terrified”. Words without
physical, relational context lose their meaning and utility eventually fated to
drop from use. Language and custom are mutually negotiated in common living areas where there is cocreation of communication and culture.
Ferity pervades within and extends outside the confines of house and
home. Smith describes the human-house rabbit life where routine, behavior,
and priorities created with the rabbits with whom she lives.
Frankly, I love this way of living, this version of “becoming animal.” It was
the genius of HRS [House Rabbit Society] founder Harriman to naturalize this
life, so that those of us who came after felt social permission to live as we had
always wanted to.50
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Outside, we experience other creatures from inside a shared universe rather
than watching from without, as if we were the audience and they entertainment with no existence beyond the spectacle. As feral beings, we retain
awareness of those with whom we share the world, whether or not we can see
or hear them at any given moment. The process often proceeds in measured
steps, requiring an emotional and psychological recalibration and creation of
trust, as illustrated in the case of field research with baboons.
I wanted to understand the baboons’ personal lives, which meant I needed to
follow them up close. Each day, I moved a little bit closer while trying to avoid
stepping over the invisible line that triggered flight. With the passing of time,
the line moved closer to them, and months into this process, I was able to get
close enough to see their faces clearly, which meant I could begin to recognize
them as individuals. Not long after that, when I moved too close particular
individuals began shooting me what I can only describe as “dirty looks.” Other,
bolder baboons raised their heads as I drew near, met my gaze briefly, and then
resumed foraging once I averted my eyes and sat down. Through these simple
exchanges, the baboons and I came to recognize each other as intentional
beings capable of rudimentary inter-species communication. Once we had
crossed that barrier, it became possible to explicitly negotiate the distance
between us. Eventually I understood “baboon” well enough to convey one
intention, over and over: I come in peace. The baboons must have understood
my message because they eventually allowed me to move among them, evoking no more notice than a harmless antelope or warthog.51
Dropping the separating cloak of objectivism reveals that other animals already live in a multi-, trans-species community:
When grazing antelope or warthogs moved through the troop, a few baboons
glanced up briefly, but otherwise, they did not react. Clearly, this was a multispecies community with mutually understood conventions of tolerance and noninterference. To my amazement, being surrounded by baboons automatically
made me a member of this community. Warthogs are notorious for their long
flight-distance from humans, yet when I was with baboons, a mother warthog
grazed nearby while her babies played in a mud puddle. Another time, a tiny
bat-eared fox trotted right up to me, stood at my feet and looked up quizzically,
as if to say, “Who on earth are you?” All of these animals took flight when they
encountered me away from the baboons. These experiences hint at the cultural
norms co-created in nature both within and between different species.
The body, senses, and mind become porous and the human comes to know
itself as animal, a product of evolution, just like the bodies of the baboons:
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With each step, I could feel how I was designed to flourish in the wild. My eyes…
are made to scan for bright-colored fruit and for predators moving in the distance.
My ears are made to notice a rustle in the grass or the faint cry of a baby. My feet
are made to feel the texture of the ground. My hands are made to grasp and to
caress, my arms to throw and embrace, my heart to beat fast or slow in response to
the matrix of sounds, sights, and scents in which I am enveloped. And my whole
being is made to stay open every moment to every sensory nuance.52, 53
The rhythms and structures of life shift:
I recall waking in my tent some nights when working in Madagascar when it
was still dark and deciding whether it was time to rouse myself for the day by
listening to the animals outside: frog song meant that it was still night time and
I could go back to sleep. The songs of birds or the territorial calls of the golden
bamboo lemurs meant I had a bit more time, but needed to think about getting
up soon. My life was in sync with light and dark, the weather, the cycles of the
moon and the seasons because those factors affected how lemurs lived their
daily lives in many of the same ways they affected mine.54
Dispelling the predatory attitude awakens senses long atrophied:
While walking along a boulder-laden stream in the mountains of Northern
California, I reflexively jumped sideways without knowing why. Simultaneously, an enormous vibration shook the perceived universe, including my own
body. Just as the world ceased reverberating, a nearby boulder undulated, and
for just a moment, it seemed I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. When ordinary
perception resumed, I found myself standing in the stream, about a meter away
from an enormous rock, upon which a giant rattlesnake had been sunning.
My presence had evoked a uniquely powerful warning, followed by an escape
as the snake slithered down the side of the rock into a dark crevice. Although
my logical mind now understood what had happened, everything felt different.
When the snake tail’s vibrations entered my body, I was transmuted into a new
being, an aboriginal human who had never known separation from the world
around her. Grandmother (or grandfather) rattlesnake, who had always been
radically other, was now inside me, being me, or I was being her; I couldn’t
tell the difference. Her desires, her experiences were now mine as well. I, too,
yearned for a safe, dark place to hide and feel safe. I found myself in that place,
resting comfortably, when I felt heavy steps approaching. I was terrified and
I cried out, “go away!” as loud and clear as I could. The footsteps paused and
then moved away, and I was blessedly safe again.
Here we witness a connectedness that nonetheless articulates limits.55 Animals have boundaries beyond which we should not go. Living feral means
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learning how to perceive the boundaries of other animals and then behaving accordingly, no matter what our personal desires might be. Personal
desire submits to relational negotiation. We are compelled to learn to see,
hear, and feel subtle boundaries with exquisite sensitivity—lest we ignore
them and thus stumble senseless through this beautiful world, arousing
fear with every step and state, like the owner of the steps that terrified the
snake.
It is not necessary to walk through the wilds of Africa or wake with the
lemurs to be feral. Feral life in trans-species culture may look different in
urban, Western settings than what is considered to be more “naturally”
feral,56 but the essence of feral living is in attitude. It is a way of relating
and being that imbues even the smallest acts in everyday life.6 Because we
inhabit the same biological bodies as our aboriginal ancestors—bodies that
are animal—we all possess a latent capacity to deepen awareness of our surroundings and the other animals who live here with us at home, in the trees,
skies, and waters. It only takes the courage to accept the vulnerability that
comes with dropping the shield of right to sight and then the willingness to
listen, be watched, and adopt ways of animal kin.
Notes
1. L. M. Cleary, L. M. and T. Peacock, Collected Wisdom: American Indian Education (Needham Heights: Allyn & Bacon, 1998): 28–29.
2. Hap Gilliland, Teaching the Indian, 4th edition (Dubuque, Iowa: Kent/Hunt
Publishing, 1998): 32.
3. Keith H. Basso, Portraits of “The Whiteman”: Linguistic Play and Cultural Symbols
Among the Western Apache (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1979).
4. Helen Keller, “Three Days to See,” Atlantic Monthly, January 1933.
5. David Spurr, The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel
Writing, and Imperial Administration (Durham: Duke University Press, 1993).
6. Brian Luke, “Taming Ourselves or Going Feral? Toward a Non-patriarchical Metaethic of Animal Liberation,” in C. J. Adams and J. Donovan, Animals and
Women: Feminist Theoretical Explorations (Durham: Duke University, 1995).
7. Randy Malamud, Reading Zoos: Representations of Animals and Captivity (New
York: New York University Press, 1998).
8. Kristin L. Stewart and Lori Marino, “Dolphin-Human Interaction Programs:
Policies, Problems, and Alternatives” (Ann Arbor: Animals and Society Institute,
2009).
9. G.A. Bradshaw and Robert and R. M. Sapolsky, “Mirror, Mirror,” American
Scientist. November/December, 2006: 487–489.
10. G.A. Bradshaw, Elephants on the Edge: What Animals Tell Us about Humanity
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009).
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11. M. Orams, “Why Dolphins May Get Ulcers: Considering the Impacts of
Cetacean-based Tourism in New Zealand,” Tourism in Marine Environments 1, no. 1
(2004): 17–28.
12. G. A. Bradshaw and Sarah L. Mesnick, “Conserving Socialite,” in prep.
13. Linda Buzzell and Craig Chalquist, Ecotherapy: Healing with Nature in Mind,
(San Francisco: Sierra Club, 2009); The Biomimicry Institute,/www.biomimicryinstitute.org.
14. G. A. Bradshaw, “Elephant Trauma and Recovery: from Human Violence to
Trans-Species Psychology,” dissertation (Santa Barbara: Pacifica Graduate Institute,
2005).
15. Vine Deloria, Jr., The World We used to Live in: Remembering the Powers of the
Medicine Men. (Golden: Fulcrum, 2006).
16. Janet Davis, pers. comm., May 2006.
17. Eileen Crist, Images of Animals: Anthropomorphism and Animal Mind. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1999).
18. C. Preston, “Americans Are Passionate About Social Causes, But Few Take
Action Based on Their Beliefs, Study Finds,” Chronicle of Philosophy, February 6,
2009. philanthropy.com/news/updates/7054/americans-are-passionate-about-socialcauses-but-few-take-action-based-on-their-beliefs-study-finds.
19. S. Schrock, “Arlington Granted Custody of Seized Animals,” Star Telegram
(January 6, 2010). www.star-telegram.com/crime/story/1869694.html .
20. Ecotourism. www.answers.com/topic/ecotourism?cat=technology. February
23, 2008.
21. C. Chris, Watching Wildlife. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
2006).
22. R. Stone, “Pilai Poonswad Profile: Subduing Poachers, Ducking Insurgents to
Save a Splendid Bird”, Science 317, no. 5838: 2006, 592–593.
23. Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, The Old Way: A Story of the First People (New
York: Macmillan, 2006).
24. G. A. Bradshaw and Allan N. Schore, “How Elephants are Opening Doors:
Developmental Neuroethology, Attachment, and Social Context,” Ethology 113:
426–436.
25. Silvester Nyakaana, Eve L. Abe, Peter Arctander, and Hans R. Siegismund,
“DNA Evidence for Elephant Social Behaviour Breakdown in Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda,”Animal Conservation 4 (2001): 231–237.
26. J.A. Gill, W.J. Sutherland, and A.R. Watkinson, “A Method to Quantify the
Effects of Human Disturbance on Animal Populations,” Journal of Applied Ecology 33
(1996): 786–792.
27. C. Nellmann, P. Jordhoy, O. Stoen and O. Strand, “Cumulative Impacts of
Tourist Resorts on Wild Reindeer (Rangifer tarandus tarandus) during Winter”, Arctic
53 (2000): 9–17.
28. G. A. Fowler, “Behavioral and Hormonal Responses of Magellanic Penguins
(Spheniscus magellanicus) to Tourism and Nest Site Visitation,” Biological Conservation
90 (1999): 143–149.
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29. M. M. Krahn, J. J. Ford, W. F. Perrin, P. R. Wade, R.P. Angliss, M. B. Hanson, B. L
Taylor, G. M. Ylitalo, M. E. Dahlheim, J. E. Stein, and R. S. Waples, “2004 Status Review of Southern Resident Killer Whales (Orcinus orca) under the Endangered Species
Act,” U.S. Dept. of Commerce, NOAA Tech. Memo. NMFS-NWFSC-62 (2004): 73.
30. G. E. Phillips and A. W. Alldredge, “Reproductive Success of Elk following
Disturbance by Humans during Calving Season,” Journal of Wildlife Management 64
(2000): 521–530.
31. A. Müllner, K.E. Linsenmair, and M. Wikelski, “Exposure to Ecotourism
Reduces Survival and Affects Stress Response in Hoatzin Chicks (Opisthocomus
hoazin),” Biological Conservation 18 (2004): 549–558.
32. R. P. Larkin, “Effects of Military Noise on Wildlife: A Literature Review”, in
Illinois Natural History Survey (Center for Wildlife Ecology, 1993).
33. Toni G. Frohoff, “Stress in Dolphins,” in Encyclopedia of Animal Behavior, ed.
M. Bekoff (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2004), 1274.
34. H.S. Kuehl, C. Elzner, Y. Moebius, C. Boesch, and P.D. Walsh, “The Price of
Play: Self-organized Infant Mortality Cycles in Chimpanzees,” PLoS ONE 3 (2008).
e2440.doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0002440.
35. Carol M. Berman CM, J-H Li, H. Ogawa, C. S. Ionica, and H. Yin, “Primate
Tourism and Infant Risk among Macaca thibetana at Mt. Huangshan, China,” International Journal of Primatology 28 (2007): 1123–1141.
36. Saving Luna: A Whale’s Story (Mountainside Films, 2009).
37. C.L. Russell, “The Social Construction of Orangutans: An Ecotourist Experience,” Society and Animals 3 (1995): 151–70.
38. M. Rosenblum and D. Williamson, Squandering Eden: Africa at the Edge (New
York: Harcourt, Brace, Janovich, 1987).
39. Judith Herman, Trauma Recovery (New York: Basic Books, 1992).
40. Donna J. Harraway, Primate Visions: Gender, Race, and Nature in the World of
Modern Science (New York: Routledge, 1990).
41. Marc Bekoff, “Expanding Our Compassion Footprint: Minding Animals as
We Redecorate Nature,” Psychology Today. www.psychologytoday.com/blog/animalemotions/200906/expanding-our-compassion-footprint-minding-animals-we-redecorate-nature.
42. G.A. Bradshaw, Theodora Capaldo, Gloria Grow, and Lorin Lindner, “Developmental Context Effects on Bicultural Post-Trauma Self Repair in Chimpanzees,”
Developmental Psychology 45, no. 5 (2009): 1376–1388.
43. Jerome S. Bernstein, Living in the Borderland: the Evolution of Consciousness and
the Challenge of Healing Trauma (New York: Taylor & Francis, 2005).
44. Douglas K. Candland, Feral Children and Clever Animals: Reflections on Human
Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 366.
45. Vine Deloria, Jr., God is Red: A Native View of Religion (Golden: Fulcrum,
2003).
46. Calvin Luther Martin, The Way of Human Being (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); Richard Lawlor, Voices of the First Day: Awakening in the Aboriginal
Dreamtime (Rochester: Inner Traditions, 1991).
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47. P. G. Linden, pers. com. (2008).
48. Joan Dunayer, Animal Equality: Language and Liberation (Derwood: Ryce Publishing, 2001).
49. Lisa Kemmerer, “Verbal Activism: Anymal,” Society and Animals 14, no. 1
(2006): 9–14.
50. J. Smith, “Beyond Dominance and Affection: Living with Rabbits in the PostHumanist Household,” Society and Animals 11, no. 2 (2003): 188.
51. Barbara B. Smuts, pers. com. (March 2008).
52. Barbara B. Smuts, “Reflection,” in J. M. Coetzee, The Lives of Animals (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 107–120; Barbara B. Smuts, “Encounters
with Animal Minds,” Journal of Consciousness Studies 8, no. 5–7 (2001): 293–309.
53. Barbara B. Smuts, “Coming Home,” Natural History 110 (2001): 26–30.
54. Debra Durham, pers. com. (February 2008).
55. Smuts, “Coming Home.”
56. G.A. Bradshaw and Mary Watkins, “Trans-species Psychology: Theory and
Praxis”, Spring 75 (2006): 69–94.
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CHAPTER NINE
Earth Trusts:
A Quality Vision for Animals?
Introduction
Zoos are contradictory and in many ways problematic institutions. Western
zoos share a common legacy with the old menageries (private collections of
caged animals). They were made possible by the exotic animal trade that
became established in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries1 and by imperialist expeditions to geographical areas subjugated to colonial powers.2
Zoos have been analyzed and criticized as markers of power arrangements
based on categories of gender, ethnicity and class3 as well as producers of
certain forms of human-animal power relations.4 Contemporary zoos have
articulated an identity that focuses on their ambitions to benefit humans,
animals and society, to address and/or even alleviate global ecological problems (such as biodiversity loss) by conservation, education, and research.
However, it has been argued that the zoo’s marketing strategy, relying
on visual consumption and commodification of animals under an agenda
largely structured by global capitalism, is inherently counterproductive of
the zoo establishment’s self-declared aims and promise of harmonious human-animal coexistence and interaction.5 This critical theoretical interpretation of the contemporary zoo’s contradictions provides a conceptual
framework for the present study.
Zoos have, with the passage of time, changed their strategies both in terms
of their purposes and motivations for existence and in terms of their physical
171
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set-up and design, from captivity behind bars to “naturalistic architecture”6
and “immersion exhibits.”7 There are reasons to believe that the zoo concept, as such, will also become subject to challenge and change in the face
of critique from societal actors such as animal and environmental advocates,
the scientific community, and the public. Various forms of ecotourism initiatives are emerging that compete with zoos in the arena of sustainable and
ethically acceptable human-animal encounter. This essay is an attempt to
conceptualize organized future opportunities of such encounters that rely on
elements of present forms of both zoos and ecotourism. It also moves beyond
zoos and ecotourism to the creation of a new vision entitled “Earth Trusts.”
Our approach is based on the methodological tools of the interdisciplinary
research area of futures studies, which are applied in order to delineate the
most viable aspects of the vision. We have located the Earth Trust vision
twenty-five years into the future, to the year 2035. Using this time perspective provides for creative innovation while allowing for changes indicated by
some current trends.
Zoos located worldwide do not form a homogeneous category and may
certainly differ depending on the geographical, social and cultural contexts
in which they are found. Different zoos may, accordingly, have different
short-term and long-term futures. Some zoos may continue to flourish; some
may be replaced by others; while some are likely not to have any future at all.
While the Earth Trust vision relegates to the past the “typical” contemporary
zoo (where animals are normally subjected to confinement, control, intervention and commodification by humans), the vision also has the flexibility
to accommodate variations in zoo development. Accordingly, the Earth
Trust vision will, to various degrees, reflect characteristics and dimensions of
certain contemporary zoos more than others.
With this chapter we face the challenge of combining critical theory,
human-animal studies and futures studies. Furthermore, we have attempted
to contribute to the methodological development of the visioning processes
since the existing body of research on this issue is limited. These aspects add
an experimental dimension to our work.
After presenting our theoretical and methodological framework, we describe our Earth Trust vision. The vision is then analyzed by some of the
values and trends influencing it, and its viability is discussed. Finally, the
vision is discussed in relation to the contemporary zoo’s mission of education,
research, conservation and recreation, as well as in relation to the zoo’s problems and contradictions: Our main question is: can the Earth Trust vision be
viewed as part of a paradigm shift?
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Earth Trusts: A Quality Vision for Animals? 173
Theoretical Framework: The Study of Critical Animal Futures
Herein is a brief account of the theoretical framework we have chosen to
explore post-zoo developments, which merges critical theory and humananimal studies with futures studies. Our approach is critical theory oriented
since we wish to explore new possibilities for altering current zoo concepts
without symbolic and physical appropriation and commodification of animals, that is, without incorporating them into capitalist relations of production and consumption (neither as abstract representations nor as embodied
beings).
Human-animal studies (or animal studies) deals with how the diversity
of animal presences in human society informs the humanities and social sciences.8 Human-animal studies also raises questions about the multiple layers
of meanings that we ascribe to animals.9 The object of this study is the variety of cultural, philosophical, economic and social means by which humans
and animals interact.10 In the present essay, our primary concern is with the
critical dimensions of human-animal studies. These critical dimensions mean
that we focus on the physical existence of animals as sentient beings rather
than as cultural symbols or representations. We are specifically concerned
with how animals and their life conditions are harmed by human institutions, practices, and actions (in the context of the zoo).11
While human-animal studies is primarily grounded in the humanities and
social sciences, futures studies utilizes results from a diversity of scientific
fields to form integrated views of the future. Futures studies is sometimes
viewed as impossible and contradictory as a field of knowledge since the
future cannot be directly researched. The research object is therefore the
present, and futures studies is less concerned with predictions and forecasts
than with uncovering various means by which to handle uncertainties we
face when thinking about the future. In futures studies, the future is never
dealt with as a singular course of development but in a plural form, where
alternative futures may be viewed as more or less possible, probable and preferable. Anita Rubin, sociologist and futures researcher at the Finland Futures
Research Centre, explains that futures studies involves studying phenomena
(and relationships between them) which may bear an influence on the future, such as incidents, trends, emerging issues, images of the future, value
change, and actions. Futures studies also assumes that the future is possible
to influence with actions and choices.12
While traditional futures studies has been criticized for modeling “good”
futures on specific (Western-oriented) worldviews and oversimplified ideas
of progress, critical futures studies aims at the problematization of general
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historical presumptions, attitudes and ideas about the future and attempts
to develop tools for understanding and influencing the processes of cultural
formation, orientations, and traditions of enquiry.13 Influenced by literary criticism, critical theory and sociology of science, critical futures studies seeks to
move away from narrowly defined and reductive visions of futures constrained
by Western worldviews, logical positivism and technical instrumentality.14
Thus, critical futures studies seeks to raise awareness of the paradigm within
which we are locked and lift the curtain to possible new paradigms. Sohail
Inayatullah, in his capacity as a political scientist and Professor at Tamkang
University, Taipei (Graduate Institute of Futures Studies) puts it this way:
[Critical] futures studies aims neither at prediction nor at comparison but seeks
to make the units of analysis problematic, to undefine the future, to seek a
distance from current understandings and epistemological agreements. . . . The
role of the state and other forms of power in creating authoritative discourses
is central to understanding how a particular future has become hegemonic.
Critical futures studies asserts that the present is fragile, merely the victory of
one particular discourse, way of knowing, over another. The goal of critical
research is to disturb present power relations through making problematic our
categories and evoking other places, other scenarios of the future. Through this
distance, the present becomes less rigid, indeed, remarkable.15
While critical theory has previously been applied in analyses of both humananimal relations and issues in futures research (as exemplified above), human-animal studies and futures studies have rarely been addressed within the
same context.16 The melding of two innovative, interdisciplinary research
areas offers an exciting framework that makes it possible for us not only to
address the zoo phenomenon, but also think beyond its current delimitating
structures. From the combination of critical animal studies and critical futures studies, we have created the synthesis critical animal futures, upon which
this essay is based. We propose that studies in critical animal futures involve
creative analytic exploration of social phenomena that define what relations
are possible between humans and animals. These phenomena may include
social structures, institutions, practices and ideologies that reduce humananimal interaction to processes of production and consumption. More
specifically, studies in critical animal futures could problematize power arrangements, in particular those manifested by unbridled globalized economic
strategies, by which both humans and animals are subjected to domination
and exploitaton. Studies in critical animal futures aim at mapping alternative
futures using futures studies methodological tools such as trend analysis and
scenario construction. They open the possibility of “going to the margins” of
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human-animal conditions by allowing the unfamiliar or counter-hegemonic
to unfold. Moreover, studies in critical animal futures are action-oriented as
they indicate choices and actions that will be instrumental in influencing
and actualizing alternative futures of human-animal relations. It is within
this contextual framework we have located our post-zoo vision.
The Research Process
The future can’t be predicted, but it can be envisioned and brought lovingly into being.17
Both futures studies and human-animal studies may apply a range of research
methods normally used in the social sciences and the humanities, generating both quantitative and qualitative data. Futures studies has, however,
developed a number of methodological tools specifically designed for futures
research. The present study draws from a particular combination of futures
methods used in the futures studies approach called “Framtidsbygget” (Futures Creation)18 that relies primarily on four tools: Values and paradigms
clarification, environmental scanning, trend analysis, and scenario creation.
Initially a values and paradigms clarification is usually performed, followed
by an environmental scanning process (i.e. a gathering of relevant information on the subject of study). Thereafter trends are crystallized, on which a
trend analysis is performed. These trends form the basis for scenarios.
The experimental nature of our process involved a departure from this order. Contrary to what is often the case in futures studies praxis, we formulated
a vision as a methodological point of departure. The vision was created on basis
of an environmental scanning process.19 We then performed a values and trend
analysis and examined the vision’s viability. For this purpose we used Masini’s20
theoretical proposal (outlined in the following section). In the process, we
extrapolated some trends over time and identified some emerging trends.
Visioning
A vision is usually separate from a futures study for the purpose of avoiding intellectual inhibitions that limit creativity. Furthermore, visions are
“paradigm hoppers” as they provide a means for reaching beyond prevailing attitudes, ideas and values and recombining existing concepts and
constructions in new and exciting ways. They make space available for
reconceptualizations of familiar phenomena and institutions and highlight
different ways in which such reconceptualizations may be concretized
and actualized. According to Eleonora Barbieri Masini, Professor emeriti,
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176
Faculty of Social Sciences, Futures Studies from a Social Perspective and
Human Ecology at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome, a vision
must, in short, be a basis for future change. A vision contrasts with a utopia
which often builds the future as a contradiction to the present without the
use of extrapolative past or present data.21 In futures studies, the visioning
process is normally carried out by a group composed of representatives of
all “stakeholders,” that is, those who have something to lose or gain by a
new vision, ensuring that all related voices participate. Our readers are presented with a vision created by two individuals (Dian and Pedersen), which
is unusual. The vision builds on data of present zoo-related developments
resulting from an environmental scanning process carried out in dialogue
with previous theoretical and empirical critical research on the zoo topic,
but it also contains creative and innovative elements. In this manner we
have substituted the availability of a stakeholder group for environmental
scanning in and around the field of zoos, and attempted to compensate
for validity shortcomings of the visioning process arising from the lack of
stakeholder involvement.
Environmental Scanning
Environmental scanning is a systematic collection of current research,
inventions, events, attitudes and actions which have implications for the
future and takes into consideration the context of the area or topic of futuresoriented analysis. By applying environmental scanning, important emerging
issues that influence a given area or topic, either as obstacles or as opportunities, are identified.22 Environmental scanning is “the act of identifying and
documenting an increase or decrease in frequency in activities, beliefs and
behaviors from newspapers, magazines, books, TV, radio, the Internet and
many other sources.”23 The method is very specific to futures studies. Other
terms often confused with environmental scanning describe information and
knowledge handling designed to increase business performance and these are
known as knowledge management, competitive intelligence, business intelligence or information management. While they share overlapping interests,
they have different orientations. Another characteristic of environmental
scanning is that its goal is to be as inclusive as possible in order to capture
the major influences on the futures topic at hand.
Values
Values examinations came into two places in our research process. The first
simply stated the values that could be identified in the vision. The second
was an analysis of the types of values contained therein.
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Masini offers a theoretical proposal on the role of values in visioning.
Values form an inherent part of the vision’s subject matter and data, but they
also contain a critical element in the vision’s “relation to the real world.”24
Following Masini, a vision is at its best if it contains some values that are
based on today’s facts (extrapolation), some values that are in opposition to
those of the past (a utopian element), and some values that are critical of
the present. A declaration of values indicates the vision’s quality.25 The vision has drawing power when its values unite a majority of stakeholder and
“voices” in the community to fight for it.
Trends
In futures studies, a trend is defined as a new behavior or belief that gradually develops over time. A trend can cover a few years or many years. Certain
trends affect development locally or within a special limited area, while other
trends can have global consequences. They can, for instance, be social, technical/scientific, economic, ecologic, political, or demographic. Trends are longrange, impact many societal groups, grow slowly and reflect deep change. They
differ from fads which are short-range and fashionable, impact only particular
societal groups, grow quickly and reflect surface and quick changes.
Trends in their earliest stages are called emerging, that is, prior to notice
by mainstream press. Emerging trends are often found “in the margins” of society (among activists, subcultures, critics in related fields etc.). Experts and
research results are sources for the next level of scanning emerging trends,
and the third source is made up of the general public and the press.26 By the
time many articles on a subject can be found in the press it is usually a sign
that the trend is so strong that it can not be stopped. It is then said to have
reached critical mass at about 10–15 percent of mass media.27
Vision of “Earth Trusts” 2035
What follows is the Earth Trusts vision. It utilizes a narrative format. In
order to allow the reader to move through the vision fluidly, we have placed
our identification of values affecting the vision, our outline of external and
internal trends affecting the Earth Trust future, and our analysis of the viability of the vision, at the end. Each paragraph in the vision is numbered.
The numbers are simply an aid to the “Identification of values” section.
I
Going to the “zoo” is considered old fashioned. Adults remember going to the
zoo, most young people do not. Today a family interested in an educational
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adventure instead find themselves on the edge of an “Earth Trust.” Earth
Trusts are located on a tract of land having particular qualities which scientists and the general public find contribute to the greater environmental
system, such as water shed, mountain forest, jungle or desert landscapes.
There are also Marine Trusts planned. Borders of Earth Trusts are not in line
with country borders but with the geography related to ecosystems or animal
habitats. They are charged with the stewardship of the geological formations,
the flora and fauna, water and air; in other words the total eco-sphere. Seen
from a satellite, Earth Trusts appear to be green areas (except in the case of
deserts) of irregular shape with a tail or umbilical cord connecting them to
another green area. At the center of this organic green shape lives a great
diversity of animals, plants and insects that are native to the area. The center
is bounded by a green outer ring.
II
Following ideas from the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries,
animal observation and life in zoos began to be seen as barbaric, and as a
gross invasion of animals’ rights to live autonomous lives. Nowadays, some
animals are being transported into the Earth Trusts; some of these animals
are descendents of animals bred in captivity. Some are descendents of animals from old zoos, sometimes quite far away from the current Earth Trust.
A few are descendents of “wild” surviving herd remnants, yet others are
rescued from the previous trade in wild animal species, research laboratories,
or other animal enterprises. All animals are native to a specific Earth Trust
topography. Often there is an existing national park28 or national forest that
is turned to this use. Even now animal species are shipped from former zoos
and parks to become acclimated to the Earth Trust climate, terrain and social
structure from which they originated, although most of this shifting was done
earlier. New Earth Trusts are still being developed, in spite of increasing land
use pressure.
III
In the twenty-first century, resilience thinking and the increasing need to
understand the world in systematic terms opened the idea that plants, animals, humans and their environments were parts of an interdependent whole.
Clear examples of this came about when jungles or forests were destroyed for
growing profitable crops and increasing animal agriculture. Exploitation of
developing countries by multinational corporations and globalized agribusiness industries was already suspect by many people, and the effects on entire
ecosystems added to the devastation. Wild animal species died out, despite
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the old zoos’ conservation efforts. The merging of national parks, national
forests, botanical gardens and zoos, contributed to the Earth Trust concept
and was an important step in forming the change that we experience today,
in 2035.
IV
Scientists and “naturalists”29 are at odds about Earth Trust. Scientists argue
that leaving an area entirely to its own fate is not responsible stewardship
and that careful observation is necessary. “Naturalists,” a type of activist
group consisting of animal and environmental advocates, put their trust in
nature insisting that all interference by humankind inhibits the natural flow
of system development. The negotiations between these two groups differ in
the various Earth Trusts and account for variations in form. This description
is of “general” Earth Trust conditions.
V
A little closer zoom in from the satellites and one can often see glimpses of
the larger animals through the trees or in natural clearings. This is the only
view of the animals and birds in the central area of the Earth Trust with a
couple of exceptions; the umbilical cord (wildlife corridors) connecting the
areas, and individuals dressed in “Smell Suits.” A Smell Suit was developed
in France where a great deal of research had been conducted on the olfactory
cells of both humans and animals. This, in conjunction with an insatiable
interest in technology, brought about the innovation which allows humans
wearing the suits to be “smell-neutral” to the animals in the area. This means
that scientists working very slowly and quietly may go into the edge of the
center of the Earth Trust and approach the animals without disturbing them.
In some Trusts, Smell Suits are also rented out to visitors who can wear
them on the border between the inner and outer rings, thereby increasing
their possibilities of animal encounters. They take a short course in animal
behavior tailored to the specific animals in the area and are instructed in
behavioral methods in order to eliminate any disturbance to the animals.
VI
If no one but scientists can go into the Earth Trust central core, where did
our family go on their outing or vacation? They traveled to the perimeter
of the Earth Trust, to the edge of the ring around the protected area, where
they have the opportunity to see animals that wander to the edge of the
Trust. The animals are filmed by peripheral cameras and projected on a large
screen in comfortable viewing rooms. There are never any guarantees that
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any animals will show themselves. Naturally, the animals most seen are the
larger herd animals, which because of their numbers feel safe enough to come
out to the perimeter of the center ring. In viewing rooms visitors also receive
information about the eco-system, how it works, what each part of the system is and how changes in the system come about; for example, how climate
change affects the system. In addition, visitors learn about the very different
life conditions of wild animals in Earth Trusts and those used and controlled
by humans in animal trade, tourism industries, research laboratories, and fur
farms. In more established Trusts the living conditions of domestic animals,
for instance, in agribusiness are reassessed once again, as well as the influence
of the animal agricultural sector on climate change. The newest research on
human learning and appropriate critical pedagogies are used to impart this
knowledge. The newest trusts, Marine Trusts, to begin with, will be of a more
private nature, accommodating only scientific visitors. Submarine viewing is
planned for the future with “Smell Suits” being replaced by sonar sensitive
submarine vehicles. The major goal at this time is to try to save what is left
of marine life.
VII
If a species dies out in an Earth Trust, it is considered a natural phenomenon
and if a species survives it is due to the fact that the system is working. This
concept replaced the conservation mandate of zoos. While Earth Trusts
require large tracts of land, leaving the plants and animals, birds and fish to
their own resources does not cost anything. The only responsibility humans
take, is to protect the inner perimeter from intrusion of any kind and to assure the quality of air over and water coming into the Trust are as pure as
possible. Natural fires are left to burn and only stopped in the outer ring.
Animals escaping to the outer ring are cared for in the least obtrusive manner possible and are turned back to the center when the danger of fire has
dissipated.
VIII
Climate change continues to plague us all and the environment, even
though much has changed. It was determined to let the animals adapt to
climate change in their own way. The concept of wildlife corridors became
important first in Sri Lanka, where they were discussed in the 1950s as a
way of connecting fragmented parks were elephants lived. Similar corridors
became an essential feature of Earth Trusts. They allow for larger land mass
usage, higher chances of survival and a larger gene pool.
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IX
Those Earth Trusts that grew out of large urban zoos are located near areas
where people live in high density environments. It is here that the greatest
diversity of commerce tends to gather; places one can go to purchase food,
participate in entertainment or spend the night etc. These areas are located
at the edge of the outer ring of the Earth Trust so that noise, odors and other
irritations to the animals are dissipated by the vegetation of the outer ring.
X
More people than ever before understand the importance of local economies
and the small towns and villages around Earth Trusts make efforts to keep
such activities local. They have consciously kept out large international corporations, giving preference to locally owned small businesses. Citizens survive economically, partially due to visitors and scientists who come to learn
more about the system of that particular Earth Trust. Since Earth Trusts are
unique geographic systems, foreign visitors are particularly interested in visiting Trusts in other countries. Children are known to nag their parents to
visit all the different geological Earth Trusts so they can collect badges from
each new Trust.
XI
Ecolodges, totally sustainable living environments, began on a small scale in
the 2000s and now are the only type of accommodations found around the
Earth Trusts. They were on the cutting edge of sustainability when they were
first developed and many have chosen to remain at the forefront. Ecolodges
are dedicated to offering their visitors an experience in sustainable living. For
example, construction uses bio-degradable and recycled materials, the food
is locally grown and organic, solar cells, wind-power and other alternative
energy sources are used, and waste water is recycled.
XII
Globally, all Earth Trusts have contact with all others. Animal environments
are still being damaged or destroyed in war torn areas. When peace is again
established, it is the international community who provides funding for the
creation of new Earth Trusts. Trusts that border one or more countries are
under the protection of the international community. Local citizens receive
additional training and assistance from the global community and then take
over managing their own local Earth Trust. Historically, some local communities have learned how to protect animals and guard against poaching,
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and this knowledge provides the basic experience and expertise for the newer
concept of Earth Trusts.
Identification of Values Affecting the Vision
The Earth Trusts’ first paragraph (I) values education over adventure travel.
This combination is related to a trend for experience based travel which began to be recognized in the 1990s. Both of these are also values found in the
current zoo concept. The vision places the learning initiative with families
“wanting an educational adventure.” While the vision does not define “family,” it is introduced as the largest target group for zoos of the future.
School visits, traditionally a large part of zoo visitations are not mentioned
in the vision, although a single example from Woodland Park Zoological
Society30 indicated that school trips are a large part of zoo activity. This is
echoed in the 1,160,000 hits in a simple Google search in five languages
during June, 2007.31 A reason why zoo school visits are not mentioned in the
vision could be that Earth Trusts are often located “on a tract of land having particular qualities which . . . contribute to the greater environmental
system” and are, therefore, outside traditional urban areas. Another factor
is that this human/animal experience has a higher emphasis on eco-sphere
well being than traditional zoos’ goals of entertainment or education. The
mandate of conservation from an earlier period has morphed into stewardship (a concept of responsible caretaking) and is valued somewhat higher
than education. Stewardship is linked to the idea of a commons; land shared
by us all, together with future generations. It requires the Earth Trust to keep
areas free of any chemical, biological or other type of pollutants not natural
to the geographical location’s ecosystem.
In the second paragraph (II), the vision partly assigns motivation for its
current existence to an increasing sensibility of valuing animals’ rights, a
consolidation of the animal liberation movement, together with environmental insight. The concept of “bred in captivity” is old fashioned in this
vision of 2035 and evidence of human ignorance for many young people.
There is also a value expressed that opposes the past menagerie or exotic
animal collections and, furthermore, considers animals best preserved in
the climates and geographical surroundings to which they are historically
adapted. This idea also represents a shift of focus from biological diversity to
endemic species.32
In the third paragraph (III), the value of systems thinking is expressed in
the total concept of Earth Trust’s choice of topographically cohesive areas,
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or eco-spheres. It is driven by a growing awareness of the human effect upon
nature and new knowledge about how social-ecological systems work.
The following three paragraphs (IV, V, and VI) have to do with two different extremes, subjugation to nature and mastery over nature.33 Here we
are looking at the amount of human interference or non-interference in the
particular geographical location of the Earth Trust. The value, “mastery over
nature” is voiced in the vision in a modified form as “careful observation
[of animals] is necessary” (paragraph IV), and is a remnant in the vision of
the current prevailing idea of interference. Non-interference is illustrated in
the insistence “that all interference by humankind inhibits the natural flow
of system development.” Paragraph V illustrates another example of how
mastery maintains its hold in the vision. Smell Suits34 allow the scientists
to “approach the animals without disturbing them.” This is a modified form
of mastery which puts researchers on guard while the animals go about their
daily activity. In paragraph VI, the use of Smell Suits by visitors is a related
activity that is a remnant of a similar value; observation as a primary way of
stimulating curiosity and gaining knowledge about animals. The use of Smell
Suits offers a way to maintain monitoring animal activity while minimizing
its disturbing effects.
Paragraphs VII and VIII are illustrations of a move towards non-interference with nature. The only human intervention taken is in the case of fire,
where animals are treated “in the least obtrusive manner possible” before
being returned to the center of the Trust. Wildlife corridors are a way of
making environments more viable for animals that roam large areas in search
of food, but can also be viewed as a way to control animal populations and
their movements.
Economic values are hinted at in paragraphs IX, X, XI, and XII within
a local/global theme by “giving preference to locally owned small businesses.” Local economies are placed around Earth Trusts in smaller towns
for whom the Trust is a substantial source of income. The commercial
value of the Trust is less focused on the animals themselves (as in many
of today’s zoos) than in the services and education opportunities provided
to visitors. The goal of the towns is to keep their income local and make
life outside the large cities viable. Ecolodges have their roots in sustainable
income with a self-sufficiency that does not damage the earth. The global
aspect lies in the contact Earth Trusts have with each other and in the
global responsibility the international community has taken upon itself
to “provide funding for the creation of new Earth Trusts [in war torn and
destroyed areas].”
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External and Internal Trends
Affecting the Earth Trust Future
External Trends
A maturing animal rights movement is one of the trends driving the Earth
Trust vision. It has a logical connection to the larger and more established
trends of environmental awareness and human rights. The animal rights
movement is strengthened by a larger activist movement, growing crossdisciplinary research and emerging applications of legal systems to animals’
rights.35 Also the environmental awareness trend is becoming increasingly
main stream and is maturing rapidly. Biodiversity and wild habitat conservation trends are driven by the growth of public recognition of the depletion
and extinction of wildlife. The biodiversity discussion, a perceived urgent
need to save the natural environments that are left, and a demand for remaining zoos to respond to these concerns, will be a driver for many zoos.
Reports on new or expanding zoos, national parks and forests from several
countries hint at some increase in number and acreage.36 However, it needs
to be noted that climate change, with expected effects of flooding, destructive winds, transportation logjams, and the current shift from petroleum to
renewable energies can slow the growth of the entire tourism industry of
which zoos and Earth Trusts are a part. Another threat against all kinds of
zoos and parks is a need for raw materials such as oil, timber, and precious
metals for the economic growth of developed and developing countries.37 A
growing global population may incite competition (precipitated by exponential growth, agricultural land shortages and/or climate change migration) for
large tracts of land needed for Earth Trusts.38
Internal Trends
Zoos, botanical gardens, theme parks, national parks, aquariums and natural
history museums have all got the attention of a small group of landscape and
building architects in many parts of the world. Their approach of combining
landscape design with biological insights is being applied to all types of flora
and fauna establishments, facilitating the merger of these sites.39 The merger
of zoos with national parks and forests can also be driven by other factors,
such as the need to provide space for a larger genetic base in order to fulfill
conservation goals.40
Within the zoo system itself, behavioral enrichment, more realistic or
“natural” environments and encouragement of natural breeding away from
the public41 are trends that mirror zoos’ legitimizing strategies but can also be
said to relate to a growing interest in wild animals and their environments.
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Another trend in the zoo world is the increasing withdrawal of public monies
and the dependence on private funds for zoo support. This results in trends
designed to increase zoo income such as expanded commercialization and
“infotainment” in animal parks; animal shows and performances; cultural resonance (the live presentation and/or performances of indigenous culture groups
in a construction of the specific natural and cultural environment from which
they originate),42 and the use of storylines and geographic themes adapted from
theme park concepts.43 Commercialization trends in the zoo can also result in
the zoo providing new forms of educational activities to attract public interest.
Innovations in learning methods are being tested by encouraging children to
“become” the animal in a play situation, providing kinesthetic learning, emotional learning as well as factual learning from words and pictures.44
How Viable Is the Earth Trust Vision?
Returning to Masini’s45 theoretical proposal, a vision is at its best if it contains some values based on today’s facts, some values that are in opposition to
those of the past, and some values that are critical of the present. The vision
must also be a basis for future change. While not a comprehensive estimation
of the vision’s viability, these criteria indicate the vision’s double capacities
of being anchored in the present while representing a contradiction or deviation from past or prevailing conditions. The vision thus searches in the
present for what can realize the desired future.46
Applying Masini’s proposal to the Earth Trust vision, we can identify a
number of ideas articulated in the vision that represent an extrapolation of
what is commonly accepted as “facts” today. These are primarily ideas related to education and research (such as education-related adventure travel,
observation as a way of gaining knowledge about animals, developments in
education research, and technological developments) and ecology (such as
environmental awareness, more authentic architecture in many of today’s
zoos, wildlife corridors, human interference in eco-systems and animal life,
and climate change).
The Earth Trust vision also contains oppositional, counter-hegemonic
or “utopian” elements. Ideas opposed by the vision that have a hegemonic
past, but are increasingly rejected today, are human domination over and
exploitation of nature, as well as Western domination over non-Western cultures and societies. Furthermore, the vision takes a critical position toward a
number of prevailing dominant beliefs. Critical elements concern primarily
views on human-nature relations, such as prioritization of stewardship (as opposed to ownership); prioritization of endemic species rather than biological
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diversity; valuing animal rescues and rehabilitation over captive breeding;
prioritization of undisturbed eco-systems over education; opposition to the
menagerie or exotic animal collections; rejection of commercialization and
commodification of animals and native peoples in zoos; human non-interference with ecosystems and animal life; and a focus on animal rights and
systemic insight. The vision also puts an emphasis on locally owned small
businesses and local economies, a merge of animal rights, animal and environmental protection movements, new forms of financing and ownership of
zoos, and shared global responsibility for natural resources.
Is the Earth Trust Vision a Basis for Future Change?
At this juncture in time, it is difficult to say which trends will gain momentum. We can only watch the possible drivers and inhibitors. Assuming
continued growth of a trend for zoos moving to larger tracts of land, a strong
driver for Earth Trusts could emerge. An inhibitor could be the investment
in both time and money which a number of zoo managements will be hard
pressed to leave. Given the questioned stability of the market economic paradigm, fueled in part by the financial crisis of the early twenty-first century,
it is difficult to formulate how the futures of zoos and Earth Trusts may play
out in different economic environments. As mentioned in the introductory
section of this essay, some zoos may continue to flourish, while some may be
forced to close down. One possibility is that failing zoos with government or
private ownership may be thrilled to leave their under-funded facilities to
the relatively inexpensive open spaces of the Trust. The quality of the Earth
Trust vision as a basis for future change will ultimately depend on its ability
to unite a “critical mass” of stakeholders, the public, and other voices related
to environmental, scientific, economic, and political interests to drive the
post-zoo development forward.
Does the Earth Trust Vision Represent a Paradigm Shift?
Paradigm shifts—here defined not in a strict Kuhnian sense, but as major
changes in thought-patterns, worldviews and ways of organizing society—can occur as a response to new problems that arise; problems that the
old paradigm is unable to solve.47 There are at least three major paradigm
shifts related to the Earth Trust vision. These are the scientific paradigm shift
(represented by a transition from a Cartesian mechanistic or deterministic
view of nature, to systems and resilience thinking focusing on relationships
between interrelated parts of increasingly complex systems), the economic
paradigm shift (represented by a transition from a structure of market economy to more local and community-based economies)48 and the environmental
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paradigm shift (represented by a transition from exploitative human-nature
relations to a widespread environmental awareness and stewardship).
Each paradigm is in a different phase of transition which complicates an
analysis. The Earth Trust vision lies squarely in a scientific paradigm shift
with a storm of research and new understanding taking place about relationships in social-ecological systems. It is on the edge of a new economic paradigm with its local businesses. An environmental paradigm shift is quickly
becoming integrated in everyday behavior and thinking, and is likely to
have first chance in effecting the Earth Trust future. We maintain that the
Earth Trust vision does represent a profound transition of worldviews and
structures, although to varying degrees. On the other hand, the possible shifts
occurring on several levels can also inhibit the Earth Trust future. If the shift
to new economic forms, the shift to systems thinking, the shift to sustainability and the energy shift become too threatening, the development could
be redirected towards the protection of major capitalist interests.
Concluding Discussion
While the Earth Trust vision escapes many of the old zoo concept’s contradictions and conflicts, it also generates others. One the one hand, the vision
builds largely on an idea of shared global responsibility for natural resources
while, on the other hand, the global competition for such resources is likely
to increase, threatening the lives of animals and their habitat. Although relying to a large extent on a consolidation of animal and environmental activist
movements, there is nothing in the vision that guarantees species survival or
increased biodiversity; rather, it places less emphasis on these objectives than
traditional zoos. The significance of educational activities in Earth Trusts is
downplayed in order to decrease interference in animals’ life and ecosystems,
yet still Earth Trusts have a function as pedagogical resource centers for
critical animal studies and re-conceptualization of human-animal relations.49
The reliance on high-tech approaches (such as Smell Suits), ethological research and education may seem to be at odds with the strengthened ecological awareness, human-nature connectedness and locally adapted, sustainable
management forms suggested by the vision. A vision without dichotomies is
utopic perfection, impossible to realize. Further, the trend of adventure travel
which is part of the vision may be far from viable in a future where the threat
of pollution and climate change is still a pressing reality. Will the Earth Trust
be a recreational and educational opportunity primarily for the affluent (or
even a profitable destination for trophy hunting trips!) in the vision year of
2035? Despite its efforts to re-conceptualize human-animal power relations,
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increase animal autonomy and reject commodification and exoticism,50 is the
Earth Trust vision in the end just another form of Western colonization?
In this chapter, we have applied futures studies methodology to the zoo
concept. The creation of a vision as a departure point is in itself a form of
futures studies method development, since the vision is normally the “end
product,” not the start, of the visioning process. This approach gives rise to a
number of epistemological questions that deserve reflection. Is it possible—
and fruitful—to analyze a vision? Is it at all possible to move beyond current
paradigms? What are the limitations to studies in critical animal futures?
The visioning process, as carried out in this study, has a double purpose.
It is a way of pointing out possibilities for alternative, counter-hegemonic
human-animal futures in general, and post-zoo futures in particular. It is also
a learning process in which we have applied a combination of innovative
theoretical and methodological strategies to see where it may take us. In
doing so, we do not claim to have envisioned an entirely new paradigm of
human-nature relations (which may not even be possible). Rather, we see
the main contribution of our essay as suggesting how the questions available
for critical inquiry in human-animal futures can be interrelated, synthesized,
and opened up for new questions.
Acknowledgements
The authors thank Cindy Frewen Wuellner, FAIA for her helpful comments
on an earlier draft of this essay, and Dr Gina Riddle, for editing. Thanks also
to the Toposophia series editors for invaluable feedback.
Notes
1. Elizabeth Hanson, Animal Attractions: Nature on Display in American Zoos
(Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2002).
2. John Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,” in About Looking, John Berger (London:
Writers and Readers Publishing Cooperative, 1980), 1–26; Gail Davies, “Virtual
Animals in Electronic Zoos: The Changing Geographies of Animal Capture and
Display,” in Animal Spaces, Beastly Places: New Geographies of Human-Animal relations, ed. Chris Philo and Chris Wilbert (London and New York: Routledge, 2000),
243–267; Hanson, Animal Attractions.
3. e.g., Kay Anderson, “Animals, Science, and Spectacle in the City,” in Animal
Geographies. Place, Politics, and Identity in the Nature-Culture Borderlands, ed. Jennifer Wolch and Jody Emel (London and New York: Verso, 1998), 27–50; Jane C.
Desmond, Staging Tourism: Bodies on Display from Waikiki to Sea World (Chicago and
London: The University of Chicago Press, 1999); Hanson, Animal Attractions; Nigel
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Rothfels, Savages and Beasts. The Birth of the Modern Zoo (Baltimore and London:
The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002); Helena Pedersen, Animals in Schools:
Processes and Strategies in Human-Animal Education (West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue
4. e.g., Ralph Acampora, “Zoos and Eyes: Contesting Captivity and Seeking Successor Practices,” Society & Animals 13, no. 1 (2005): 69–88; Theodor W.
Adorno, Minima Moralia. Reflections from Damaged Life (London: NLB, 1974); Jane
C. Desmond, “Performing ‘Nature’: Shamu at Sea World,” in Cruising the Performative: Interventions into the Representation of Ethnicity, Nationality and Sexuality, ed. SueEllen Case, Philip Brett and Susan Leigh Foster (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1995), 217–236; Desmond, Staging Tourism; Susan Willis, “Looking at the
Zoo,” The South Atlantic Quarterly 98, no. 4 (Fall 1999): 670–687.
5. Randy Malamud, Reading Zoos. Representations of Animals and Captivity (New
York: New York University Press, 1998); Pedersen, Animals in Schools.
6. Acampora, “Zoos and Eyes,” 75.
7. Nigel Rothfels, “Immersed with Animals,” in Representing Animals, ed. Nigel
Rothfels (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2002), 199–223.
8. Kenneth J. Shapiro, “Editor’s Introduction to Society and Animals,” Society &
Animals 1, no.1 (1993), www.psyeta.org/sa/sa1.1/shapiro.html (November 4, 2009).
9. Kenneth J. Shapiro, “Editor’s Introduction,” Society & Animals 10, no. 4
(2002): 331–337.
10. Cf. Philip Armstrong and Laurence Simmons, “Bestiary: An Introduction,” in
Knowing Animals, ed. Laurence Simmons and Philip Armstrong (Leiden and Boston:
Brill, 2007), 1–24.
11. Cf. ICAS, “Institute for Critical Animal Studies,” www.criticalanimalstudies.
org/ABOUT_more.htm (November 4, 2009).
12. Anita Rubin, Futures Studies as a Field of Knowledge and as Scientific Work
(unpublished teaching materials for the course “How Can We Explore the Future?”
at Finland Futures Academy, Fall 2002).
13. Rubin, Futures Studies.
14. José M. Ramos, From Critique to Cultural Recovery: Critical Futures Studies
and Causal Layered Analysis (Melbourne: Australian Foresight Institute, Swinburne
University, 2003).
15. Sohail Inayatullah, “Pedagogy, Culture and Futures Studies,” Metafuture 1998.
www.metafuture.org/Articles/PEDAGOGY,%20CULTURE%20AND%20FUTUR
ES%20STUDIES.htm (November 4, 2009).
16. For three exceptions, see Bruce Lloyd and Susan Clayton, “Doctor Dolittle
for Real? Raising Questions About Interspecies Communications,” The Futurist
March–April 2004: 40–43; Helena Pedersen, “Schools, Speciesism, and Hidden
Curricula: The Role of Critical Pedagogy for Humane Education Futures,” Journal of
Futures Studies 8, no. 4 (2004): 1–13; Helena Pedersen and Natalie Dian, “History of
the Future,” in Utopia Today—Reality Tomorrow: A Vegetarian World, The European
Vegetarian Union (Neukirch: Vegi-Verlag, 2006), 71–74.
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190
17. Danella Meadows, “Dancing with Systems,” Systems Thinker 13, no. 2
(March 2002), www.pegasuscom.com/PDFs/dancing-with-systems.pdf (November
23, 2009).
18. Natalie Dian, “Consulting Services,” Visionscentret Framtidsbygget 2007. www.
framtidsbygget.se/E/consult/index.htm (November 4, 2009).
19. Our environmental scanning process has included primarily Internet-based
sources from various stakeholders such as academics, branch organizations and grass
roots groups.
20. Eleonora Barbieri Masini, Why Futures Studies? (London: Grey Seal, 1993).
21. Masini, Why Futures Studies?
23. Natalie Dian, “Environmental Scanning,” Visionscentret Framtidsbygget, 1994.
www.framtidsbygget.se/E/infoinsamling/index.htm (November 4, 2009).
24. Masini, Why Futures Studies?, 46.
26. Elina Hiltunen, Where Do Future-oriented People Find Weak Signals? (Turku:
Finland Futures Research Centre Publications, 2007).
27. Gerald Marwell and Pamela Oliver, The Critical Mass in Collective Action: a
Micro-social Theory (Cambridge, NY and Victoria, Australia: Press Syndicate of the
University of Cambridge, 1993).
28. We use the term national park to also mean: national wildlife refuge, protective zone, indigenous park, faunal reserve, international marine park, biosphere
reserve, marine reserve, coral reef ecosystem reserve, for examples.
29. We use the term “naturalist” in a way that deviates from original definitions of
the term, for examples natural history or natural science scholars. In our Earth Trusts
vision, “naturalists” is the name we have given to a new constellation of activists.
30. Woodland Park Zoological Society, “2008 Annual Report to the Board of
Parks Commissioners,” May 1, 2009. www.zoo.org/document.Doc?id=126 (November 20, 2009).
31. Search keywords: school+visits+to+zoos .
32. Criticism of the media’s black and white picture of the biodiversity threat
comes from biology research, suggesting that we should be prioritizing those areas
where the percentage of endemic species is highest in order to direct resources and
funds to where they are most needed (see Sjöberg as interviewed in Daniella Bergman, “Varje nytt reservat är ett nederlag,” Miljömagasinet 21, May 25, 2007, 14–15.)
33. Florence Kluckhohn and Fred Strodtbeck, Variations in Value Orientations
(Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood, 1961).
34. While visiting Chitwan National Park in Nepal a number of years ago, Natalie
took an elephant ride to see the rhinoceroses. It was said to be perfectly safe, because
the rhinos were not threatened by the elephants in any way as the elephants’ odor
overrode that of the human smell which would cause the rhinos to feel a need to
defend themselves. This experience and scanning new research on the sense of smell
were the impetus for the concept of Smell Suits.
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35. E.g. Stephanie Hoops, “Animal Rights a Growing Concern: Regulations
Surface in California Cities,” Ventura County Star, July 10, 2007. www.vcstar.com/
news/2007/jul/10/animal-rights-a-growing-concern-regulations-in/ (November 23,
2009); Peter Monaghan, “The Growing Field of Animal Law is Attracting Activists
and Pragmatists Alike,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, June 6, 2007, chronicle.
com/weekly/v53/i43/43a00601.htm (November 18, 2009); Partij voor de Dieren,
“History of the Party for the Animals,” www.partijvoordedieren.nl/content/view/129
(November 18, 2009); Kim Severson, “Bringing Moos and Oinks into the Food Debate,” International Herald Tribune, 25 July 2007, www.iht.com/articles/2007/07/25/
style/25sanctuary.php?page=1 (November 18, 2009).
36. Colchester Zoo, “Future Developments. Colchester Zoo’s Nature Area,” www.
colchester-zoo.com/index.cfm?fa=about.developments (November 18, 2009); Paul F.
J. Eagles, “International Trends in Park Tourism” (paper prepared for Europarc 2001,
Matrei, Austria, Oct. 2001), www.ahs.uwaterloo.ca/rec/pdf/inttrends.pdf (November
18, 2009); P. O. Lindström, “Naturvårdsverket vill ha 13 nya nationalparker,” Miljömagasinet 18, 4 May 2007, 3; TT-Reuters, “Australien får jättereservat,” Svenska
Dagbladet, 10 July 2007, 15.
37. Eagles, International Trends; Tom Gjelten, ”Congo and China Forge Economic
Partnership,” National Public Radio, 26 June 2007. www.npr.org/templates/story/story.
php?storyId=11428653 (November 18, 2009).
38. Jessica Bown, “A Growing Investment in Agricultural Land,” Sunday Times,
May 4, 2008. www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/money/investment/article3866772.ece (23
Nov. 2009).
39. Jon C. Coe, “Towards a Co-Evolution of Zoos, Aquariums and Natural History Museums,” in AAZPA 1986 Annual Conference Proceedings (Wheeling, WV:
American Association of Zoological Parks and Aquariums, 1986), 366–76, www.joncoedesign.com/pub/PDFs/TowardsCo-evolution1986.pdf (November 18, 2009); Jon
C. Coe, “Clients and Projects,” www.joncoedesign.com/zoo/clients.htm (November
18, 2009); Monika Ebenhöh, “Improvements in Zoo Design by Internet-based Exchange of Expertise” (M.S. thesis, University of Georgia, 2000), www.zoolex.org/thesis/thesisA4.pdf (November 18, 2009).
40. Jon Clarke (ed.), “Conservation,” The Good Zoo Guide Online, www.goodzoos.com/conserva.htm (November 18, 2009); Urban Ecology Australia, “Wildlife
Corridors,” February 18, 2006. www.urbanecology.org.au/topics/wildlifecorridors
.html.
41. Jon C. Coe, “Zoo Trends.” www.joncoedesign.com/trends/home_trends.htm
(November 18, 2009).
42. See Jones as referred to in Jon C. Coe, “The Evolution of Zoo Animal Exhibits,” in The Ark Evolving: Zoos and Aquariums in Transition, ed. Christen M. Wemmer
(Front Royal, Virginia: Smithsonian Institution Conservation and Research Center,
1995), 95–128.
43. e.g., Alan Beardsworth and Alan Bryman, “The Wild Animal in Late Modernity: The Case of the Disneyization of Zoos,” Tourist Studies 1, no. 1 (2001): 83–104;
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192
Alan Bryman, “The Disneyization of Society,” The Sociological Review 47, no. 1
(1999): 5–47; Desmond, Staging Tourism; Pedersen, Animals in Schools.
44. Coe, Zoo Trends.
47. Joel A. Barker, Paradigms: The Business of Discovering the Future (New York:
HarperCollins, 1993).
48. That is not to suggest that small, local economies are going to take over in
place of market economy. Rather, they should be seen as initial attempts to solve
problems of the reigning economic system, the beginning of a new paradigm, which
eventually may be made up of many layers and configurations suited to specific needs
and geographies.
49. Cf. Nicole Mazur, After the Ark? Environmental Policy-making and the Zoo (Victoria: Melbourne University Press, 2001).
50. Cf. Acampora, Zoos and Eyes.
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CHAPTER TEN
From Zoo to Zoöpolis:
Effectively Enacting Eden
Matthew Chrulew
In the final chapter of his seminal zookeeping manual, Wild Animals in Captivity, Heini Hediger emphasized “the prime importance of the zoological
garden for the basic questions of human life.” Indeed for Hediger, “keeping
wild animals in zoological gardens (and their forerunners) affords . . . the
oldest example on the most grandiose scale of man’s activity in experimental
biology.”1 “Man,” it seems, has a lot at stake in these collections of animals.
When read in light of some recent, animal-themed Continental philosophy,
Hediger’s comments take on even greater significance. For Jacques Derrida,
the human subject has been produced, throughout Western thought, by way
of the sacrifice of the “heterogeneous multiplicity of the living” that is so
ineptly called “animal.”2 Giorgio Agamben similarly traces the origins of the
sovereign exception of the “bare life” that can be killed to the attempt to
set humanity apart from animality.3 Zoological gardens, those old and grand
biological experiments, would thus be crucial cogs in the “anthropological
machine” that inclusively excludes animals in order to produce the unique
and dominant human.
But can this be cast in another light? According to the celebrated “biophilia hypothesis” of E. O. Wilson, evolution has disposed homo sapiens to
seek contact with the animal world.4 Paul Shepard similarly argues that
proximity to animals has been formative of human nature.5 These sociobiological suppositions find an unlikely counterpart in Jean Baudrillard’s theory
of seduction, which casts the enduring attraction to animals as a central
193
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Matthew Chrulew
occasion for the unravelling of human meaning.6 Such crossbred thoughts,
entirely at home in the hybrid reflections on nature-culture at which science
studies has become so adept, provide a different slant to the Heidegger-influenced deconstructions of the exceptional human produced at the expense
of the animal. They suggest, on the contrary, a vital, identity-forming and
world-producing activity of human-animal coconstitution, of being-with
those Donna Haraway refers to as “companion species” in their “significant
otherness.”7
Might zoological gardens be or become sites that cultivate such significant
interspecies encounters? Is it possible to imagine and build zoos, or post-zoo
sites of human-animal contact, in which what it is to be human is shaped not
at the expense of the animal in a violent metaphysico-historical operation,
but in a mutually-enlivening relation of coproduction and indeed seduction?
Are there ways of viewing, touching or otherwize engaging zoo animals that
elicit not anthropocentric dominance but response and regard for the other?
Can we create sites, practices and techniques of enclosure that provide
animals with the space and means for full, flourishing lives? If we are to approach the zoo as a grand, old biological experiment, let it be in the sense of
Deleuze and Guattari’s ethological ethics, which proposes the experimental
conjunction of affecting and affected bodies in the open-ended composition
of new assemblages and worlds.8
Still, likely none of these thinkers would find much to support in what
have often been seen as exemplars of the humanisation of nature. Critics
have long appealed for the boycott, or indeed abolishment, of zoos. These
institutions of order seem tainted to the core by the chauvinism of Western
colonialism and species-humanism; indeed, for many, they are the ultimate
fulfilment of capitalizt domination and artificial control of the natural world.
As John Berger famously put it, “Everywhere animals disappear. In zoos they
constitute the living monument to their own disappearance.”9 Similar views
are common throughout the Marxian tradition, from the Frankfurt School to
postmodernism. In his dialectical anti-zoo homily, Theodor Adorno remarks:
“The more purely nature is preserved and transplanted by civilization, the
more implacably it is dominated.”10 For Baudrillard, the diabolical dualism
that supposes an abyss between humans and animals “permits the liquidation
of species even as they are archived as specimens in the African reserves or
in the hell of zoos.”11
It would be easy to follow these thinkers and condemn once more the
fabrications of zoo displays, the violent, invasive and stifling practices of
animal collection, breeding and exhibition. Indeed, such critiques remain
necessary. But we inherit these institutions, their inhabitants, and all the
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From Zoo to Zoöpolis
195
mess that comes with them, including the responsibility of negotiating their
place in the future. Some form of relating to animals is required; we cannot
avoid making hard decisions about how to exercize our power over these
captives, and the wild populations they so problematically represent, even as
the latter are themselves increasingly subjected to human technologies and
regimes of governance. With this in mind, calls for the abolishment of zoos
seem utopian wishes to be free of all power relations with animals, to keep
the wild untainted by humanity’s fallen touch.
At the same time, however, self-promoted reform is the natural camouflage of the zoo. The biblical Noah, who is the favourite model for zoo directors convinced of their institution’s role as a salvific ark, was after all considered “blameless” and set apart from the environmental destruction occurring
all around him (Gen. 6:9). As Dale Jamieson reminds us, zoos continually
claim to have outgrown their dim past, seeking to free their new naturaliztic
displays and conservationist aspirations from the taint of the disgraceful conditions of an earlier time.12 The accreditation of zoos and professionalization
of their personnel since the 1960s is an attempt to stay one step ahead of the
criticisms of animal rights and welfare groups, to define themselves as the
(only) authorities with the know-how to take on the task of caring for “wild”
animals.13 As Randy Malamud argues, this “public relations deluge . . . —aggressively coopting green rhetoric—serves to anticipate and defuse potential
resistance to zoos.”14 Staging comes naturally: their central task is, after all,
to convincingly portray captive animals as if they were wild.
Thus if we are to properly assess the prospects for Noah’s departure, we
must be both open to the possibilities of mutually enhancing human-animal
contact zones, as well as suspicious of the reformist rhetoric and scientific
power of a long-standing institution. We cannot deny how widespread
and intolerable is “the inauthentic, tawdry banality of observing animals
in zoos.”15 But is that the only state of affairs we can establish between us?
Must we agree with Berger that the loss of the “look between animal and
man . . . to which zoos are a monument, is now irredeemable?”16 Or is there
a pathway from enclosure to disclosure? Surely there is a sense in which,
as Jonathan Burt argues, “Berger’s thesis also remains captive to this figure
of the zoo.”17 Is there truly no alternative to these apocalyptic visions of
“absolute marginalization” and “implacable domination?” What if the potentiality, productivity or extravagance of nature exceeds or otherwize escapes
our attempts at control? What if we can discover ways to foster mutual looking between species? Doing so will require attention to zoos’ histories and
geographies, to the material power relations so integral to their everyday
operation—that is, to the pragmatic implication of human and animal lives
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Matthew Chrulew
within zoological gardens and without. It will demand that we abandon the
purity of our divisions between wilderness and civilisation, that we take
seriously the obligations of knowledge-practices seeking to understand more
about different species for whom we care, that we not cease to question,
improve and overturn the facilities and practices of zookeeping. Indeed, it
might just oblige us to insist that zoos live up to the radical utopian desire
at their core.
Wildlife Heterotopias
Zoos purport to offer “wildlife” to the gaze of human visitors. When, as it
often is, wildness is valorized as an unspoiled foil to urban civilisation, this
goal dissolves into an infamous contradiction. Keekok Lee is one of the latest
and most insistent in a long string of critics to make this point: zoo animals
“are not wild” but rather “what may be called biotic artifacts.”18 But if we
are not to reduce living animals to constructions or simulations tainted by
their contact with humans, then understanding that zoo animals are ontologically altered by captivity should be the beginning, not the endpoint, of
analysis. In her important Hybrid Geographies, Sarah Whatmore works with
a performative notion of wildlife: “a relational achievement spun between
people and animals, plants and soils, documents and devices in heterogeneous
social networks which are performed in and through multiple places and
fluid ecologies.”19 This allows her to analyse “particular spatial formations of
wildlife exchange” in which animals are caught up as “symbolic and material
units in some human currency,” such as blood or genes, at the same time as
they are active subjects in fashioning and contesting these roles. 20
With such a conception, Whatmore moves past “the familiar utopian
spaces of pristine nature as wilderness” without for all that undermining all
attempts to conceive of wildness. 21 As she recognizes, national parks and
other preserved spaces are intensely managed by networks of locals, rangers,
scientists and others; animals become “the objects of intensive surveillance
and regulation in the name of conservation,” and nature itself the product of a
regime of governmentality.22 For many, this spells the “end of nature” and the
final humanisation of the planet, or at least “the incarceration of wildness.”23
But for others, this “open secret” of the designed nature of wilderness as site
of the Other does not in itself undermine its worth: “Visited as heterotopia,
wilderness is political, often a trickster’s space . . . at tension with modernity
but also at tension with any romantic conception of the ‘natural.’”24
The notion of “heterotopias” is taken from Michel Foucault, who defined
them as “counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the
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real sites, all the other real sites that can be found within the culture, are
simultaneously represented, contested and inverted.”25 Zoos are heterotopias
in which the biblical utopias of human-animal contact, Eden and the ark,
and their scientific descendants, are materially “enacted” in urban sites. As
such they stand in relation to other sites of “nature” such as forests, parks,
gardens, farms, abattoirs and laboratories, but also, beyond such habitual
categories, to emergent zones from sanctuaries and ranches used for the reintroduction of natives or the “retirement” of exotics, to the controversial
restoration biology plans to “rewild” zones from the Great Plains to Siberia’s
Pleistocene Park. When, in line with recent work in animal geography
that has challenged the established categories of environmental ethics,
such sites are seen also to include the “borderlands” of urban/rural/wild
areas—conceived as the shared and contested living areas and habitats of
both humans and animals, whether pets, pests, stock, feral, urban wildlife or
otherwize—we perceive a more complex picture of interpenetrating forms
of species life in a network of ecoheterotopias.26 As Ralph Acampora shows,
charting “a continuum of human presence in environment” is an essential
step in our quest to “find cues for an engagement-without-exploitation model
in our relationships with other forms of life.”27
This refusal of the dualism of wilderness and the urban, of freedom
and captivity, should not be understood to erase all difference in modes
of interspecies relation but, on the contrary, to make such differences—in
opportunity, liberty, visibility, value—more evident. We must reject the
self-interested contention that, because even wildlife are territorially limited
or culturally encumbered, zoo captivity effects no great restriction to animal
liberty. Grizzlies in Yellowstone may not have unlimited autonomy, but for
all that they are radio-tracked and, if misbehaving, potentially relocated or
worse, they certainly possess greater freedom of movement and range of expression than tigers in the Bronx. Thus zoological gardens might in fact be
consistently judged, on these relative grounds, to severely inhibit the livelihood of their charges. But such a judgment arizes not from simply witnessing
the distortion of a pure wildness through human contact, but rather through
precize understanding of the ways in which zoo animals are tamed, habituated, immured or otherwize altered—and the ways in which, perhaps, differently modified conditions might not deprive or harm but in fact legitimately
benefit them.
Certainly, zoos deploy intensive forms of power over animals. But for all
their similarities, they are not laboratories or factory farms; indeed, since
the wars they have taken upon themselves the explicit goal of biologically
appropriate care for animals. Though they still reluctantly deal in death, it
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is not their goal but an unpleasant (if perhaps inevitable) byproduct of their
biopolitical investment in the health, happiness and reproductive success
of their charges. This biopower might be flawed, invasive, deficient and
self-serving—in fact it has been all of these—but if we want to hold zoos to
their word, we will need the appropriate tools to analyse their actual mode
of operation in the historical specificity of its rationality. Perhaps via an
understanding of wildness as the emergent product of various degrees and
kinds of human-animal-environment power relations—including some with
the explicit goal of reducing, erasing or reversing different types of impact of
humans on nonhuman nature—zoos may become essential sites for experimenting with techniques and practices that can be put to use in contesting
or inverting (rather than exemplifying or memorializing) the destruction,
incarceration and marginalization of wildlife and their habitats.
Zoos and Power
The performative networks of wildlife in which animals are situated are
structured by productive relations of power. For Foucault, power is “a set of
actions on possible actions; it incites, it induces, it seduces, it makes easier
or more difficult; it releases or contrives, makes more probable or less; in the
extreme, it constrains or forbids absolutely.”28 Importantly, it does not extinguish but rather assumes and acts upon the freedom of its objects: it requires
“that ‘the other’ . . . is recognized and maintained to the very end as a subject
who acts.”29 Resistance is what constitutes both the necessity and ultimate
fragility of power. While this understanding of power has almost uniformly
been figured in solely human terms, we must recognize that animals, too, are
enmeshed in this web.30
Critiques of zoos have rarely deployed such a notion of power. While they
regularly denounce the power dimension of zoos, indeed often being drawn
to an explicit comparison with Foucault’s work on prisons, this analysis is
typically focussed not on the effects of power on animal bodies but rather
on the type of human subject that zoos engender: “The zoo’s forte is its
construction of zoogoers as paramount, masters of all they survey, and zoo
animals as subalterns.”31 Jonathan Burt argues that Berger’s seminal essay
becomes “focussed on shifts in the psychology of man’s self-confirmation as
a being in the world,”32 and the same might be said of much social sciences
and humanities work on zoos, particularly insofar as it seeks to demonstrate
their “construction” of nature. In Zoo Culture anthropologists Mullan and
Marvin take up Foucault and liken zoos to prisons and asylums due to their
similar roles as “institutions of human containment.”33 But they go on to
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argue that “power relations arize in zoos because in them human beings enforce the containment and display of animals in ways which unconsciously
express attitudes of superiority and distance towards the natural world.”34
In locating power relations in human attitudes rather than on subjected
bodies, the presence of animals is once more effaced. Malamud’s critique of
zoos through literary texts is (as Burt again recognizes) similarly and often
disconcertingly focussed on the human subject. Rather than attending to
“the pain zoo animals suffer,” he writes, “my focus, is on the cultural consumer, the spectator of pain.”35 Thus he argues that “[i]n the zoo, Foucault’s
analysis implies, people watch animals as a means of symbolically celebrating
(or supplanting, or satisfying vicariously) a desire to exert power over them
more explicitly.”36 But this conception of power as the violent infliction of
pain, and its continual diversion to the constitution of the viewing human
subject, occludes the very real though often more subtle forms of productive
power that are in fact exerted on animal bodies in zoos.
The prevalence of this approach is understandable insofar as the central
function of zoos is the subjectification of spectators through modes of
exhibition. Tony Bennett argues that museums and similar nineteenth-century public institutions formed what he calls the “exhibitionary complex”:
a distinct power/knowledge regime in which “an ensemble of disciplines
and techniques of display” come together.37 The exhibitionary complex
deployed “a power made manifest not in its ability to inflict pain but by its
ability to organize and coordinate an order of things and to produce a place
for the people in relation to the order.”38 The viewers of arranged objects
were thereby constituted as self-regulating citizens in this act of viewing, at
the same time as they were brought to identify with the displayed national
and imperial power over the things represented: whether the past, colonial
subjects, or indeed the natural world.
Zoological gardens, I would contend, were a significant element of this
exhibitionary complex. The nineteenth century saw the transfer of private
menageries to public institutions, and the establishment of large numbers
of European and settler colony zoological gardens with the “education” of
the masses as a principal objective. These institutions displayed ordered
knowledge of the natural world to visiting subjects, who now occupied the
place of the sovereign gazing over his realm. They played an important
role in bourgeois culture, developing with capitalism into democratic and
consumerist sites of popular entertainment. Through various technologies
of display, zoological exhibits demonstrated the capacities of a power that
subdues, classifies and arranges the nonhuman realm, a power with which
the zoo visitor was brought to identify, irrespective of the effectiveness of
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any explicit educational programme. It is the story of these changing exhibitionary technologies that histories of zoos have so often told: the progression
from colonial cages, via the Hagenbeck revolution, to today’s naturaliztic
immersion exhibits.
Insofar as zoos constitute observers as subjects in relation to animals and
the natural world, it is not surprising that they are so often analysed in terms
that privilege the question of the formation of the human subject. But to
remain only on this level is to ignore the material context of operations of
power on animal bodies (and their effects of subjection). Such approaches
remain within the anthropocentric orbit of Foucault’s own work, only asking “How are we constituted as subjects who exercize or submit to power
relations?”39 without applying this question also to nonhuman subjects.
Uniquely, zoos collect living beings, which they can only display (that is,
constitute as objects of knowledge, in order thereby to constitute human
viewers as subjects of this knowledge) through the exercize of power, that
is, acting upon the animals’ actions. The zoo must discipline to exhibit. To
ignore this disciplinary dimension is to compound the reduction of animals
to objects for display that the zoo’s exhibitionary apparatus performs. What
is needed, then, is a zoöcritical genealogy of zoological gardens, that is, an
“analysis of descent … situated within the articulation of the body and
history” in which we recognize not only human but also animal bodies as
“the inscribed surface[s] of events”.40 Such an approach would examine the
technologies of power through which exotic animals have been captured
and kept, ordered and displayed, bred and tested, archived and conserved,
saved and revealed—that is, the various ways they have been acted upon and
indeed “made to speak.”
Biopower, Zoopower
The element of visibility by enclosure provides a guiding thread: essentially,
zoos require the physical presence of animals within an ordered space suitable
for exhibition. The spatial arrangement of the eighteenth-century menagerie
corresponded to the classificatory organisation of the “table” which structured
the Classical episteme.41 As Foucault writes, “the table was both a technique
of power and a procedure of knowledge. It was a question of organizing the
multiple, of providing oneself with an instrument to cover it and to master
it; it was a question of imposing upon it an ‘order’”.42 Through this regime
of power/knowledge, natural history’s classification of animals according to
external form (the “nomination of the visible”43) was “effectively enacted”
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in a partitioned space, and animals met, as Foucault might put it, the forced
residence of their truth.
The Classical menagerie was thus integral to the formation of a
disciplinary diagram of power over animals (and subsequently humans), the
basic tenets of which are still recognisable as essential zoo techniques: “the
distribution of individuals in space” through “enclosure, the specification of a
place heterogeneous to all others and closed in upon itself” and “elementary
location or partitioning.”44 But while the disciplinary regime that Foucault
famously described fashioned productive but docile human bodies to be
inserted into the political economy of capitalism, the bodies of animals
in zoos—unlike labouring and food animals—were subjected to discipline
to render them not productive but rather simply visible to a scientific or
democratic gaze. The collection of these animals occurred through violent
colonial networks of hunting, capture and trade with severe impacts on distant habitats and lands.45 Their isolation in cages and other enclosures orders
of magnitude smaller than their native territories also profoundly altered
their behavioural and psychological capacities.
This 1883 critique asserts the dubious scientific value of observing animals
in zoos, a result of the power-effects that strip them of their form of life:
I have passed days and weeks by many a lion’s cage in European and American
gardens, intent upon study and observation; but with the exception of having,
by numerous sketches, impressed upon my mind the anatomical peculiarities of
these interesting animals, I cannot say that in other respects my perserverance
has been rewarded to any great extent. I have simply found that an animal,
as closely confined as most of them are in zoölogical gardens, retains none of
its natural habits; it only exists—a mere automaton; and even this existence is
seemingly under protest.46
This can be clearly read in terms of Agamben’s conception of biopolitics,
in which the separation of bios and zo creates a space for “bare life” that
may be killed but not sacrificed.47 As he argues in The Open, animals are the
originary targets of this perilous political decision; and the nineteenth-century
zoological garden can be seen as a site, analogous to the camp, that produced
barely living animals reduced to “automatons” in their stereotyped pacing
and environmental captivation.48 They survived, without truly living. That
this is an ontological change, the effect of power, is worth reiterating: despite
some ambivalence on Agamben’s part, it is important to assert that animals
do not naturally fit this model of world-poverty that philosophy and science
circumscribed for them; rather, they are made to be poor-in-world precizely
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through the poverty of the worlds provided for them in captivity, closely
confined as they are.
Such conditions were not in the best interests of zoos, either economically
(in terms of animal longevity, dizease and death) or when it came to the
niceties of public display. The development, in response to this problem, of a
biological basis for animal keeping produced a form of biopower more in line
with not Agamben’s but Foucault’s original, somewhat different conception:
that is, a productive power devoted to the nurture of life. The genealogy of
zoological gardens should turn not only, as is customary, on the Hagenbeck
revolution in architectural design (thus privileging human spectatorship) but
much more on this Hediger revolution in practical zookeeping which painstakingly elaborated procedures of “biologically appropriate” care.
Certainly, zoos went from pits and fences to hills and moats; but they
also thoroughly transformed their feeding regimens, breeding practices
and behavioural interventions. They went from rather crude confinement
and subsistence to a detailed, precize, scientific apparatus that took as its
goal to “make live”, devoting itself to the health and hygiene, growth and
flourishing of living beings, grasped through the “population” as object of
both knowledge and power.49 As Gruffudd puts it, “[t]o the mind of modernist
reformers and applied scientists, [animals] were organisms to be understood,
nurtured and housed efficiently, as, indeed, were humans.”50 This biopower
complemented the disciplinary strategies of separation, seeking to adapt animals to the conditions of captivity. Scientific discourses of zoo biology and
animal psychology began to accumulate statistics and reports that reflected,
and in turn modified, the zoo’s circumstances of corporeal influence. Biologically-based care took upon itself the negative task of reducing the effects
of captivity, “to neutralize as far as possible all modifying (non-hereditary,
externally conditioned) and mutative (hereditary) changes and degeneration
phenomena,”51 and ultimately the positive task of producing normal, natural
“species-typical” behaviour through “behavioural enrichment.”
In this regime of truth, the effects of human contact were defined as “abnormal,” and wild nature was the norm to be produced (if also, in its security
and comfort, “improved”) by a thorough, self-concealing apparatus of power.
Zoo critics also accepted this unassailable biopolitics as the terms of their
opposition: they “monitored living conditions . . . but without questioning
the principle of captivity,” pointing out “insufficient care, dirty enclosures,
confined animals, brutal keepers and tiny cages,” as well as “overpopulation,
unsuitable conditions, groupings of antipathetic animals, mutilation and
illness.”52 With the moral criteria thus delimited, the priesthood of wildlife
stewards could expand their meticulous pastoral power, caring (in species-
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specific terms) for every need of the animal—dietary, territorial, social and
behavioural—exercising total management of their lives, from birth and
prior to death and beyond.
The latter third of the twentieth century saw zoos reinvent themselves
as wildlife parks devoted to the preservation of endangered species. Zoos
became arks, crisis heterotopias amid widespread and relentless habitat
loss and species extinction, processes in which they were historically
implicated. The goal of conserving threatened wildlife populations was
pursued within the regime of scientific management described as “ecological
governmentality” or “environmentality”,53 which conducted in tandem the
“two poles around which the organization of power over life was deployed,”
that is, “[t]he disciplines of the body and the regulations of the population,”54
targeting animals through a range of technologies, both broadly and
finely calibrated, both in situ and ex situ. Sexual reproduction—as the
meeting-point of the population and the body—was the central element
for intervention, particularly in the form of captive breeding programmes
directed towards self-sustaining populations in zoos (i.e., maintaining the
supply of animals for display55), as well as eventual reintroduction to the wild.
The genetic diversity of captive animal populations was monitored through
tools such as studbooks and other international records; Species Survival
Plans guided breeding exchanges which built on traditional approaches
with the latest technoscientific techniques such as artificial insemination,
in vitro fertilisation, embryo transfer and intergenic surrogacy. In a further
twist, the “natural” behaviour that had been the targeted norm of biological
care was rejected by some for its unnatural security: to be truly prepared for
reintroduction, animals must be subjected to all the risks and stresses of the
wild (as best programmed by the zoological apparatus), including dizease and
predation.56
The epistemic object of a “population,” here, reflected not any actual
group of cohabiting animals; rather, the animals resided in disparate sites
throughout the world, and their capacity to interbreed only existed as the
result of human efforts to transport individuals or substances extracted from
their bodies. Nonetheless, via the discourse of the postvital life sciences,
the somewhat nebulous object of “species” was provided with a remarkable coherence and efficacy. Richard Doyle argues that molecular biology
composed “a technoscientific power that works by producing an invisibility
of the body, whose object is no longer the living organism. It is instead an
object beyond living,”57 composed of the codes of DNA. Conceived thus as
genetic information, the species body is no longer necessarily located in any
extant group of living organisms. The archives of genetic material (embryos,
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sperm, tissue) known as “frozen zoos” or genome banks might be seen as the
ultimate, somewhat perverse outcome of this abstraction, the effective enactment of a genetic utopia.
But while, as Doyle puts it, this biological gaze “does not see bodies;
it sees only sequences, genomes,” it nonetheless “requires” bodies for its
operation.58 As the means by which to manipulate the immaterial object
of knowledge that is the genetic species body, the bodies of animals,
“invisible” to the biopolitics of the population, ultimately remain the
starkly visible objects of power’s intervention. Such bodies are not only
the “source” of the genome; they are also judged against it in terms of genetic fitness, i.e. their capacity to contribute to a future, diverse genome.
As a number of “surplus” American-born offspring of immigrant tigers
discovered, when calculated in terms of the “carrying capacity” of the zoo
qua ark, the consequences of exclusion from the imposed plan for one’s own
species’ survival are terminal.59 On the other hand, the reproductively fit,
spared the cull, are instead subjected to an increasingly intensive anatomopolitics of the animal body. The closer the species to extinction—when
a wild population is most endangered, or a captive one most fragmented;
when the species category holds the most importance and thus the whole
ensemble’s vision of living organisms is most obscured—the stronger then
is the grip in which the bodies of the last remaining individuals (or their
surrogates) are held.
For some, zoos are essential fronts in the war against extinction: “If zoos did
not exist,” writes Colin Tudge, “then any sensible conservation policy would
lead inevitably to their creation.”60 But for many others, this controversial
approach remains an impoverished alternative to habitat protection itself,
which is considered both economically and ecologically superior as a means
to protect wildlife.61 Even if the necessity of endangered species management is accepted, its goals and techniques are at odds with those of public
display; as Hancocks argues, zoos “are not the best places for holding and
breeding rare species. Such an activity is better undertaken on large tracts of
land where sufficient numbers of animals can be maintained for best genetic
control, away from people, and in conditions conducive to their eventual release.”62 What is rarely questioned is the very value of searching for solutions
in the further application of technoscientific rationality. In any case, despite
such pretensions to intervene in the wild, and the widespread justificatory
focus on conservation, zoos are yet to relinquish their central exhibitionary
function. The essential representational element remains largely unchanged:
the public display of animals to human visitors as a technique of environmental subjectification.
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Contesting Exhibition
It is on this exhibitionary axis—with its power-effects both on the human
visitors and animal performers—that zoos must be evaluated. The fact that
the exhibitionary apparatus requires the spatial distribution and confinement
of animal bodies as a means to their permanent visibility, should not in itself
be taken to undermine all contemporary attempts to direct this apparatus towards ends more considerate of animals—though it will provide an essential
element in the assessment of such displays.
Following Hagenbeck’s naturalism, zoos have attempted to recreate (an
image of) the natural environment in their exhibits, using artifical materials, such as concrete and plastic, to fake trees, rocks and other aspects of an
animal’s habitat, and present them according to carefully constructed aesthetic and line-of-sight criteria. This goal finds its fulfillment in the quintessential postmodern exhibits which attempt the total simulation of a habitat
or ecosystem. Umberto Eco links the reconstruction of Nature in zoos to the
American “hyperreal” mode of cultural reproduction, arguing that even San
Diego, “the most human, or rather, the most animal” of zoos, is built on the
philosophy of the “Industry of the Fake” which “oscillat[es] between a promize of uncontaminated nature and a guarantee of negotiated tranquility.” In
such sites, Nature “is erased by artifice precizely so that it can be presented
as uncontaminated nature.”63 Nigel Rothfels also describes these immersion
exhibits, tracing their historical connection to Hagenbeck, and their contemporary manifestations, where “[i]n the new, more perfect world of the
immersion exhibit, a better ‘nature’ is created for animals.”64 Zoos certainly
occupy a central position within an enormous worldwide ecotourism industry
whose dominant effect is to produce nature as a spectacle for consumption.
However, the purpose of such displays and, for Hancocks and others,
the central role of zoos, is the education of the public in ecological matters.
In the increasingly environmentally conscious twentieth and twenty-first
centuries, zoo displays have had the explicit goal of inciting ecological
awareness in visitors and, hopefully, follow-on effects in their actions in
the “real world” subsequent to visiting the zoo. The environmental message
of many self-proclaimed leading zoos, such as Detroit and New York,
explicitly aligns their mission with that of museums, to offer narratives and
broadening visions to their visitors. Nicole Mazur has demonstrated how
declines in public funding have seen this conservationism co-opted as an
advertising tool for multinational corporations.65 Viewed with suspicion, we
might say that even any successful conservation message simply continues
the function of zoos as a exhibitionary institutions, now within a broader
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regime of “ecological governmentality” that “elaborates programmes of
environmental intervention aimed at normalizing the social relation to
nature in particular, ecologically benign ways.”66 Thus the role of zoos is
to produce “environmentalized” subjects who identify with this particular,
green form of power over nature, to initiate visitors into the dominant
understanding of animals and environment as resources to be scientifically
managed and policed for the benefit of the state, rendered docile and useful
for either industry or spectacle.
However we cannot entirely reject this exhibitionary role. Jennifer Wolch
argues that “[p]eople should come to know, however partially, the animals
with whom they coexist, thereby sustaining webs of connection and an ethic
of respect and mutuality, caring and friendship.”67 And as Chilla Bulbeck
shows, within the pervasive inauthenticity and managerialism of ecotourism
subsists a fundamental desire for contact with animals, with “the other”—
and, therefore, a platform of influence with significant potential, beyond
and beneath the facile, hypocritical conservation message brought to you by
McDonalds.68 Indeed, a number of permutations in zoo display seem to hold
some promize of subverting the established forms of exhibition.
An increasing number of zoological gardens, from the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum in Tucson to Healesville Sanctuary in Victoria, seek to engage
concretely with the specificities of their locality, in particular by focussing
their collections on native fauna and flora.69 Here exhibits and pedagogical
practices emphasize developing a sense of place, the specific character (and
fragility) of local animals and the regional ecosystem, environmental history,
human impact on the land, and current conservation activities. This emphasis accords with what Jim Cheney calls “environmental ethics as bioregional
narrative.” Cheney argues that acknowledging our situatedness in terms of
“home, identity, and community” is an important counter to the totalization
of modern and colonial universalizt discourse. 70 Engaging with the specificities of where we live can give rize to “narrative grounded in geography” and
“a contextualized discourse of place”, particularly “so as to include nature . . .
in the construction of community.”71 In this way, animal collections focussed
on local “place” might contest the typical demonstrations of colonial reach
and power found in zoos by revalorising indigeneity and regional history, and
rejecting the preference for exotic animals transplanted from distant lands.
Another tendency has been for zoos to accompany their displays of living
animals with exhibitions of modern and postmodern art “that ‘challenges’
visitors’ values, that ‘unsettles’ their preconceptions, that ‘provokes’ them
emotionally or intellectually.”72 Effigies such as “a sabre-toothed tiger head
made from different colored match-heads” and “a small elephant made from
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gilded live small-arms ammunition” emphasize the connection of animals’
fragility with human activity and technology, while the images of animals as
wounded objects of worship in Holly Lane’s ecofeminist installation present
“a critique of zoos’ failure” to live up to their “‘sacred duty’ to treat animals
well.”73 Such self-conscious and ironic art does not simply aestheticize
nature—in fact, in depictions of animals’ affective energy, often opposing
the conventional reduction of animals to physiological form—but seeks to
provoke an awareness of the baggage shaping our experience of animals, in
cultural representations and indeed the living exhibits of zoos, and in doing
so it “implicitly criticizes the very institution in which it resides.”74 In thus
“providing self-criticism spaces,”75 some zoos may go some way towards challenging their own standard institutional traits.
However, even the most radical of displays that challenges the hegemonic
subject-position of the exceptional human, provoking visitors to question
their attitudes to animals, will fail if it modifies only the exhibitionary axis.
A postmodern anti-aesthetic in the art accompanying animal displays, while
it might undermine conventional representations of animals and the assumption of human supremacy, and provoke “a human being’s creative opportunity to think themselves other-than-in-identity,”76 still risks only treating the
nearby captive animals as elements for the unraveling of human subjectivity.
Likewize, focussing on the representation of local fauna may contest zoos’
inherited colonial ideology, but it largely only repeats the associated power
formation that through incarceration reduces living beings to symbols of
their species or region. As important as such changes are, if they remain
solely representational, their intended effect will be undermined: there will
always be the dissonance that Berger identifies in the “unexpressed question”
of zoogoers: “Why are these animals less than I believed?”77 The reason lies
in the disjunction between the intended meaning of the displays and the actuality of their creaturely existence—not just that they are living beings, but
insofar as the conditions of their captivity-for-display render them absolutely
marginal. Unless this marginalization is itself addressed, then zoos “cannot
but disappoint.”78 Any attempt at progressive exhibitry, any endeavour to
stage biophilic encounters, will fail if it is established at the expense of,
rather than in partnership with, the animals’ lives. The first task must be to
alter the very material conditions of the encounter.
For many, this means removing the animals themselves. Zoo critics have
long suggested that superior environmental education centres would be those
without any live animal exhibits, such as natural history museums, wildlife
film installations and sculpture gardens, “freezing the animals into stone.”79
But while such withdrawal might indeed free us from the terribly messy
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circumstances of zookeeping, they do not provide much help in working
out what to do in those places—i.e., everywhere else—where we are still
entangled with living animals. Moreover, as Hancocks recognizes, “[n]atural
history museum displays can be things of great beauty and fascination and
can even transport one to distant times and places, but they cannot provide
the same emotional connections as living plants and animals.”80 What is
unique about zoos is the presence of living animals; the potential of not
abstract images but a concrete meeting is what interests people and brings
them in such numbers. And for all that zoo directors may look down on
entertainment as a “justification deemed frivolous,” 81 in seeking to educate
fee-paying zoogoers despite themselves, they continually pander to this “vulgar” desire for contact with animals, implicitly recognising and exploiting
this common biophilia.
Of course, it must not be a matter of simply celebrating such encounters, as if the presence of living animals automatically subverted human
ascendancy. Certainly, forms of animal “resistance,” whether through
activity or inactivity, have often undermined the anthropocentric cultural
expectations of their exhibitors, from their refusal to fight in Renaissance
combats, to their sounds, smells and “inopportune matings” disrupting the
clean bourgeois garden.82 But this minimal state of intransigence is far from
any truly flourishing sense of freedom. Gail Davies seems to accept such a
notion of resistive presence when, in her analysis of a number of “virtual
exhibits” that archive filmic and photographic images of wildlife, she argues
(with a familiar emphasis on the impacts on human visitors) that the
electronic zoo presents us with perfected access to nature: unambiguous,
entirely visible, and uncontested by animals’ physical presence. While the
virtual zoo, like the traditional one, still “inscribes a dominant position for
viewers,”83 she prefers the latter, where “[d]espite their subjugated position
within the networks of the zoo, animals are nevertheless active subjects
embodying a form of agency in their ability to continue to challenge, disturb
and provoke us.”84 But surely—and most especially in the traditional zoo—
“the places that they inhabit”85 are not simply the means of their resistance
to our sense of dominance, but precizely that which animals most pressingly
need to resist and contest, for themselves? Particularly if, in comparison with
other varieties of urban wildlife, certain relationships of power in zoos come
to approach the “domination” that Foucault saw as their terminus, “as even
tactics of flight or avoidance are impossible for” the captive animals.86 If we
are to take seriously this biophilic desire for emplaced, concrete encounters
with other species, we must recognize that not only is the potential for such
meetings in fact ironically stifled in zoos, but that it is stifled because such
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encounters do not occur to the mutual advantage of both the displayed and
visiting creatures.
Encounter Experiments
The question is, how to change this situation and bring about different kinds of
engagement? How to exhibit or provoke encounter without intolerable forms
of discipline and biopower? If we are not to remain captive to a particular,
negative figure of the zoo, we will need to carry out the difficult, detailed
work of analysing and reimagining the types of cross-species relations that zoos
produce, traversed as they are by knowledge claims and power-effects. After all,
it is worth noting that, for all his pessimistic emphasis on the “irredeemable”
nature of animals’ historical marginalization, even Berger points to specific
elements of the conditions of animals’ captivity in zoos that constitute their
marginalization—contingent factors which might, thus, be altered.87 My wager
is that valuing the lives and perspectives of the animals ahead of the demands
of display would not provide disincentives for visitors (as zoo directors worry)
nor lead to their failure as zoophilic exhibitions, but would rather be vital
means of achieving these goals. If we can somehow rekindle the extinguished
“look between animal and man,”88 then perhaps, as Rothfels suggests was
the case with anthropological exhibits of human “natives,”89 this bolstered
capacity to return our gaze and upset our voyeuristic expectations will itself be
the most powerful force in zoos’ transformation.
Of course, zoos today rarely conform to Berger’s description; rather, the
“paradox of an exhibit designed not to exhibit is at the heart of most of our
‘better’ contemporary zoos.”90 Thus it will be important to maintain the
critique of staged naturaliztic exhibits that do not in fact benefit their animal
inhabitants—but without, for all that, supposing that simply such displays’
having been constructed by humans rules out such benefits, “biological” or
otherwize. Eco comments that, even in San Diego, where large spaces are
provided to the animals to the discomfort of the human visitors (and to the
disadvantage of visibility): “this is unquestionably the one [zoo] where the
animal is most respected. But it is not clear whether this respect is meant to
convince the animal or the human.”91 Is it not possible that it might convince
both? Accepting that zoo animals have already been altered by captivity, we
should not seek to hide this fact in providing perfect replicas of nature but rather
to further invent appropriate conditions that allow co-specific flourishing.
At least, achieving clarity on the issue of animal wellbeing should not
be ruled out a priori, even though we should remain suspicious of the selfinterested claims of zoo biologists. It will certainly require that such critical
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approaches be complemented with empirical evidence from ethological
science. Though the ethical perspective that he brings to bear is inadequate,
Moran is right (in his introduction to a 1987 journal issue devoted to the
question of ethology in zoos) that “the debate [over animal welfare in zoos]
must include factual information pertinent to the assessment and minimization of suffering by animals in captivity. The study of animal behaviour is the
sole source of much of this information.”92 For all that animal behavioural
science has been the scientific accomplice to the disciplinary production of
docile, maximally productive animal bodies for laboratories and capitalizt
factory farms, hard-earned knowledge of animals’ capacities and conditions
is essential for any intervention. Thus a constructive engagement with ethology will be necessary, one made possible by the critique of its customary
mechanomorphism,93 heartened by the sophisticated and ethically driven
work of thinkers like Marc Bekoff and Barbara Smuts, and constantly aware
of the implication of such scientific truth-making in the growth and perfection of biopolitical power over animal bodies.
We might collect the many suggestions for zoo improvements from
throughout the literature in a petition of sorts. Foremost is a reduction in the
number of different species held. This will provide greater space to those that
remain, and allow for specialization in staff expertize and exhibition type.
Rather than being satisfied to maintain any species in a zoo, irrespective of
difference, decisions about appropriateness of zoo exhibition must be made
according to species-specific determinations of needs. This will require zoos
to relinquish certain animals, particularly their prized charismatic megafauna, to more appropriate habitats such as preserves (where they might still
be encountered, although under different material conditions). The enclosures of those that remain should not be simply “enriched” but abundant in
opportunities for activity and leisure. Understanding that this, particular
place in the city is their home, we must provide the conditions for not simply
(or barely) living but flourishing. Space should be provided to escape from
audience intrusions (though noninvasive televisual media might nonetheless
provide some vision of such retreats). Appropriate incentives should be provided for encounters, which nonetheless remain on voluntary terms. Visitors
should be expected to alter their comportment within their host animals’
domain. They should not expect a close encounter as a guaranteed right, but
may anticipate the possibility of one.
Of course, such a list of demands is still entirely insufficient: the zoo we
seek is yet to be conceived, let alone effectively enacted, and this essay has
merely been an exercize in laying the groundwork for such innovation. The
task will be to promote or allow animal prosperity without the penetration
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and intensification of well-meaning biopower. But even if all these conditions for animal thriving were met, any heterotopia of encounter will still
require, as a minimum condition, that the animals be brought into contact
with an audience. Despite suggestions otherwize, the essential element of
zoos, and the most important aspect to interrogate, is that animals must
come (by whatever means) into a space where humans can see (or otherwize
encounter) them. While most behavioural research has investigated this
nexus only in terms of the exhibitionary axis—that is, the effects of different architectural and display elements on the human audiences94—there has
been an increasing awareness of the complexity of the interspecies interactions as (something like) relations of power. The effect on animals of the
human crowds in themselves has been thematized within animal behaviour
research as “visitor effect.”95 For all that zoos wish to portray their wards as
happily ensconced in natural habitats, oblivious to the wandering human
gaze, it is nonetheless clear that the presence of spectators is not a neutral
event for the captive animals. And even though Hediger’s “biological keeping” and its offshoots such as behavioural enrichment mean that the worst
cases of stereotypy and other “abnormal” behaviours are often eliminated,
such that some form of normalized (if sheltered) “naturalness,” even “wildness,” is produced, there is evidence that simply “the presence, and particularly the behaviour, of unfamiliar people (usually zoo visitors) is stressful to
zoo animals.”96 However, Geoff Hosey’s review of the literature also allows
that interactions with visitors, while they in general seem to lead to stress,
might also be a source of enrichment for the animals.97
Such interactions should not be romanticized. For all that they seek to
erase their own presence, relationships between zookeepers and the animals
under their care might approach the mutual engagement and interspecific
companionship articulated by theorists of domestication such as Vicki
Hearne and Donna Haraway; but as Hosey puts it, “animals in zoos will
develop a HAR [human-animal relationship] with their keepers, but may
have a different, and probably generalized, relationship with the visiting
public.”98 Sporadic zoo visits do not allow for the development of individual
connections as is the case with pets or companion species. To the animals,
the casual visitor will be an anonymous presence, even though crowds as
such may be a familiar event.
There is a great need to explore and understand this nexus.. Given the
unavoidable fact—and immeasurable blessing—of human participation in
the production of wildness, we had better cultivate our techniques. Hosey
mentions various influential features of enclosures: the use of netting and
other architectural forms; keeper talks; positive reinforcement training; the
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presence of “retreat space” for the animals. If zoos are serious about providing
exhibits in which animals are not reduced to means to the end of provoking environmental consciousness, then this will need to be an important
area of research: not simply documenting the pathetic interactions that do
occur in zoos (and thus “demonstrating” that, for example, visitor-primate
interactions are “stressful” for the animals) but rather, actively experimenting
with different forms of engagement, inventing modes of interaction that are
beneficial for both sides—and the animals first. After all, the circumstances
of enclosure are not natural conditions to be recorded as scientific fact but a
flexible state of affairs under human control. Zoos are experiments (however
botched and one-sided) in human-animal contact: structured encounters
between strange hominids and other exotic creatures. It will be a matter of
designing environments in which animals can truly make their homes, “and
at the same time serve as ‘social spaces’ for wildlife and human interaction.”99
Zoos must become the vanguard in the creative design of “contact zones”100
for the cohabitation of people and wildlife.
Hosey’s conclusion is optimistic: “Ultimately we may know enough about
the dynamics of human–animal interactions in the zoo context to be able
to ensure the best welfare of the animals while still providing a positive and
rewarding experience both for the people who work with those animals and
the zoo-visiting public.”101 The extent to which such a “best-of-both-worlds”
result is possible will rest largely on our efforts in the necessary, difficult task
of analysing, from within the middle of complex structures of interaction, the
power-effects of different modes of captivity, as a means towards opening up
for the animals spaces of liberty and intransigence. We do not yet know how
these differently constituted bodies might perform when allowed to affect
one another in as yet unthought modes of interaction.
Perhaps wildness, no longer essentially “outside,” might still persist as an
unsettling force that dwells within and between “human” spaces, traversing
our urban environment and even, perhaps, what were once our zoos. As our
intricate relations with animals become even more dense and fragile, we might
experiment there with ways to deepen our encounters without simultaneously
intensifying relations of power. We will need to remember the barbaric history of the zoo as a civilising institution: the suffering and death by which the
animals were obtained, and the often oppressive networks of value in which
they still reside. We will require scrupulous practices of knowledge which do
not refuse their entanglement in modes of power over the lives of animals, but
engage concretely in the pressing tasks of transforming the circumstances of
human-animal interaction. We will need to face squarely the enormous privilege and responsibility of engaging with animals.
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Jennifer Wolch expresses a kindred vision in what she calls “zoöpolis”:
“Rejecting alienated theme-park models of human interaction with animals in
the city, zoöpolis instead asks for a future in which animals and nature would
no longer be incarcerated beyond the reach of our everyday lives”.102 Such a
future requires both concrete engagement, from governmental approaches to
grassroots activism, as well as speculative imagination. As much as this is a
vision of the wild entering the city, it is also, in another sense, an expansion
of the zoo to the whole city, as a place in which people can learn how to appropriately interact with nonhuman others. Perhaps, in the challenge to “actually design cities as if animals mattered … to figure out how to transform
the metropolis into a zoöpolis—a place of habitation for both people and
animals,”103 zoos can play a crucial role as experimental sites for discovering
how to create shared interspecies habitats—a “basic question of human life”
now more than ever. Such sites might become structured but not inflexible
heterotopias of encounter, in which animals “are strategic elements in a
campaign to deride our pretensions to humanity”.104 Zoos, those grand, old
biological experiments, might still reclaim and transform their status as sites
of “animal acts”, a performance that “configures the human in the company,
in the obscure language and thought, of the animal.”105
An Edenic Coda
The Judeo–Christian utopia of the garden, and its repetition amid catastrophe in the ark, have long been central to the configuration and self-understanding of zoological gardens. If Hagenbeck’s peaceful naturaliztic exhibits
tranformed zoos into recreated Edens, heterotopias of communion, then in
the context of ecological destruction and extinction, postmodern zoos are
the new arks, heterotopias of (eventual?) salvation. Multiple discourses of
apology and critique have made use of these biblical tropes and all their
ambivalent baggage. As Rothfels argues, “[t]he metaphor of the ark” supplies zoos with “a profoundly resonant justification”.106 Many commentators believe zoos fail to meet these aspirations of care and safekeeping; for
others the problem is that, in their acts of ordering and exclusion, control
and enclosure, they fulfil them too closely. As arks, zoos fetishize breeding
pairs to the exclusion of the remaining animals, whether genetic rejects,
overproduced surplus, or just ordinary individuals. As Edens, zoos impose an
unnatural peace on ecological and evolutionary processes to which death
and predation are intrinsic.107 Either way, such criticism would have it, such
anti-ecological myths should be dispensed with as models for environmental
and zoological sites.
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But what if there remains in these ancient tales a kernel worth pursuing?
Kate Rigby argues that amid the actuality of environmental apocalypse,
“the counter-utopian ethos of radical hospitality instantiated, however
imperfectly, in the tale of Noah’s ark, affords an opening for hope”.108 For
Jacques Derrida, the myth of Eden likewize offers such promize, insofar as
Adam’s naming of the animals is an extraordinary meeting which exposes
God himself to surprize.109 We might even detect a sense of playful experiment in the placement of the naming story within Adam’s search for a
“suitable partner” (Gen 2:18–22): none may be quite as suitable as Eve, but
perhaps something interesting will come of this gathering. After all, concrete
cross-species encounters—whether witnessing the gaze of another animal or
feeling the warmth of its furred, breathing body—are essential for provoking
ethical awareness of nonhuman others, for opening our hearts to the bestiary
beyond. Envisaged and enacted under this quasi-Edenic sign of giving place
to every other in their specific alterity, delicately staged creaturely meetings
might indeed become once more events that rupture the existing, appalling
state of things between “man and animal.” If, towards zoöpolis, we are
searching for counter-sites to the widespread marginalization of animals,
then we could do worse than try, patiently and creatively, amid our fractured,
hybrid wildlife networks, to effectively enact that utopia.
Notes
1. Heini Hediger, Wild Animals in Captivity: An Outline of the Biology of Zoological
Gardens, trans. G. Sircom (New York: Dover Publications, 1964), 180.
2. Jacques Derrida, “The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow),” Critical
Inquiry 28 (2002): 369–418 (399).
3. Giorgio Agamben, The Open: Man and Animal, trans. Kevin Attel (Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 2004).
4. Stephen R. Kellert and Edward O. Wilson, eds., The Biophilia Hypothesis
(Washington: Island Press, 1993); Edward O. Wilson, Biophilia (Cambridge: Harvard
5. Paul Shepard, The Others: How Animals Made Us Human (Washington: Island
Press, 1996).
6. Jean Baudrillard, Seduction, trans. Brian Singer (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1990).
7. Donna J. Haraway, When Species Meet (Minneapolis and London: University of
Minnesota Press, 2008).
8. Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Brian Massumi (London and New York: Continuum, 2004).
9. John Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,” in About Looking (London: Writers and
Readers Publishing Cooperative, 1980), 1–26 (24).
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215
10. Theodor W. Adorno, Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life, trans. E.
F. N. Jephcott (London : New Left Books, 1974), 115.
11. Jean Baudrillard, “The Animals: Territory and Metamorphosis,” in Simulacra
and Simulation, trans. Sheila Glaser (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press,
1994), 129–143 (133).
12. Dale Jamieson, “Zoos Revisited,” in Ethics on the Ark: Zoos, Animal
Welfare, and Wildlife Conservation, ed. Bryan G. Norton et al. (Washington and
London: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 52–66. This narrative of “perpetual
reinvention” (52) is deployed by even the most progressive of zoo directors; see
David Hancocks, A Different Nature: The Paradoxical World of Zoos and Their
Uncertain Future (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California
Press, 2001).
13. Jesse Donahue and Erik Trump, The Politics of Zoos: Exotic Animals and Their
Protectors (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2006).
14. Randy Malamud, Reading Zoos: Representations of Animals and Captivity
(Washington Square, New York: New York University Press, 1998), 48. See also
Nicole A. Mazur, After the Ark? Environmental Policy Making and the Zoo (Carlton
South, Vic.: Melbourne University Press, 2001).
15. Malamud, Reading Zoos, 157.
16. Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,” 26.
17. Jonathan Burt, “John Berger’s ‘Why Look at Animals?’: A Close Reading,”
Worldviews 9, no. 2 (2005): 203–218 (212).
18. Keekok Lee, Zoos: A Philosophical Tour (Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2005), 1. See also Stephen Spotte, Zoos in Postmodernism: Signs and Simulation (Madison and Teaneck: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2006).
19. Sarah Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies: Natures, Cultures, Spaces (London,
Thousand Oaks and New Delhi: SAGE Publications, 2002), 14.
20. Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies, 37, 23.
21. Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies, 14.
22. Whatmore, Hybrid Geographies, 37. See also Paul Rutherford, ““The Entry
of Life into History”,” in Discourses of the Environment, ed. Éric Darier (Oxford
and Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishers, 1999), 37–62; Timothy W. Luke,
“Environmentality as Green Governmentality,” in Discourses of the Environment, ed.
Darier, 121–151.
23. Thomas H. Birch, “The Incarceration of Wildness: Wilderness Areas as
Prisons,” Environmental Ethics 12 (1990): 3–26.
24. William Chaloupka and R. McGreggor Cawley, “The Great Wild Hope:
Nature, Environmentalism, and the Open Secret,” in In the Nature of Things:
Language, Politics and the Environment, ed. Jane Bennett and William Chaloupka
(Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 3–23 (14).
25. Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” Diacritics 16 (1986): 22–27 (24).
26. See Jennifer Wolch and Jody Emel, eds., Animal Geographies: Place, Politics,
and Identity in the Nature-Culture Borderlands (London and New York: Verso, 1998).
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27. Ralph Acampora, “Oikos and Domus: On Constructive Co-Habitation with
Other Creatures,” Philosophy & Geography 7, no. 2 (2004): 219–235 (222).
28. Michel Foucault, “The Subject and Power,” in Power: Essential Works of
Foucault 1954–1984, vol. 3, ed. James D. Faubion (London: Penguin Books, 2002),
326–348 (341).
29. Foucault, “The Subject and Power,” 340.
30. Clare Palmer’s work constitutes a notable exception. See Clare Palmer,
“‘Taming the Wild Profusion of Existing Things’? A Study of Foucault, Power,
and Human/Animal Relationships,” Environmental Ethics 23, no. 4 (Winter 2001):
339–358; Clare Palmer, “Colonization, Urbanization, and Animals,” Philosophy &
Geography 6, no. 1 (2003): 47–58.
32. Burt, “A Close Reading,” 207–208.
33. Bob Mullan and Garry Marvin, Zoo Culture (London: Weidenfeld and
Nicolson, 1987), 30.
34. Mullan and Marvin, Zoo Culture, 31.
37. Tony Bennett, “The Exhibitionary Complex,” in Culture/Power/History: A
Reader in Contemporary Social Theory, ed. Nicholas B. Dirks, Geoff Eley, and Sherry
B. Ortner (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 123–154 (124).
38. Bennett, “The Exhibitionary Complex,” 130.
39. Michel Foucault, “What Is Enlightenment,” in The Foucault Reader, ed. Paul
Rabinow (London: Penguin Books, 1984), 32–50 (49), emphasis added.
40. Michel Foucault, “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History,” in The Foucault Reader, ed.
Rabinow, 76–100 (83).
41. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences
(London and New York: Routledge, 2002).
42. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan
Sheridan (London: Penguin Books, 1991), 148.
43. Foucault, The Order of Things, 144.
44. Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 141, 143.
45. See, for example, Nigel Rothfels, Savages and Beasts: The Birth of the Modern
Zoo (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), 44–80.
46. Theodore Link, “Zoölogical Gardens, a Critical Essay,” The American
Naturalizt 17, no. 12 (1883): 1225–1229 (1226).
47. Giorgio Agamben, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, trans. Daniel
Heller-Roazen (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998).
48. See also Berger’s comparison of zoos and camps as sites of marginalization.
Berger, “Why Look at Animals?,” 24.
49. We must therefore discard the “repressive hypothesis” also in the case of
power over animals. Malamud argues that “[t]he common thread in the keeping of
captive animals, under whatever conditions hold for different societies and periods,
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is the infliction of pain—widely enough to suggest that such cruelty is inherent in
the institution of zoos.” (Malamud, Reading Zoos, 187.) But under the often smothering regime of biopolitics, zoos would anaesthetize and even euthanize their animals
before they suffered them to endure much pain.
50. Pyrs Gruffudd, “Biological Cultivation: Lubetkin’s Modernism at London Zoo
in the 1930s,” in Animal Spaces, Beastly Places: New Geographies of Human-Animal
Relations, ed. Chris Philo and Chris Wilbert (London and New York: Routledge,
2000), 222–242 (223).
51. Hediger, Wild Animals in Captivity, 40.
52. Eric Baratay and Elisabeth Hardouin-Fugier, Zoo: A History of Zoological Gardens in the West, trans. Oliver Welsh (London: Reaktion Books, 2002), 220–221.
53. Rutherford, “‘The Entry of Life into History’”; Luke, “Environmentality as
Green Governmentality.”
54. Michel Foucault, The Will to Knowledge: The History of Sexuality, vol. 1, trans.
Robert Hurley (London: Penguin Books, 1998), 139.
55. Donahue and Trump, The Politics of Zoos, 77.
56. Bryan G. Norton et al., eds., Ethics on the Ark: Zoos, Animal Welfare, and
Wildlife Conservation (Washington and London: Smithsonian Institution Press,
1995), 175–180, 224–227.
57. Richard Doyle, On Beyond Living: Rhetorical Transformations of the Life Sciences
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 59.
58. Doyle, On Beyond Living, 131, emphasis added
59. Donahue and Trump describe how “breeding programs were producing more
animals than zoos could exhibit and that the surplus animals were sometimes being
euthanized or sold to exotic animal dealers,” Donahue and Trump, The Politics of
Zoos, 159. See also Norton et al., eds., Ethics on the Ark, 185–214.
60. Colin Tudge, Last Animals at the Zoo: How Mass Extinction Can Be Stopped
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 243. See also Jon R. Luoma, A Crowded
Ark (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987).
61. See, for example, Donahue and Trump, The Politics of Zoos; Mazur, After the
Ark; Norton et al., eds., Ethics on the Ark.
62. Hancocks, A Different Nature, xv. See also Lee: “The activities of captive
breeding with the aim of reintroduction to the wild are incompatible—practically,
conceptually and ontologically—with those arrangements associated with exhibition. The latter requires public access, the former its denial.” Lee, Zoos, 96.
63. Umberto Eco, “Travels in Hyperreality,” in Travels in Hyperreality (London:
Picador, 1987), 48–53 (50–52).
64. Nigel Rothfels, “Immersed with Animals,” in Representing Animals, ed. Nigel
Rothfels (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2002), 199–223
(202). See also Elizabeth Hanson, Animal Attractions: Nature on Display in American
Zoos (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2002), 130–161.
65. Mazur, After the Ark?
66. Rutherford, “‘The Entry of Life into History’,” 59.
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67. Jennifer Wolch, “Anima Urbis,” Progress in Human Geography 26, no. 6
(2002): 721–42 (734).
68. Chilla Bulbeck, Facing the Wild: Ecotourism, Conservation and Animal
Encounters (London and Sterling, Virg.: Earthscan, 2005).
69. See Hancocks, A Different Nature; Mazur, After the Ark?
70. Jim Cheney, “Postmodern Environmental Ethics: Ethics as Bioregional
Narrative,” in Postmodern Environmental Ethics, ed. Max Oelschlaeger (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1995), 23–42 (30).
71. Cheney, “Postmodern Environmental Ethics,” 31, 33, emphasis added.
72. Jesse Donahue and Erik Trump, Political Animals: Public Art in American Zoos
and Aquariums (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2007), 111.
73. Donahue and Trump, Political Animals, 112, 131, 130, 131.
74. Donahue and Trump, Political Animals, 112.
76. Steve Baker, The Postmodern Animal (London: Reaktion Books, 2000), 125.
77. Berger, “Why Look at Animals?” 21. As Jamieson puts it, “despite the best
intentions of zoo personnel, the profound message of zoos is that it is permissible for
humans to dominate animals, for the entire experience of a zoo is framed by the fact
of captivity.” Jamieson, “Zoos Revisited,” 54.
78. Berger, “Why Look at Animals?” 26.
80. Hancocks, A Different Nature, 124. See also Stephen St. C. Bostock, Zoos and
Animal Rights: The Ethics of Keeping Animals (London and New York: Routledge,
1993), 177–185.
81. Lee, Zoos.
82. Baratay and Hardouin-Fugier, Zoo, 26; Rothfels, “Immersed with Animals,”
207.
83. Gail Davies, “Virtual Animals in Electronic Zoos: The Changing Geographies
of Animal Capture and Display,” in Animal Spaces, Beastly Places, ed. Philo and
Wilbert, 243–267 (258).
84. Davies, “Virtual Animals,” 253.
85. Davies, “Virtual Animals,” 259.
86. Palmer, “Colonization, Urbanization, and Animals,” 54.
87. Berger, “Why Look at Animals?” 22–23.
88. Berger, “Why Look at Animals?” 26.
89. Rothfels, Savages and Beasts, 145.
90. Rothfels, “Immersed with Animals,” 199.
91. Eco, “Travels in Hyperreality,” 49.
92. Greg Moran, “The Application of the Science of Animal Behaviour to the
Zoo and the Ethics of Keeping Animals in Captivity,” Applied Animal Behaviour
Science 18 (1987): 1–4 (1).
93. Eileen Crist, Images of Animals: Anthropomorphism and Animal Mind (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1999).
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94. See, for example, Janaea Martin and Joseph O’Reilly, “Contemporary Environment-Behavior Research in Zoological Parks,” Environment and Behavior 20, no. 4
(1988): 387–395, and the rest of the journal issue devoted to that theme.
95. See, for example, Deborah L. Wells, “A Note on the Influence of Visitors on
the Behaviour and Welfare of Zoo-Housed Gorillas,” Applied Animal Behaviour Science 93 (2005): 13–17; Stephen R. Ross, Elizabeth V. Lonsdorf, and Tara Stoinski,
“Assessing the Welfare Implications of Visitors in a Zoo Setting: A Comment on
Wells (2005),” Applied Animal Behaviour Science 102 (2007): 130–33; Deborah L.
Wells, “Response to Ross, Lonsdorf and Stoinski: Assessing the Welfare Implications
of Visitors in a Zoo Setting—a Comment on Wells (2005),” Applied Animal Behaviour Science 102 (2007): 134–36.
96. Geoff Hosey, “A Preliminary Model of Human–Animal Relationships in the
Zoo,” Applied Animal Behaviour Science 109 (2008): 105–27 (110). See also Geoff
Hosey, “Zoo Animals and Their Human Audiences: What Is the Visitor Effect?”
Animal Welfare 9 (2000): 343–357.
97. This will, of course, vary across different species and individuals: “the responses zoo animals show to unfamiliar humans (i.e. zoo visitors) are not particularly
consistent between, and sometimes within, taxa.” Hosey, “A Preliminary Model,”
116.
98. Hosey, “A Preliminary Model,” 109.
99. Diane P. Michelfelder, “Valuing Wildlife Populations in Urban
Environments,” Journal of Social Philosophy 34, no. 1 (2003): 79–90 (88).
100. Haraway, When Species Meet.
101. Hosey, “A Preliminary Model,” 123.
102. Jennifer Wolch, “Zoöpolis,” in Animal Geographies, ed. Wolch and Emel,
119–138 (135).
103. Wolch, “Anima Urbis,” 734.
104. Baudrillard, Seduction, 89.
105. Jennifer Ham and Matthew Senior, eds., Animal Acts: Configuring the Human
in Western History (New York and London: Routledge, 1997), 1.
106. Rothfels, Savages and Beasts, 175.
107. Boria Sax, “Are There Predators in Paradise?” Terra Nova 2, no. 1 (1997):
59–68.
108. Kate Rigby, “Noah’s Ark Revisited: (Counter-)Utopianism and (Eco)
Catastrophe,” Arena 31 (2008): 163–177 (177).
109. Derrida, “The Animal That Therefore I Am.” See also Matthew Chrulew,
“Feline Divinanimality: Derrida and the Discourse of Species in Genesis,” The Bible
and Critical Theory 2, no. 2 (2006): 18.1–18.23.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zoöpolis
Jennifer Wolch
[W]ithout the recognition that the city is of and within the environment, the wilderness of the wolf and the moose, the nature that most of
us think of as natural cannot survive, and our own survival on the planet
will come into question.1
Introduction
Urbanization in the West was based historically on the notion of progress
rooted in the conquest and exploitation of nature by culture. The moral
compass of city builders pointed toward the virtues of reason, progress, and
profit, leaving wild lands and wild things—as well as people deemed to be
wild or “savage” beyond the scope of their reckoning. Today, the logic of
capitalist urbanization still proceeds without regard to nonhuman animal
life, except as cash-on-the-hoof headed for slaughter on the “disassembly”
line or commodities used to further the cycle of accumulation.2 Development
may be slowed by laws protecting endangered species, but you will rarely see
the bulldozers stopping to gently place rabbits or reptiles out of harm’s way.
Paralleling this disregard for nonhuman life, you will find no mention of
animals in contemporary urban theory, whose lexicon reveals a deep-seated
anthropocentrism. In mainstream theory, urbanization transforms “empty”
land through a process called “development” to produce “improved land,”
whose developers are exhorted (at least in neoclassical theory) to dedicate
221
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Jennifer Wolch
it to the “highest and best use.” Such language is perverse: wildlands are not
“empty” but teeming with nonhuman life; “development” involves a thorough denaturalization of the environment; “improved land” is invariably impoverished in terms of soil quality, drainage, and vegetation; and judgements
of “highest and best use” reflect profit-centered values and the interests of
humans alone, ignoring not only wild or feral animals but captives such as
pets, lab animals, and livestock, who live and die in urban space shared with
people. Marxian and feminist varieties of urban theory are equally anthropocentric.3
Our theories and practices of urbanization have contributed to disastrous
ecological effects. Wildlife habitat is being destroyed at record rates as the urban front advances worldwide, driven in the First World by suburbanization
and edge-city development, and in the Second and Third Worlds by pursuit
of a “catching-up” development model that produces vast rural to urban migration flows and sprawling squatter landscapes.4 Entire ecosystems and species are threatened, while individual animals in search of food and/or water
must risk entry into urban areas, where they encounter people, vehicles and
other dangers. The explosion of urban pet populations has not only polluted
urban waterways but led to mass killings of dogs and cats. Isolation of urban
people from the domestic animals they eat has distanced them from the horrors and ecological harms of factory farming, and the escalating destruction
of rangelands and forests driven by the market’s efforts to create/satisfy a lust
for meat. For most free creatures, as well as staggering numbers of captives
such as pets and livestock, cities imply suffering, death, or extinction.
The aim of this paper is to foreground an urban theory that takes nonhumans seriously. Such a theory needs to address questions about (1) how
urbanization of the natural environment impacts animals, and what global,
national, and locality-specific political-economic and cultural forces drive
modes of urbanization that are most threatening to animals; (2) how and why
city residents react to the presence of animals in their midst, why attitudes
may shift with new forms of urbanization, and what this means for animals;
(3) how both city-building practices and human attitudes and behaviors together define the capacity of urban ecologies to support nonhuman life; and
(4) how the planning/policy-making activities of the state, environmental
design practices, and political struggles have emerged to slow the rate of
violence toward animals witnessed under contemporary capitalist urbanization. In the first part, I clarify what I mean by “humans” and “animals,” and
provide a series of arguments suggesting that a trans-species urban theory is
necessary to the development of an eco-socialist, feminist, anti-racist urban
praxis. Then in the second part, I argue that current considerations of ani-
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mals and people in the capitalist city (based on US experience) are strictly
limited, and suggest that a trans-species urban theory must be grounded in
contemporary theoretical debates regarding urbanization, nature and culture,
ecology, and urban environmental action.
Why Animals Matter (Even in Cities)
The rational for considering animals in the context of urban environmentalism is not transparent. Urban environmental issues traditionally center
around the pollution of the city conceived as human habitat, not animal
habitat. Thus the various wings of the urban progressive environmental
movement have avoided thinking about nonhumans and have left the ethical as well as pragmatic ecological, political, and economic questions regarding animals to be dealt with by those involved in the defense of endangered
species or animal welfare. Such a division of labor privileges the rare and the
tame, and ignores the lives and living spaces of the large number and variety
of animals who dwell in cities. In this section, I argue that even common,
everyday animals should matter.
The Human-Animal Divide: A Definition
At the outset, it is imperative to clarify what we mean when we talk about
“animals” or “nonhumans” on the one hand, and “people” or “humans” on
the other. Where does one draw the line between the two, and upon what
criteria? In many parts of the world beliefs in transmogrification or transmigration of souls provide a basis for beliefs in human-animal continuity
(or even coincidence). But in the Western World animals have for many
centuries been defined as fundamentally different and ontologically separate
from humans, and although explicit criteria for establishing human-animal
difference have changed over time, all such criteria routinely use humans
as the standard for judgment. The concern is, can animals do what humans
do? Rather than, can humans do what animals do? Thus judged, animals are
inferior beings. The Darwinian revolution declared a fundamental continuity
between the species, but standing below humans on the evolutionary scale,
animals could still be readily separated from people, objectified and used instrumentally for food, clothes, transportation, company, or spare body parts.
Agreement about the human-animal divide has recently collapsed. Critiques of post-Enlightenment science,5 greater understanding of animal thinking and capabilities, and studies of human biology and behavior emphasizing
human-animal similarities have all rendered claims about human uniqueness
deeply suspect. Debates about the human-animal divide have also raged as a
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result of sociobiological discourses about the biological bases for human social organization and behavior, and feminist and anti-racist arguments about
the social bases for human differences claimed to be biological. Long-held
beliefs in the human as social subject and the animal as biological object
have thus been destabilized.
My position on the human-animal divide is that animals as well as people
socially construct their worlds and influence each other’s worlds. The resulting “animal constructs are likely to be markedly different from ours but may
be no less real.”6 Animals have their own realities, their own worldviews;
in short, they are subjects, not objects. This position is rarely reflected in
ecosocialist, feminist, and anti-racist practice, however. Developed in direct
opposition to a capitalist system riddled by divisions of class, race/ethnicity,
and gender, and deeply destructive of nature, such practice ignores some
sorts of animals altogether (for example, pets, livestock) or has embedded
animals within holistic and/or anthropocentric conceptions of the environment and therefore avoided the question of animal subjectivity.7 Thus, in
most forms of progressive environmentalism, animals have been objectified
and/or backgrounded.
Thinking Like a Bat: The Question of Animal Standpoints
The recovery of animal subjectivity implies an ethical and political obligation to redefine the urban problematic and to consider strategies for urban
praxis from the standpoints of animals. Granting animals subjectivity at a
theoretical, conceptual level is a first step. Even this first step is apt to be
hotly contested by human social groups who have been marginalized and devalued by claims that they are “closer to animals” and hence less intelligent,
worthy, or evolved and Anglo-European white males. It may also run counter
to those who interpret the granting of subjectivity as synonymous with a
granting of rights and object either to rights-type arguments in general or to
animal rights specifically.8 But a far more difficult step must be taken if the
revalorization of animal subjectivity is to be meaningful in terms of day-today practice. We not only have to “think like a mountain” but also to “think
like a bat,” somehow overcoming Nagel’s classic objection that because bat
sonar is not similar to any human sense, it is humanly impossible to answer
a question such as “what is it like to be a bat?” or, more generally, “what is it
like to be an animal?”9
But is it impossible to think like a bat? There is a parallel here with the
problems raised by standpoint (or multipositionality) theories. Standpoint
theories assert that a variety of individual human differences (such as race,
class, or gender) so strongly shape experience and thus interpretations of
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the world that a single position essentializes and silences difference, and
fails to challenge power relations. In the extreme, such polyvocality leads
to a nihilistic relativism and a paralysis of political action. But the response
cannot be to return to practices of radical exclusion and denial of difference. Instead, we must recognize that individual humans are embedded in
social relations and networks with people similar or different upon whom
their welfare depends.10 This realization allows for a recognition of kinship
but also of difference, since identities are defined through seeing that we are
similar to, and different from, related others. And through everyday interaction and concerted practice, and using what Haraway terms a “cyborg vision”
that allows “partial, locatable, critical knowledge sustaining the possibility
of webs of connection called solidarity,”11 we can embrace kinship as well as
difference and encourage the emergence of an ethic of respect and mutuality,
caring and friendship.12
The webs of kinships and difference that shape individual identity involve
both humans and animals. This is reasonably easy to accept in the abstract
(that is, humans depend upon a rich ecology of animal organisms). But there
is also a large volume of archeological, paleoanthropological, and psychological evidence suggesting that concrete interactions and interdependence with
animal others are indispensable to the development of human cognition,
identity, and consciousness, and to a maturity that accepts ambiguity, difference, and lack of control.13 In short, animals are not only “good to think”
(to borrow a phrase from Lévi-Strauss) but indispensable to learning how to
think in the first place, and how to relate to other people.
Who are the relevant animal others? I argue that many sorts of animals
matter, including domestic animals. Clearly, domestication has profoundly
altered the intelligence, senses, and life ways of creatures such as dogs, cows,
sheep, and horses so as to drastically diminish their otherness; so denaturalized, they have come to be seen as part of human culture. But wild animals
have been appropriated and denaturalized by people too. This is evidenced
by the myriad ways wildlife is commercialized (in both embodied and disembodied forms) and incorporated into material culture. And like domestic
animals, wild animals can be profoundly impacted by human actions, often
leading to significant behavioral adaptations. Ultimately, the division between wild and domestic must be seen as a permeable social construct; it
may be better to conceive of a matrix of animals who vary with respect to the
extent of physical or behavioral modification due to human intervention,
and types of interaction with people.
Our ontological dependency on animals seems to have characterized us as
a species since the Pleistocene. Human needs for dietary protein, desires for
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spiritual inspiration and companionship, and the ever-present possibility of
ending up as somebody’s dinner required thinking like an animal. This aspect
of animal contribution to human development can be used as an (anthropomorphic) argument in defense of wildlife conservation or pet keeping. But
my concern is how human dependency on animals was played out in terms
of the patterns of human-animal interactions it precipitated. Specifically,
did ontological dependency on animals create an interspecific ethic of caring
and webs of friendship? Without resurrecting a 1990s version of the Noble
Savage—an essentialized indigenous person living in spiritual and material
harmony with nature—it is clear that for most of (pre)history, people ate
wild animals, tamed them, and kept them captive, but also respected them as
kin, friends, teachers, spirits, or gods. Their value lay both in their similarities
with and differences from humans. Not coincidentally, most wild animals
habitats were also sustained.
Re-enchanting the City: An Agenda to Bring the Animals Back In
How can animals play their integral role in human ontology today, thereby
helping to foster ethical responses and political practices engendered by the
recognition of human-animal kinship and difference? Most critically, how
can such responses and practices possibly develop in places where everyday
interaction with so many kinds of animals has been eliminated? Most people
now live in such places, namely cities. Cities are perceived as so humandominated that they become naturalized as just another part of the ecosystem, that is, the human habitat. In the West, many of us interact with or
experience animals only by keeping captives of a restricted variety or eating
“food” animals sliced into steak, chop, and roast. We get a sense of wild animals only by watching “Wild Kingdom” reruns or going to Sea World to see
the latest in a long string of short-lived “Shamus”14 In our apparent mastery
of urban nature, we are seemingly protected from all nature’s dangers but
chance losing any sense of wonder and awe for the nonhuman world. The
loss of both the humility and the dignity of risk results in a widespread belief
in the banality of day-to-day survival. This belief is deeply damaging to class,
gender, and North-South relations as well as to nature.15
To allow for the emergence of an ethic, practice, and politics of caring
for animals and nature, we need to renaturalize cities and invite the animals
back in, and in the process re-enchant the city.16 I call this renaturalized,
re-enchanted city zoöpolis. The reintegration of people with animals and
nature in zoöpolis can provide urban dwellers with the local, situated, everyday knowledge of animal life required to grasp animal standpoints or ways of
being in the world, to interact with them accordingly in particular contexts,
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and to motivate political action necessary to protect their autonomy as
subjects and their life spaces. Such knowledge would stimulate a thorough
rethinking of a wide range of urban daily life practices: not only animal
regulation and control practices, but landscaping, development rates and
design, roadway and transportation decisions, use of energy, industrial toxics,
and bioengineering—in short, all practices that impact animals and nature
in its diverse forms (climate, plant life, landforms, and so on). And at the
most personal level, we might rethink eating habits, since factory farms are
so environmentally destructive in situ, and the Western meat habit radically
increases the rate at which wild habitats are converted to agricultural land
worldwide (to say nothing of how one feels about eating cows, pigs, chickens,
or fishes once they are embraced as kin).
While based in everyday practice like the bioregional paradigm, the renaturalization or zoöpolis model differs in including animals and nature in the
metropolis rather than relying on an anti-urban spatial fix like small-scale
communalism. It also accepts the reality of global interdependence rather
than opting for autarky. Moreover, unlike deep ecological visions epistemically tied to a psychologized individualism and lacking in political-economic
critique, urban renaturalization is motivated not only by a conviction that
animals are central to human ontology in ways that enable the development
of webs of kinship and caring with animal subjects, but that our alienation
from animals results from specific political-economic structures, social relations, and institutions operative at several spatial scales. Such structures, relations, and institutions will not magically change once individuals recognize
animal subjectivity, but will only be altered through political engagement
and struggle against oppression based on class, race, gender, and species.
Beyond the city, the zoöpolis model serves as a powerful curb on the contradictory and colonizing environmental politics of the West as practiced
both in the West itself and as inflicted on other parts of the world. For example, wildlife reserves are vital to prevent species extinction. But because
they are “out there,” remote from urban life, reserves can do nothing to
alter entrenched modes of economic organization and associated consumption practices that hinge on continual growth and make reserves necessary
in the first place. The only modes of life that the reserves change are those
of subsistence peoples, who suddenly find themselves alienated from their
tradition economic base and further immiserated. But an interspecific ethic
of caring replaces dominionism to create urban regions where animals are
not incarcerated, killed, or sent off to live in wildlife prisons, but instead are
valued neighbors and partners in survival. This ethic links urban residents
with people elsewhere in the world who have evolved ways of both surviving
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and sustaining the forests, streams, and diversity of animal lives, and enjoins
their participation in the struggle. The Western myth of a pristine Arcadian
wilderness, imposed with imperial impunity on those places held hostage to
the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank in league with powerful international environmental organizations, is trumped by a post-colonial
politics and practice that begins at home with animals in the city.
Ways of Thinking Animals in the City
An agenda for renaturalizing the city and bringing animals back in should
be developed with an awareness of the impacts of urbanization on animals
in the capitalist city, how urban residents think about and behave toward
animal life, the ecological adaptations made by animals to urban conditions,
and current practices and politics arising around urban animals. Studies that
address these topics are primarily grounded in empiricist social science and
wildlife biology. The challenge of trans-species urban theory is to develop
a framework informed by social theory. The goal is to understand capitalist
urbanization in a globalizing economy and what it means for animal life; how
and why patterns of human-animal interactions change over time and space;
urban animal ecology as science, social discourse, and political economy,
and trans-species urban practice shaped by managerial plans and grassroots
activism.
Animal Town: Urbanization, Environmental Change, and
Animal Life Chances
The city is built to accommodate humans and their pursuits, yet a subaltern
“animal town” inevitably emerges with urban growth. This animal town
shapes the practices of urbanization in key ways (for example, by attracting
or repelling people/development in certain places, or influencing animal
exclusion strategies). But animals are even more profoundly affected by the
urbanization process under capitalism, which involves extensive denaturalization of rural or wild lands and widespread environmental pollution. The
most basic types of urban environmental change are well-known and involve
soils, hydrology, climate, ambient air and water quality, and vegetation.17
Some wild animal species (for example, rats, pigeons, cockroaches) adapt
to and/or thrive in cities. But others are unable to find appropriate food or
shelter, adapt to urban climate, air quality, or hydrological changes, or tolerate contact with people. Captives of course, are mostly restricted to homes,
yards, or purpose-built quarters such as feed lots or labs, but even the health
of pets, feral animals, and creatures destined for dissecting trays or dinner
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tables can be negatively affected by various forms of urban environmental
pollution.
Metropolitan development also creates spatially extensive, patchy landscapes and extreme habitat fragmentation that especially affects wildlife.
Some animals can adapt to such fragmentation and to the human proximity
in implies, but more commonly animals die in situ or migrate to less fragmented areas. If movement corridors between habitat patches are cut off,
species extinction can result as fragmentation intensifies, due to declining
habitat patch size,18 deleterious edge effects,19 distance or isolation effects,
and related shifts in community ecology.20 Where fragmentation leads to
the loss of large predators, remaining species may proliferate, degrade the
environment, and threaten the viability of other forms of wildlife. Weedy,
opportunistic and/or exotic species may also invade, to similar effect.
Such accounts of urban environmental change and habitat fragmentation
are not typically incorporated into theories of urbanization under capitalism. For example, most explanations of urbanization do no explicitly address
the social or political-economic drivers of urban environmental change,
especially habitat fragmentation.21 By the same token, most studies of urban
environments restrict themselves to the scientific measurement of environmental-quality shifts or describe habitat fragmentation in isolation from the
social dynamics that drive it.22 This suggests that urbanization models need
to be reconsidered to account for the environmental as well as politicaleconomic bases of urbanization, the range of institutional forces acting on
the urban environment, and the cultural processes that background nature
in the city.
Efforts to theoretically link urban and environmental change are at the
heart of the new environmental history, which reorients ideas about urbanization by illustrating how environmental exploitation and disturbance
underpin the history of cities, and how thinking about nature as an actor
(rather than a passive object to be acted upon) can help us understand the
course of urbanization. Contemporary urbanization, linked to global labor,
capital, and commodity flows, is simultaneously rooted in exploitation of
natural “resources” (including wildlife, domestic and other sorts of animals)
and actively transforms regional landscapes and the possibilities for animal
life—although not always in the manner desired or expected, due to nature’s
agency. Revisiting neo-Marxian theories of the local state as well as neo-Weberian concepts of urban managerialism to analyze relations between nature
and the local state could illuminate the structural and institutional contexts
of for example, habitat loss/degradation. One obvious starting place is growth
machine theory, since it focuses on the influence of rentiers on the local
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state apparatus and local politics;23 another is the critique of urban planning
as part of the modernist project of control and domination of others (human
as well as nonhuman) through rationalist city building and policing of urban
interactions and human/animal proximities in the name of human health
and welfare.24 Finally, urban cultural studies may help us understand how the
aesthetics of urban built environments deepen the distanciation between
animals and people. For instance, Wilson demonstrates how urban simulacra
such as zoos and wildlife parks have increasingly mediated human experience
of animal life.25 Real live animals can actually come to be seen as less than
authentic since the terms of authenticity have been so thoroughly redefined.
The distanciation of wild animals has simultaneously stimulated the elaboration of a romanticized wildness used as a means to peddle consumer goods,
sell real estate, and sustain the capital accumulation process, reinforcing
urban expansion and environmental degradation.26
Reckoning with the Beast: Human Interactions with Urban Animals
The everyday behavior of urban residents also influences the possibilities
for urban animal life. The question of human relations with animals in
the city has been tackled by empirical researchers armed with behavioral
models, who posit that, through their behavior, people make cities more
or less attractive to animals (for example, human pest management and
animal control practices, urban design, provision of food and water for feral
animals and/or wildlife). These behaviors, in turn, rest on underlying values
and attitudes toward animals. In such values-attitudes-behavior frameworks,
resident responses are rooted in cultural beliefs about animals, but also in the
behavior of animals themselves—their destructiveness, charisma and charm,
and, less frequently, their ecological benefits.
Attitudes toward animals have been characterized on the basis of survey
research and the development of attitudinal typologies.27 Findings suggest that
urbanization increases both distanciation from nature and concern for animal
welfare. Kellert, for example, found that urban residents were less apt to hold
utilitarian attitudes, were more likely to have moralistic and humanistic attitudes, suggesting that they were concerned for the ethical treatment of animals,
and were focused on individual animals such as pets and popular wildlife species.28 Urban residents of large cities were more supportive of protecting endangered species; less in favor of shooting or trapping predators to control damage
to livestock; more apt to be opposed to hunting; and supportive of allocating
additional public resources for programs to increase wildlife in cities. Domestic
and attractive animals were most preferred, while animals known to cause human property damage or inflict injury were among the least preferred.
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Conventional wisdom characterizes the responses of urban residents and
institutions to local animals in two ways: (1) as “pests,” who are implicitly
granted agency in affecting the urban environment, given the social or
economic costs they impose: or (2) as objectified “pets,” who provide companionship, an aesthetic amenity to property owners, or recreational opportunities such as bird-watching and feeding wildlife.29 Almost no systematic
research, however, has been conducted on urban residents’ behavior toward
the wild or unfamiliar animals they encounter or how behavior is shaped by
space or by class, patriarchy, or social constructions of race/ethnicity. Moreover, the behavior of urban institutions involved in urban wildlife management or animal regulation/control has yet to be explored.30
How can we gain a deeper understanding of human interactions with
the city’s animals? The insights from wider debates in nature/culture theory
are most instructive and help put behavioral research in proper context.31
Increasingly, nature/culture theorizing converges on the conviction that the
Western nature/culture dualism, a variant of the more fundamental division
between object and subject, is artificial and deeply destructive of Earth’s diverse life-forms. It validates a theory and practice of human/nature relations
that backgrounds human dependency on nature. Hyperseparating nature
from culture encourages its colonization and domination. The nature/culture dualism also incorporates nature into culture, denying its subjectivity
and giving it solely instrumental value. By homogenizing and disembodying
nature, it become possible to ignore the consequences of human activity such
as urbanization, industrial production, and agroindustrialization on specific
creatures and their terrains. This helps trigger what O’Connor terms the
“second contradiction of capitalism,” that is, the destruction of the means of
production via the process of capital accumulation itself.32
The place-specific version of the nature/culture dualism is the city/country
divide: as that place historically emblematic of human culture, the city seeks
to exclude all remnants of the country from its midst, especially wild animals.
As we have already seen, the radical exclusion of most animals from everyday
urban life may disrupt development of human consciousness and identity,
and prevent the emergence of interspecific webs of friendship and concern.
This argument filters through several variants of radical ecophilosophy. In
some versions, the centrality of “wild” animals is emphasized, while the potential of tamer animals, more common in cities but often genetically colonized, commodified, and /or neotenized, is questioned. In other versions, the
wild/tame distinction in fostering human-animal bonds is minimized, but the
progressive loss of interspecific contact and thus understanding is mourned.33
Corporeal identity may also become increasingly destabilized as understanding
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of human embodiment traditionally derived through direct experience of live
animal bodies/subjects evaporates or is radically transformed. Thus what we
now require are theoretical treatments explicating how the deeply ingrained
dualism between city (culture) and country (nature), as it is played out ontologically, shapes human-animal interaction in the city.
The ahistorical and placeless values-attitudes-behavior models also miss
the role of social and political-economic context on urban values and attitudes toward animals. Yet such values and attitudes are apt to evolve in
response to place-specific situations and local contextual shifts resulting
from nonlocal dynamics, for example, the rapid internationalization of urban
economies. Deepening global competition threatens to stimulate a hardening
of attitudes toward animal exploitation and habitat destruction in an international “race to the bottom” regarding environmental/animal protections.
Moreover, globalization sharply reveals the fact that understandings of nature in the West are insufficient to grasp the range of relationships between
people and animals in diverse global cities fed by international migrant flows
from places where nature/culture relations are radically different. Variations
on the theme of colonization are being played back onto the colonizers;
in the context of internationalization, complex questions arise concerning
how both colonially imposed, indigenous, and hybrid meaning and practices
are being diffused back into the West. Also, given globalization-generated
international migration glows to urban regions, we need to query the role of
diverse cultural norms regarding animals in the racialization of immigrant
groups and spread of nativism in the West. Urban practices that appear to
be linked to immigrant racialization involve animal sacrifice (for example,
Santeria) and eating animals traditionally considered in Western culture as
household companions.
An Urban Bestiary: Animal Ecologies in the City
The recognition that many animals coexist with people in cities and the
management implications of shared urban space have spurred the nascent
field of urban animal ecology. Grounded in biological field studies and
heavily management-oriented, studies of urban animal life focus on wildlife
species; there are very few ecological studies of urban companion or feral
animals.34 Most studies tend to be highly species- and place-specific. Only a
small number of urban species have been scrutinized, typically in response
to human-perceived problems, risk of species endangerment, or their “charismatic” character.
Ecological theory has moved away from holism and equilibrium notions toward a recognition that processes of environmental disturbance,
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uncertainty, and risk cause ecosystems and populations to continually shift
over certain ranges varying with site and scale.35 This suggests the utility of
reconceptualizing cities as ecological disturbance regimes rather that ecological sacrifice zones whose integrity has been irrevocably violated. In order to
fully appreciate the permeability of the city/country divide, the heterogeneity and variable patchiness of urban habitats and the possibilities (rather
than impossibilities) for urban animal life must be more fully incorporated
into ecological analyses. This in turn could inform decisions concerning prospective land-use changes (such as suburban densification or down-zoning,
landscaping schemes, transportation corridor design) and indicate how they
might influence individual animals and faunal assemblages in terms of stress
levels, morbidity and mortality, mobility and access to multiple sources of
food and shelter, reproductive success, and exposure to predation.
Scientific urban animal ecology is grounded in instrumental rationality and
oriented toward environmental control, perhaps more than other branches
of ecology since it is largely applications driven. The effort by preeminent
ecologist Michael Soulé to frame a response to the postmodern reinvention
of nature, however, demonstrates the penetration into ecology of feminist
and postmodern critiques of modernist science.36 Hayles, for instance, argues
that our understanding of nature is mediated by the embodied interactivity
of observer and observed, and the positionality (gender, class, race, species)
of the observer.37 Animals, for example, construct different worlds through
their embodied interactions with it (that is, how their sensory and intellectual capabilities result in their worldviews). And although some models
may be more or less adequate interpretations of nature, the question of how
positionality determines the models proposed, tested, and interpreted must
always remain open. At a minimum, such thinking calls for self-reflexivity in
ecological research on urban animals and ecological tool-kits augmented by
rich ethnographic accounts of animals, personal narratives of nonscientific
observers, and folklore.
Finally, scientific urban animal ecology is not practiced in a vacuum.
Rather, like any other scientific pursuit, it is strongly shaped by motives of
research sponsors (especially the state), those who use research products
(such as planners), and ideologies of researchers themselves. Building on the
field of science studies, claims of scientific ecology must thus be interrogated
to expose the political economy of urban animal ecology and biodiversity
analysis. How are studies of urban animals framed, and from whose perspective? What motivates them in the first place—developer proposals, hunter
lobbies, environmental/animal rights organizations? Sorting out such questions requires not only evaluation of the technical merits of urban wildlife
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studies but also analysis of how they are framed by epistemological and
discursive traditions in scientific ecology and embedded in larger social and
political-economic contexts.
Redesigning Nature’s Metropolis: From Managerialism to
Grassroots Action
A nascent trans-species urban practice, as yet poorly documented and undertheorized, has appeared in many U.S. cities. This practice involves numerous
actors, including a variety of federal, state, and local bureaucracies, planners,
and managers, and urban grassroots animal/environmental activists. In varying measure, the goals of such practice include altering the nature of interactions between people and animals in the city, creating minimum-impact
urban environmental designs, changing everyday practices of the local state
(wildlife managers and urban planners), and more forcefully defending the
interests of urban animal life.
Wildlife managers and pest-control firms increasingly face local demands
for alternatives to extermination-oriented animal-control policies. In the
wildlife area, approaches were initially driven by local protests against conventional practices such as culling; now managers are more apt to consider
in advance resident reactions to management alternatives and to adopt
participatory approaches to decision-making in order to avoid opposition
campaigns. Typically, alternative management strategies require education
of urban residents to increase knowledge and understanding of, and respect
for, wild animal neighbors, and to underscore how domestic animals may
harm or be harmed by wildlife. There are limits to educational approaches,
however, stimulating some jurisdictions to enact regulatory controls on
common residential architectures, building maintenance, garbage storage,
fencing, landscaping, and companion-animal keeping that are detrimental
to wildlife.
Wild animals were never a focus of urban and regional planning. Nor were
other kinds of animals, despite the fact that a large proportion of homes in
North America and Europe shelter domestic animals. This is not surprising
given the historic location of planning within the development-driven local
state apparatus. Since the passage of the US Endangered Species Act (ESA)
in 1973, however, planners have been forced to grapple with the impact of
human activities on threatened/endangered species. To reduce the impact
of urbanization on threatened/endangered animals, planners have adopted
such land-use tools as zoning (including urban limit lines and wildlife overlay zones), public/nonprofit land acquisition, transfer of development rights
(TDR), environmental impact statements (EIS), and wildlife impact/habitat
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conservation linkage fees.38 None of these tools is without severe and wellknown technical, political, and economic problems, stimulating the development of approaches such as habitat conservation plans (HCPs)—regional
landscape-scale planning efforts to avoid the fragmentation inherent in project-by-project planning and local zoning control.39
Despite the ESA, minimum-impact planning for urban wildlife has not
been a priority for either architects or urban planners. Wildlife-oriented residential landscape architecture remains uncommon. Most examples are new
developments (as opposed to retrofits), sited at the urban fringe, planned
for low densities, and thus oriented for upper-income residents only. Many
are merely ploys to enhance real-estate profits by providing home-buyers,
steeped in an anti-urban ideology of suburban living emphasizing proximity
to “the outdoors,” with an extra “amenity” in the form of proximity to wild
animals’ bodies. Planning practice routinely defines other less attractive
locations which host animals (dead or alive), such as slaughterhouses and
factory farms, as “noxious” land uses and isolates them from urban residents
to protect their sensibilities and the public health.
Wildlife considerations are also largely absent from the US progressive
architecture/planning agenda, as are concerns for captives such as pets or
livestock. The 1980s “costs of sprawl” debate made no mention of wildlife
habitat, and the adherents to the so-called new urbanism and sustainable
cities movements of the 1990s rarely define sustainability in relation to animals. The new urbanism emphasized sustainability through high density and
mixed-use urban development, but remains strictly anthropocentric in perspective. Although more explicitly ecocentric, the sustainable cities movement aims to reduce human impacts on the natural environment through
environmentally sound systems of solid-wast treatment, energy production,
transportation, housing, and so on, and the development of urban agriculture
capable of supporting local residents.40 But while such approaches have longterm benefits for all living things, the sustainable cities literature pays little
attention to questions of animals per se.41
Everyday practices of urban planners, landscape architects, and urban designers shape normative expectations and practical possibilities for humananimal interactions. But their practices do not reflect desires to enrich or
facilitate interactions between people and animals through design, nor have
they been assessed from this perspective. Even companion animals are ignored; despite the fact that there are more U.S. households with companion
animals than children, such animals remain invisible to architects and planners. What explains this anthropocentrism on the part of urban design and
architectural professions? Social theories of urban design and professional
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practice could be used to better understand the anthropocentric production
of urban space and place. Cuff, for example explains the quotidian behavior
of architects as part of a collective, interactive social process conditioned by
institutional contexts including the local state and developer clients; not
surprisingly, design outcomes reflect the growth orientation of contemporary
urbanism.42 More broadly, Evernden argues that planning and design professionals are constrained by the larger culture’s insistence on rationality and
order and the radical exclusion of animals from the city.43 The look of the
city as created by planners and architects, dominated by standardized design
forms such as the suburban tract house surrounded by a manicured, fenced
lawn, reflects the deep-seated need to protect the domain of human control
by excluding weeds, dirt, and—by extension—nature itself.
Environmental designers drawing on conservation biology and landscape
ecology have more actively engaged the question of how to design new
metropolitan landscapes for animals and people than have planners or architects.44 At the regional level, wildlife corridor plans or reserve networks
are in vogue.45 Wildlife networks and corridors are meant to link “mainland”
habitats beyond the urban fringe, achieve overall landscape connectivity
to protect gene pools, and provide habitat for animals with small home
ranges.46 Can corridors protect and reintegrate animals in the metropolis?
Corridor planning is a recent development, and we need case-specific political-economic analyses of corridor plans to answer this question. Preliminary
experience suggests that at best large-scale corridors can offer vital protection
to gravely threatened keystone species and thus a variety of other animals,
while small-scale corridors can be an excellent urban design strategy for allowing common small animals, insects, and birds to share urban living space
with people. However, grand corridor proposals can degrade into an amenity
for urban recreationists (since they often win taxpayers’ support only if justified on recreational rather than habitat-conservation grounds). At worst,
corridors may become a collaborationist strategy that merely smooths a pathway for urban real-estate development into wilderness areas.
A growing number of urban grassroots struggles revolves around the
protection of specific wild animals or animal populations, and around the
preservation of urban wetlands, forests, and other wildlife habitat due to their
importance to to wildlife. Also, growing awareness of companion-animal
wants and desires has stimulated grassroots efforts to create specially designed
spaces for pets in the city, such as dog parks.47 But we have very little systematic information about what catalyzes such grassroots trans-species urban
practices or about the connections between such struggles and other forms of
local eco/animal activism. It is not clear if grassroots struggles around animals
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in the city are linked organizationally either to larger-scale environmental
activism or green politics, or to traditional national animal welfare organizations, suggesting the need for mapping exercises and organizational network
analyses. Ephemeral and limited case-study information suggests that political action around urban animals can expose deep divisions within environmentalism and the animal welfare establishment. These divisions mirror
the broader political splits between mainstream environmentalism and the
environmental justice movement, between animal rights organizations and
environmentalists, and between groups with animal rights and groups with
animal welfare orientations. For example, many mainstream groups only
pay lip serve (if that) to social justice issues, and so many activists of color
continue to consider traditional environmental priorities such as wildlands
and wildlife—especially in cities—as at best a frivolous obsession of affluent
white suburban environmentalists, and at worst reflective of pervasive elitism
and racism. Local struggles around wildlife issues can also expose the philosophical split between holistic environmental groups and individualist animal rights activists; for example, such conflicts often arise over proposals to
kill feral animals in order to protect native species and ecosystem fragments.
And reformist animal welfare organizations such as urban humane societies,
concerned primarily with companion animals and often financially dependent on the local state, may be wary of siding with animal rights/liberation
groups critical not only of state policies but also the standard practices of the
humane societies themselves.48 The rise of organizations and informal groups
acting to preserve animal habitat in the city, change management policies,
and protect individual animals indicates a shift in everyday thinking about
the positionality of animals. If such a shift is underway, why and why now?
One possibility is that ecocentric environmental ethics and especially animal
rights thinking, with its parallels between racism, sexism, and “speciesism,”
have permeated popular consciousness and stimulated new social movements around urban animals. Other avenues of explanation may open up by
theorizing trans-species movements within the broader context of new social
movement theory, which points to these movements’ consumption-related
focus; grassroots, localist, and anti-state nature; and linkages to the formation
of new sociocultural identities necessitated by the postmodern condition and
contemporary capitalism.49 Viewed through the lens of new social movement
theory, struggles to resist incursions of capital into urban wildlife habitat
or defend the interest of animals in the city could be contextualized within
larger social and political-economic dynamics as they alter forms of activism
and change individual-level priorities for political action. Such an exercise
might even reveal that new social movements around animals transcend both
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production and consumption-related concerns, reflecting instead a desire
among some people to span the human-animal divide by extending networks
of caring and friendship to nonhuman others.
Toward Zoöpolis
Zoöpolis presents both challenges and opportunities for those committed to
eco-socialist, feminist and anti-racist urban futures. At one level, the challenge
is to overcome deep divisions in theoretical thinking about nonhumans and
their place in the human moral universe. Perhaps more crucial is the challenge
of political practice, where purity of theory gives way to a more situated ethics,
coalition building, and formation of strategic alliances. Can progressive urban
environmentalism build a bridge to those people struggling around questions of
urban animals, just as reds have reached out to greens, greens to feminists, feminists to those fighting racism? In time- and place-specific contexts where real
linkages are forged, the range of potential alliances is apt to be great, extending
from groups with substantial overlap with progressive environmental thinking
to those whose communalities are more tenuous and whose focuses are more
parochial. Making common cause on specific efforts to fight toxics, promote
recycling, or shape air-quality management plans with grassroots groups whose
raison de’être is urban wildlife, pets, or farm animal welfare may be difficult.
The potential to expand and strengthen the movement is significant, however,
and should not be overlooked.
The discourse of zoöpolis creates a space to initiate outreach, conversation,
and collaboration in these borderlands of environmental action. Zoöpolis invites a critique of contemporary urbanization from the standpoints of animals
but also from the perspective of people, who together with animals suffer from
urban pollution and habitat degradation and who are denied the experience of
animal kinship and otherness so vital to their well-being. Rejecting alienated
theme-park models of human interaction with animals in the city, zoöpolis
instead asks for a future in which animals and nature would no longer be incarcerated beyond the reach of our everyday lives, leaving us with only cartoons
to heal the wounds of their absence. In a city re-enchanted by the animal kindom, the once-solid Enchanted Kingdom might just melt into air.
Acknowledgements
This chapter is reprinted from Jennifer Wolch and Jody Emel (Eds.) Animal
Geographies: Place, Politics and Identity in the Nature-Culture Borderlands. London, New York: Verso Press (1998).
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Notes
1. Daniel B. Botkin, Discordant Harmonies: A New Ecology for the Twenty-First
Century (New York: Oxford, 1990), 167.
2. Such commodified animals include those providing city dwellers with opportunities for “nature consumption” and a vast array of captive and companion animals
sold for profit.
3. For exceptions, see Ted Benton, Natural Relations: Ecology, Animal Rights and
Social Justice (London: Verso Books, 1995); and Barbara Noske, Humans and Other
Animals (London: Unwin Hyman, 1989).
4. Maria Mies and Vandana Shiva, Ecofeminism (London: Zed Books, 1993).
5. For example, Lynda Birke and Ruth Hubbard, eds, Reinventing Biology: Respect
for Life and the Creation of Knowledge (Bloomington and Indianapolis, Ind.: Indiana
6. Barbara Noske, Humans and Other Animals, 158; for similar perspectives, see
also Donna Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: the Reinvention of Nature (New
York: Routledge, 1991); Val Plumwood, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature (London:
Routledge, 1993); and, from the perspective of a biologist, Donald Griffin, Animal
Thinking (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1984).
7. Progressive environmental practice has conceptualized “the environment”
as a scientifically defined system; as “natural resources” to be protected for human
use; or as an active but unitary subject to be respected as an independent force with
inherent value. The first two approaches are anthropocentric; the ecocentric third
approach, common to several strands of green thought, is an improvement, but its
ecological holism backgrounds interspecific difference among animals (human and
nonhuman) as well as the difference between animate and inanimate nature.
8. A recovery of the animal subject does not imply that animals have rights,
although the rights argument does hinge on the conviction that animals are subjects
of a life; see Tom Regan, The Case for Animal Rights (Berkeley, Calif.: University of
California Press, 1986).
9. Thomas Nagel, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” The Philosophical Review 83
(1974).
10. This argument follows those by Plumwood, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. See also Jessica Benjamin, The Bonds of Love: Psychoanalysis, Feminism and the
Problem of Domination (London: Virago, 1988); and Jean Grimshaw, Philosophy and
Feminist Thinking (Minneapolis, Minn.: University of Minnesota Press, 1986).
11. Donna Haraway, “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism
and the Privilege of Partial Perspective,” in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 191.
12. This in no way precludes self-defense against animals such as predators, parasites, or micro-organisms that threaten to harm people.
13. This evidence has perhaps most extensively been marshaled by Paul Shepard
in Thinking Animals: Animals and the Development of Human Intelligence (New York:
Viking Press, 1978); Nature and Madness (San Francisco, Calif.: Sierra Club Books,
1982); and most recently, The Others (Washington, D.C.: Earth Island Press, 1996).
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Jennifer Wolch
14. “Shamu” was the name used for a series of killer whales who performed in a
major US marine theme park.
15. Mies and Siva, Ecofeminism.
16. As highlighted in the following section, there are many animals that do, in
fact, inhabit urban areas. But most are uninvited, and many are actively expelled or
exterminated. Moreover, animals have been largely excluded from our understanding
of cities and urbanism.
17. Ahn Whiston Sprin, The Granite Garden: Urban Nature and Human Design
(New York: Basic Books, 1984); and Michael Hough, City Form and Natural Process
(New York: Routledge, 1995).
18. O. H. Frankel and Michael E. Soulé, Conservation and Evolution (London:
Cambridge University Press, 1981); and M. E. Gilpin and I Hanski, eds, Metapopulation Dynamics: Empirical and Theoretical Investigations (New York: Academic Press,
1991).
19. Michael E. Soulé, “Land Use Planning and Wildlife Maintenance: Guidelines
for Conserving Wildlife in an Urban Landscape,” Journal of the American Planning
Association 57 (1991).
20. M. L. Shaffer, “Minimum Population Sizes for Species Conservation,” Bioscience 31 (1981).
21. See, for example, Michael Dear and Allen J. Scott, Urbanization and Urban
Planning in Capitalist Society (London: Methuen, 1981).
22. An example is Ian Laurie, ed., Nature in Cities (New York: Wiley, 1979).
23. John R. Logan and Harvey L. Molotch, Urban Fortunes: The Political Economy
of Place (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987).
24. Elizabeth Wilson, The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, the Control of Disorder,
and Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); Christine M. Boyer,
Dreaming the Rational City: The Myth of American City Planning (Cambridge, Mass.:
MIT Press, 1983); and Chris Philo, “Animals, Geography and the City: Notes on
Inclusions and Exclusions,” Environment & Planning D: Society and Space 13 (1995).
25. Alexander Wilson, The Culture of Nature: North American Landscapes from
Disneyland to the Exxon Valdez (Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell Books, 1992).
26. Gary Snyder, The Practice of the Wild (San Francisco, Calif.: North Point Press,
1990).
27. See the three-part study by Stephen R. Kellert, Public Attitudes toward Critical Wildlife and Natural Habitat Issues, Phase I (US Department of Interior, Fish and
Wildlife Service, 1979); Activities of the American Public Relating to Animals, Phase II
(US Department of Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service, 1980); and, coauthored with
Joyce Berry, Knowledge, Affection and Basic Attitudes toward Animals in American Society (Phase III, US Department of Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service, 1980).
28. Stephen R. Kellert, “Urban Americans’ Perceptions of Animals and the Natural Environment,” Urban Ecology 8 (1984).
29. David A King, Jody L. White, and William W. Shaw, “Influence of Urban Wildlife Habitats on the Value of Residential Properties,” in Wildlife Conservation in Metro-
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politan Environments, ed. L. W. Adams and D. L. Leedy (National Institute for Urban
Wildlife, 1991), 165–169; and William W. Shaw, J. Mangun, and R. Lyons, “Residential
Enjoyment of Wildlife Resources by Americans,” Leisure Sciences 7 (1985).
30. For an exception, see William W. Shaw and Vashti Supplee, “Wildlife Conservation in a Rapidly Expanding Metropolitan Area: Informational, Institutional
and Economic Constraints and Solutions,” in Integrating Man and Nature in the
Metropolitan Environment, ed. L. W. Adams and D. L. Leedy (National Institute for
Urban Wildlife, 1987), 191–198.
31. Donna Haraway, Primate Visions: Gender, Race, and Nature in the World of
Modern Science (New York: Routledge, 1989); Neil Evernden, The Social Creation
of Nature (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992); and Plumwood,
Feminism and the Mastery of Nature.
32. James O’Connor, “Capitalism, Nature, Socialism: A Theoretical Introduction,” Capitalism, Nature, Socialism 1 (1988).
33. Paul Shepard, “Our Animal Friends,” in The Biophilia Hypotheses, ed. S. R.
Kellert and E. O. Wilson (Washington, D. C.: Island Press, 1993), 275–300, stresses
the wild, while others are more inclusive, such as Noske, Humans and Other Animals, and Karen Davis, “Thinking Like a Chicken: Farm Animals and the Feminine
Connection,” in Animals and Women: Feminist Theoretical Explorations, ed. Carol J.
Adams and Josephine Donovan (Durham, N. C. and London: Duke University Press,
1995), 192–212.
34. For exceptions, see Alan M. Beck, The Ecology of Stray Dogs: A Study of Freeranging Urban Animals (Baltimore, Md.: York Press, 1974); and C. Haspel and R. E.
Calhoun, “Activity Patterns of Free-Ranging Cats in Brooklyn, New York,” Journal
of Mammology 74 (1993).
35. S. T. A. Pickett and P. S. White, eds., The Ecology of Natural Disturbance
and Patch Dynamics (Orlando Fla.: Academic Press, 1985); and Botkin, Discordant
Harmonies. In extreme form, the disturbance perspective can be used politically to
rationalize anthropogenic destruction of the environment: see Donald Worster, The
Wealth of Nature: Environmental History and the Ecological Imagination (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1993), and Ludwig Trepl, “Holism and Reductionism in
Ecology: Technical, Political and Ideological Implications,” Capitalism, Nature, Socialism 5 (1994). But see also the response to Trepl from Richard Levens and Richard
C. Lewontin, “Holism and Reductionism in Ecology,” Capitalism, Nature, Socialism
5 (1994).
36. Michael E. Soulé, and Gary Lease, eds., Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction (Washington, D. C.: Island Press, 1995). For feminist/postmodern critiques of science, see Sandra Harding, The Science Question in Feminism
(Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Press, 1986); Haraway, Primate Visions; and Lynda
Birke, Feminism, Animals and Science: The Naming of the Shrew (Buckingham: Open
37. Katherine N. Hayles, “Searching for Common Ground,” in Reinventing Nature? ed. Soulé and Lease, 47–64.
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Jennifer Wolch
38. Daniel. L. Leedy, Robert M. Maestro, and Thomas M. Franklin, Planning for
Wildlife in Cities and Suburbs (Washington, D. C.: US Government Printing Office, 1978); and Arthur C. Nelson, James C. Nicholas, and Lindell L. Marsh, “New
Fangled Impact Fees: Both the Environment and New Development Benefit from
Environmental Linkage Fees,” Planning 58 (1992).
39. Only a small number of HCPs have been developed or are in progress, and the
approach remains hotly contested. See Timothy Beatley, Habitat Conservation Planning:
Endangered Species and Urban Growth (Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press, 1994).
40. Sim Van der Ryn and Peter Calthorpe, Sustainable Cities: A New Design Synthesis for Cities, Suburbs, and Towns (San Francisco, Calif.: Sierra Club Books, 1991);
Richard Stren, Rodney White, and Joseph Whitney, Sustainable Cities: Urbanization
and the Environment in International Perspective (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press,
1992); and The Ecological City: Preserving and Restoring Urban Biodiversity, ed. Rutherford H. Platt, Rowan A. Rowntree, and Pamela C. Muick, (Minneapolis, Minn.:
University of Minnesota Press, 1994).
41. An interesting exception is the green-inspired manifesto for sustainable urban
development: see A Green City Program for San Francisco Bay Area Cities and Towns,
ed. Peter Berg, Beryl Magilavy, and Seth Zuckerman (San Francisco, Calif.: Planet
Drum Books, 1986), 48–49, which recommends riparian setback requirements to
protect wildlife, review of toxic releases for their impacts on wildlife, habitat restoration, a department of natural life to work on behalf of urban wildness, citizen education, mechanisms to fund habitat maintenance, and (somewhat oxymoronically) the
“creation” of “new wild places.”
42. Dana Cuff, Architecture: The Story of Practice (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press,
1991).
43. Evernden, Social Creation of Nature, 119.
44. R. T. T. Foreman and M. Godron, Landscape Ecology (New York: John Wiley
and Sons, 1986).
45. Charles E. Little, Greenways for America (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1990); and Daniel. S. Smith and Paul Cawood Hellmund, Ecology
of Greenways: Design and Function of Linear Conservation Areas (Minneapolis, Minn.:
University of Minnesota Press, 1993).
46. There is also scientific debate about the merits of corridors: see, for instance,
Daniel Simberloff and James Cox, “Consequences and Costs of Conservation Corridors,” Conservation Biology 1 (1987); Simberloff and Cox argue that corridors may
help spread diseases and exotics, decrease genetic variation or disrupt local adaptation
and co-adapted gene complexes, spread fire or other contagious catastrophes, and increase exposure to hunter/poachers and other predators. Reed F. Noss, however, in
“Corridors in Real Landscapes: A Reply to Simberloff and Cox,” Conservation Biology
1 (1987), maintains that the best argument for corridors is that the original landscape
was interconnected.
47. Jennifer Wolch and Stacy Rowe, “Companions in the Park: Laurel Canyon
Dog Park, Los Angeles,” Landscape 31 (1993).
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48. Such practices include putting large numbers of companion animals to death
on a routine basis, selling impounded animals to biomedical laboratories, and so on.
49. Alain Touraine, The Return of the Actor: Social Theory in Postindustrial Society
(Minneapolis, Minn.: University of Minnesota Press, 1988); Alberto Melucci, Nomads of the Present: Social Movements and Individual Needs in Contemporary Society
(Philadelphia, Pa.: Temple University Press, 1989); and Alan Scott, Ideology and the
New Social Movements (London: Unwin Hyman, 1990).
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CHAPTER TWELVE
Inventionist Ethology: Sustainable
Designs for Reawakening
Human-Animal Interactivity
Ralph R. Acampora
A living civilization creates; a dying, builds museums.
—M. Fischer 1
But [the designers] had more in mind
Than filling out the plenum of a zoo;
They were composing a community,
A new branch of natural history.
—F. Turner 2
Part of the cultural imperative of devising ecologically sustainable praxis is
the demand for revival and enhancement of human beings’ (inter)relations
with other animals, especially free-ranging ones. Of late, dormant tendencies of biophilia have been stoked by developments in diverse fields such as
inter-species ethics, comparative psychology, and zoocentric artwork. Posthumanist forms of morality are emerging, cognitive and behavioral zoologists
investigate the undeniable intelligence and sociality of complex organisms
(such as cetaceans, primates, and elephants), and artists breathe new life into
the representation of animality (see, e.g., the work of Marshall Arisman).
Against this backdrop, I would like to present and advocate innovative technologies for cross-species encounter as designed and implemented by Natalie
Jeremijenko (see URL addresses for graphics).
245
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These designs can be introduced by understanding them as an ethological variant or retooling of Frederick Turner’s “inventionist ecology.”3 In the
1980s and 1990s Turner put forth a provocative new form of environmentalist theory and practice. He distinguished it from traditional currents of environmentalism—namely, conservation as “wise use” of resources, preservation as
a quixotic if not incoherent attempt to “save or rescue” nature, and restoration
as the endeavor to bring back “authentic” ecosystems by reestablishing their
unsullied or pre-industrial (pre-human?) conditions. What Turner anointed
and proffered as inventionist ecology would be instead a human program of
creative intervention not so much into as with nature, itself now understood
as the ur-force of creativity: “Nature is the process of everything interfering
with—touching—everything else,” and so “potentially at least, human civilization can be [not only] the restorer, [but also] the propagator, and even the
creator of natural diversity, as well as its protector and preserver.”4 This approach transcends the drawbacks of pursuing prior models by themselves—it
moves beyond, that is to say, the retentive resourcism of conservation, the
static nostalgia of preservation, and the arbitrary designs for always-only-inadequate compensations of pure restoration.
Inventionist ecology would create and disseminate new biomes or species.5 Similarly, what I am dubbing inventionist ethology designs for and
then practices novel forms of relationship between different species—in
other words, a zoologically inflected kind of techno-cum-performance artwork. New interventions of this sort resist misguided attempts of preserving artistry and animality by mummifying them in museum-type contexts,
whether galleries or zoos;6 instead, they proactively seek to recreate living
connections and biotic conscience in situ. For example, Jeremijenko has
launched a series of projects under the title of “Ooz” (zoo spelled backwards,
with a coincidental yet significant connotation of spreading beyond containment like ooze). Ooz interrupts the typical grammar of zoological exhibition
that assumes animals on display are primarily passive objects of viewing and
human spectators cannot be participants in encounter: www.nyu.edu/projects/xdesign/ooz/. At one installation in the Netherlands, for instance (see
“Robotic Geese” link at Web site), humans can direct artificial geese by
remote-control and have them swim toward and vocalize at natural birds of
that or other species, whose own reactions can in turn be watched via computerized video-cameras.7
Now, while this interactive context might be deemed intrusive upon the
nonhuman animals involved, it is important to keep in mind that these same
animals are free-ranging organisms with full liberty to engage or avoid the
scenario just described—quite to the contrary of standard zoo protocol. An-
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other objection could be that the techno-goose milieu brings us further away
from authentically encountering other animals insofar as it injects yet more
mediation of artifice (usage of tracking/projection apparatus as well as ducklike doppelganger) between us and them (the biological birds on the scene).
Here I would highlight that inventionist ethology challenges the unfortunate
tradition in mainstream environmentalism to demonize technology as always
only alienating—through Ooz it rather becomes the motive force that mediates the crafting of a convivial creole of zootic communication and interaction (whenever actual animals take up the gambit of their artificial cousins),
which I argue is a salutary project for any truly sustainable lifestyle. In effect,
displacing the us/them dynamic of unilateral spectatorship, Ooz generates
the promise of establishing an inter-species we.
Such a perspective, by virtue of a Turnerian twist of vision, radically shifts
our conception of Nature: no longer is it opposed to humanity and artifice—
rather it becomes, as a universe always already technological itself, inclusive
of homo faber. According to Turner, biological bodies are themselves highly
organized systems of electro-chemical and mechanical energy. Indeed, even
absent conscious contrivance, all live bodies are prosthetic in the sense that
they incorporate alien matter and press it into service for “artificial” interests
that extend the body’s field of influence and exposure. One could say, then,
that “the body of a living organism is its technology; the technology of an
organism is its body.”8 The corollary for humankind is that “our own technology is an extension of our bodies.”9 Taken together, and projected onto the
level of ecological evolution, Nature is a realm of becoming that develops
complexity through the operation of continuously and interactively technical functions. Thus, inventionist ethology is consonant with, rather than
detractive from, “natural” processes; on this view, Ooz is seen to be only a
more densely organized node of organismic interaction.
Another Ooz project that exemplifies inventionist ethology is the open
aviary “For the Birds” that was perched atop the Postmasters gallery in the
lower westside of Manhattan (New York City) during the autumn of 2006—
see postmastersart.com (link for “Natalie Jeremijenko,” under “Artists”
menu). Central to this “model urban development” of multi-species cohabitation was a “rooftop prairie grid” that presented a matrix of staged opportunities for visiting birds (chiefly, but also butterflies, squirrels, microbes, and
plants) to eat, rest, play, decompose, and/or propagate as and when they saw
fit—see www.environmentalhealthclinic.net/projects/mud/. Human artists
set up the scenario and human visitors could share in the resulting activity
or watch/hear it in person or by remote camera-feed projected onto a screen
downstairs (follow “Communication Technology” link, under “For the Birds”
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menu at Ooz Web site). Included were several sorts of feeding and/or composting stations, a miniature ferris wheel that pigeons found interesting, and
a microphonic sound-catching dish that allowed songbirds to amplify their
tunes (for more items, see “Twoilets” link, under “For the Birds” menu).10
“For the Birds” brings to the fore an ethically salient feature of inventionist
ethology, namely that it upsets the paradigm of species apartheid perpetrated
by most of dominant civilization (via socially invisible regimes of abuse, e.g.
“pest control” of urban animals) and paradoxically perpetuated even by some
abolitionist forms of animal advocacy (liberation or rights schemes beholden
to no-contact dictates). The penthouse prairie also furnishes a concrete illustration of what some animal geographers and trans-species theorists are
calling zoöpolis;11 urban “feralands” such as greenroofs, initially interstitial
albeit, give embodiment to the visionary planning ideal of welcoming commensal creatures and/or weedy wildlife in/to metropolitan areas inclusive of
city centers.12 One of the project’s elements in particular, the ferris wheel
utilized by local pigeons, further exhibits what Jeremijenko refers to as the
impromptu “spectacle of adaptation”—a site and sight in which other animals display a dynamic agency that is not normally conceived as part of their
behavioral ensemble. This enriches the phenomenology of nonhuman life,
instead of seeing and describing it as limited to mere instinctual response or
automatic activity.
A third case of inventionist ethology is the “fishface sensor array” deployed along with a sea-level scoping device in the Hudson River just below
Chelsea Piers in N.Y.C. (for introduction, see www.environmentalhealthclinic.net/projects/fwish/ or “For the Fish” link at Ooz Web site):
Fishface is a grid of fish-detecting buoys . . . creating a low-resolution display
of the activity and flow conditions in a shoreline section of the river. The
fish interface is communication technology for fish. It renders the presence
or absence of the fish in its immediate vicinity, and provides an interface for
humans to communicate with fish (and vice versa). Functionally, each device
also contains a sonar transducer that lights up if there are fish present. A single
fish swimming through the array appears as a series of lights sequen-tially
marking its path; a school of fish will produce a drifting cloud of lights.13
Also planned is a nearby look-out station of a rather different kind than
usual:
The Eye-Level Observatory (EO) produces a public place to view the water at
eye level. This viewing position presents the underbelly of the body of water,
and stretches the surface tension across the eyes. The view from the Eye-Level
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Observatory (EO) is intended to profoundly transform the water surface, from
a reflective surface or mirror into a membrane. It is an instrument to produce
a gestalt[-shifting] effect, so that the once a viewer has been immersed in the
visceral relationship between the viewer’s body and the body of water, [s/he]
will never again see the lake [only] as a surface but [also] as an active skin under
which life and possibilities are teeming.14
A remarkable aspect of this project is that a by-product of the cross-species
interaction could actually provide ecological services of benefit directly to
the riverine biome and indirectly to any humans who may swim or fish in
the lower Hudson. One possibility is that the fish could be attracted to the
sensor buoys with an offering of food (pellets or flakes) that contains a PCBabsorbing agent. Through the fishes’ daily routines of eating and excreting,
the toxin would then become amalgamated into a heavier compound, a state
that renders the pollutant less bio-available and results in relatively safe
sedimentation. By distributing such chelates, in other words, the fish would
become themselves agents of remedial action against a notorious problem of
water pollution in the area. Thus, a virtuous cycle of multi-species interactivity results: humans’ aesthetic predilections (for the array’s display of lighting
patterns) would contribute to allaying fishes’ hunger, which would in turn
contribute to a process of cleaning filtration (via chelation), which would
finally conduce toward healthier enjoyment and usage of the river by both
humans and fish (as well as other organisms not immediately involved).15
What about fellow mammals, aside from the birds and fish discussed so far?
The so-called bat-bar and “Bats in Place” projects speak to this kind of concern. The former, as designed by architect Laura Kurgan, involves humans
having cocktails within a translucent terrace that includes imitation eaves
functioning as bat-hutches with suitable attractants come the happy hours of
twilight (see “Ooz Architect” at Ooz Web site). The latter is more complex:
human interfaces are set up near urban bat roosts, such that people and bats
can switch various (visible or infrared) lights on or off and so that they might
communicate via robotic bat devices:
What people can do: move the robotic bat to approach other bats; issue verbal
utterances, either prerecorded or their own human interpretations; observe the
bats as a larger social unit; observe particular bats more closely through the
eyes of the robotic bat; listen to the bat chatter through the robotic bat, which
will act as a “spotlight mike” and transform the dynamic and frequency range
into human audible range.
What bats can do: verbally [vocally] or physically [tangibly] respond by moving toward or away from the robotic bat; observe the humans if they care to;
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tune into human generated sounds by triggering a speaker that plays the human sounds transposed into bat frequency.16
It may appear dubious that humans actually “converse” with bats via such an
ensemble of engineering. These other mammals are, after all, fairly alien in
that their primary perceptual field is echolocation rather than vision (as with
us)—in other words, theirs is not really a worldview but rather a soundscape.
Inventionist ethology can grant (and even capitalize upon) this sort of difference between specific phenomenologies, because the kind of inter-species
communication it seeks is not so much a matter of translation from one
organismic idiom to another (in either direction) as it is a gambit at developing a communicative nexus or creole that evolves from, stirs up, and spurs
on interactivity.17 We don’t have to teach bats human language, nor do we
have to learn their dialect; instead, a new and coproduced (quasi-)linguistic
system might emerge on the scene.
Indeed, mutuality is a hallmark of inventionist ethology as envisaged here.
The various projects I am presently explaining constitute object lessons in
what Jeremijenko dubs the “architecture of reciprocity”—which designs for
interaction, as opposed to such unilateral technologies and arts as hunting
or photography. This approach may be used aside from, but also within, established zones of animal encounter: although Ooz proper is conceived as a
paradigm for in situ interventions, “oozy” techniques might be used at institutions such as zoos (in which case, the term of art that Jeremijenko has coined
would be “zooz”). When the latter type of intervention occurs (and there are
plans afoot in Stockholm and San Diego), the hosting establishment opens
itself to elements and ventures of radical reform and engages the possibility
of self-reinvention as a potentially transformative exercise. Fully aware of
institutional impediments, I would nonetheless encourage existing zoos to
consider incorporating apparatus and the aspect of zooz.18
Speaking of incorporation, Jeremijenko and others are investigating the
option of taking some practices of inventionist ethology public. That is to
say, they are looking to establish a holding company for a particular siteinstallation (e.g., Fishface). Once the corporation comes into existence, the
idea would be to allow relevant nonhumans on the board of directors (as ex
officio members or para-consultants) in a bid to grant them legal standing via
the convention of personhood for incorporated firms. Jeremijenko:
Because corporations are granted “personhood” with the rights of an individual, and equal protection under the 14th Amendment, they provide a unique
structure and opportunity to extend personhood to other nonhumans. Cor-
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porations are the only non-persons considered [legal] “people,” whereas other
forms of organization including governments, unions, not-for-profit 501-c, art
museums, zoological gardens, galleries, and small unincorporated businesses do
not have “rights”. Nor [usually] do other forms of life, and if they do, they are
limited at best.19
Given this situation, Ooz Inc. would endeavor to circumvent the law’s blindspot regarding nonhuman animals and transcend for other organisms their
current consignment to the juridical status of mere property. Even if the
notion of placing nonhuman directors on the board does not eventuate, by
at least upgrading other animals from stakeholders to shareholders, economic
benefits may accrue that could be reinvested into protection or restoration
of relevant habitats.
Having presented several instances of inventionist ethology, let us now
take stock of its moral status and educational promise. It may have struck
some readers that the approach taken here valorizes technology to such an
extent that it loses the critical capacity to gain ethical distance from the
artifacted universe, in effect “letting anything go” in terms of technical
mediation of animal encounter. Fortunately, this worry can be mollified if
not dispelled by relying on the very exemplar already invoked—for Turner
himself has offered means of making appropriate value distinctions:
Good technology . . . increases and does not decrease the organized complexity
of the world … respects the existing technology of nature, and even when adding to it does not destroy the complex order and beauty that helped it evolve
and upon which it is based. Bad technology … destroys technology, whether
in the form of the bodies of animals and plants, or in the form of our own rich
material and mental culture.20
If we apply these criteria,21 the Ooz projects discussed above tend to fit fairly
well in the “good technology” category. Certainly, none of them is destructive of organic or artificial technology in the senses indicated by Turner.
Moreover, installations like “For the Birds” or “Fishface” as well as “Bats in
Place” do in fact increase organized complexity in their respectively airy,
aquatic, and/or terrestrial environments. They do this by constituting and
encouraging denser nodes of inter-species networking, including the sort that
bring about bio-cultural ecologies of animal association.
Another justification of inventionist ethology, primarily pedagogical
and indirectly ethical (if we take education as a moral imperative), can
be constructed in the context of Steven Fesmire’s contrast between different educational paradigms and their contributions to or detractions from
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environmental learning.22 A philosopher of the pragmatist school, Fesmire
makes a distinction between “fast food” and “slow food” education. Broadly
speaking, the former is the sort that conduces to spiritual anorexia whereas
the latter enables sustainable living. The anorexic, fast-food model is rootless
in the sense that it takes place to be irrelevant for learning; it assumes that
knowledge is context-free (disconnected or mechanical in nature); it keeps
disciplines isolated (as if cogs in a knowledge factory); it tends to homogenize
pedagogy into an educational monoculture for the sake of efficiency and
measurable uniformity; it anaesthetizes and obscures awareness of relations;
it is given to the pedagogical methods of content delivery and data storage;
ultimately, yet more often implicitly rather than consciously, it defines success in terms of hyper-consumption (grooming of “productive citizens” who
participate in and perpetuate economic status quo, a model of quantitative
growth). The sustainable, slow-food model is rooted in a place-based, bioregional outlook; it promotes organic, contextual learning rich in associative
cognition; it is inherently interdisciplinary and seeks integration of studies
across domains of inquiry; in terms of methodological diversity, it is given
to pluralism and cultivates a polyculture of education; it refines aesthetic
sensibilities and discloses multiple (kinds of) relations, including so-called
internal or constitutive ones; it projects a pedagogical image of teachers and
students as co-inquirers belonging to a larger community of knowers (a la
pragmatist Charles Peirce); ultimately, and quite self-consciously, it defines
success as the multi-faceted ability to perceive and respond constructively to
changes in complex systems of (inter)relationship—producing, in effect, not
merely clever world-citizens but wise inhabitants-of-the-earth.23
Granting the assumption that education for sustainability is preferable to
the alternative described above, it makes sense to increase and enhance techniques for implementation of so-called slow-food pedagogy. In this context,
then, it can be seen that inventionist ethology accomplishes just that sort of
development. The case studies we have surveyed are rooted in place in that
they involve native fauna already at large in a given bioregion (rather than
imported exotics, as per zoo contact). Contextual or associative learning is
promoted by inventionist ethology—usage of Fishface, for example, encourages cognitive connections between the appreciation of lighting, knowledge
of fish behavior, and understanding the nature of ecological services at
stake. Typically, Ooz projects proceed on a multi-disciplinary front—the
robotic geese and bat interfaces, for instance, involve cybernetics/computer
science, biology/zoology, anthropology/sociology, artistic design and engineering—which are integrated by the attempt at ethological performance
and understanding. Inventionist ethology is quite obviously not education-
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ally monocultural or classroom-bound, as it supplies ample opportunity for
experiential and even service learning in the field (which might be located
right on top of a school building—think of the greenroof prairie matrix, etc.).
Aesthetic sensibility is refined by appreciating the nuances of architectural
design (structure and apparatus) and by heightening awareness of the sensory
modalities needed for zoological interaction (in our examples, chiefly vision, audition, and haptic cues); discovery of external relations and creation
of internal ones are the prime pair of goals at which inventionist ethology
aims—at Fishface we can learn about polluting and restorative connections
to the Hudson’s ecosystem, for example, and through its associated eye-level
observatory we experience a gestalt-shift of identity such that the river’s surface becomes a membrane or nexus (partially) constitutive of an ecosystemic
self.24 Sites employing the artificial geese or the bat equipment exemplify
the inherently interactive nature of oozy pedagogy—not only do designers collaborate with participants in a community of inquiry, but still more
radically the human and other animals’ co-production of communicative
creoles comes about through reciprocal efforts at engagement and establishes
a network of behavioral exchange that might be called an “epistemic neighborhood” of mutual acknowledgment. Inventionist ethology succeeds, of
course, exactly to the extent that it empowers its co-participants to achieve
perception and response modalities sensitive to changes in relational complexity—and so it makes earthlings more ecosophic entities.25
Some (especially country-dwellers) may look on this approach with bemusement: if biophilic tendencies of humanity are to be nourished outside of
captivity contexts, then the obvious prescription is greater exposure to rural
living and/or foraging lifestyles—not the crafting of sophisticated new artifice to build contrived contact between species. This objection makes a point
worth keeping, namely that residence in and habitation of hinterland and
relative wilderness (where possible and desirable) can augment eco-psychological health. Still, the nub that I insist upon is that the parenthetic proviso
is usually not met in today’s world, where most of (human) global population
lives in urban areas and where sheer numbers (of humans) would ruin the
prized qualities of rural/wild zones if everyone were to relocate there. We
have to deal with the crisis of cross-species encounter in citified contexts,
and inventionist ethology is well suited as therapy for the deficit therein. The
original theorist of Gaia, J. E. Lovelock, comments:
As society became more urbanized, the proportion of information flow from
the biosphere to the pool of knowledge which constitutes the wisdom of the
city decreased. . . . Soon city wisdom became almost entirely centered on the
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problems of human relationships, in contrast to the wisdom of any natural
tribal group, where relationships with the rest of the animate and inanimate
world are still given due place.26
In light of this epistemic problem, Ooz and suchlike projects can be seen as
ways to recharge biospheric information flow back into city-knowledge; the
human-animal interfaces I have presented and interpreted create a cognitive
loop that might be termed “eco-feedback” (bio-feedback raised to the level
of relational/systemic wisdom). Here it is worth noting that the inventionist enterprise under discussion enhances ethology in a significant way, for
it begins to fill the gap in research of precisely urban wildlife behavior.27 It
does this in an appropriately dialogic and recursive fashion, aware of and in
fact utilizing the behavorial influences that subject and object have on each
other as they become together a synergistic field. “The point is to see the
inter-relation human/animal as constitutive of the identity of each,” critical
theorist Rosi Braidotti has argued in a different yet related context, “It is
therefore a relation, a transformative or symbiotic relationship that hybridizes, shifts and alters the ‘nature’ of each one”.28 And this, in conclusion, also
indicates the moral upshot of the approach I advocate: inventionist ethology
proffers designs for the cultivation of a sustainable, post-humanist ethos of
cross-species encounter that emphasizes relational ethics as such.29
Notes
1. Martin H. Fischer, “Curmudgeon,” comp. J. Winokur, Funny Times (August
2007): 8.
2. “Evolution and the City,” Act V/Scene II (ll.43–46) of Genesis: An Epic Poem
(Dallas: Saybrook, 1988), 261.
3. Much of the explanation in this passage is paraphrased from his “The Invented
Landscape”, in Environmental Ethics: Divergence and Convergence, 2nd ed., R.G. Botzler and S.J. Armstrong eds. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 1993), 330–342; also in Beyond
Preservation: Restoring and Inventing Landscapes, ed. A. D. Baldwin et al. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1994), 35–66.
4. Ibid., 331.
5. A hypothetical if grandiose example, science fiction on the border of technical feasibility, is Turner’s own illustration of terraforming Mars on the macro-scale of planetary
bioengineering—for explanative essay, see his “Life on Mars: Cultivating a Planet—and
Ourselves,” Harper’s (August 1989): 33–40; for poetic exposition, see his Genesis.
6. In this sense they partake in a Deweyan aesthetic, wherein art(work) is broadly
conceived not as high-culture ornamentation or cloistered decoration but rather as
any conscious endeavor that enriches experience at large; Dewey himself included
the crafts in this definition, and I think it encompasses certain kinds of technology
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too (e.g., installations of inventionist ethology). Cf. Dewey’s Art as Experience (New
York: Penguin, 2005 [orig. 1934]).
7. A variant of this scheme involves the generation and mobilization of virtualreality avatars that then enable human participants to conduct mimetic experiences
amongst actual counterparts (see “Ooz Chair” link at Web site above).
8. Turner, “Invented Landscape,” 337.
9. Ibid.
10. Jeremijenko choreographed the site; teams of inventors for various elements
included: Evo Design, Leeser Architects, Bonnetti/Kozerski, Materialab, System
Architects, and The Living.
11. See, e.g., Jennifer Wolch’s contribution to the present volume. Cf. J. Wolch
et al., “Trans-species Urban Theory,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space
13 (1995): 735–760.
12. In his Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1987), J.E. Lovelock, biogeologist and cyberneticist, bemoans “the extent to which
the conventional wisdom of a closed urban society becomes isolated from the natural
world” (135); “oozy” practices of inventionist ethology can reduce precisely this kind
of alienated and alienating insularity.
13. Jeremijenko et al., “Fish Communication” at www.nyu.edu/projects/xdesign/
ooz/ (accessed July 21, 2007).
14. Ibid., “Waterlevel Viewer,” loc. cit. Cf. “Amphibious Architecture” at same
site and “Whale Belly” at www.animalarchitecture.org/?p=458 .
15. This inventionist motif of ecological services appears also in the case of
robotic geese attracting specimens of the actual species, whose guano can then be
used as fertilizer for farming or horticulture (as a beneficial way of alleviating the
perceived nuisance of avian excrement).
16. Jeremijenko, “Case Study: High Line” (italics added) at www.nyu.edu/projects/
xdesign/ooz/bats_highline.html (accessed July 21, 2007).
17. Linguist Derek Bickerton theorizes that the Chomskian “universal grammar”
has the character of a fundamental predisposition to precisely creole-type language; if
so, then human biology itself may incline toward the very trajectory of communication I spotlight here (with the challenge, admittedly, of overlapping species boundaries or exploiting their permeabilities). See Gerry O’Sullivan, “Inventing Arcadia: An
Interview with Frederick Turner,” The Humanist (Nov–Dec 1993), at findarticles.
com/p/articles/mi_m1374/is_n6_v53/ai_1489335 (accessed July 5, 2007).
18. Nicole Mazur, a constructive critic, comments: “Rigid administrative rationality, which informs many organizational processes, actually favors a more
conservative role for the zoo. Zoo professionals who want to incorporate more
progressive ecological ideals into zoos’ principles and programs must work against
these arrangements rather than be supported by them.” Undaunted, she continues:
“Yet achieving such substantive environmental policy reform requires that professionals (and the citizenry alike) recognize and then challenge both long-standing
and current assumptions of their institutions.” See her After the Ark? Environmental
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Policy Making and the Zoo (Carlton South: Melbourne University Press, 2001), 209
and 6, respectively.
19. “The Incorporation”, at www.nyu.edu/projects/xdesign/ooz/ (accessed July 25,
2007).
20. “Invented Landscape”, 338.
21. That we should indeed apply them follows from the intrinsic valuations of
creativity and diversity, which are widely accepted as aesthetico-ethical axioms of
currently common morality.
22. The rest of this paragraph is a synopsis of certain ideas presented by him under the title of “Ecological Imagination,” delivered at Fordham University (Lincoln
Center), May 18, 2007.
23. The models as so described are, of course, ideal types; actual practices of education show inclinations toward one or the other as a matter of degree, rather than
pure instantiation of either.
24. Cf. Freya Mathews’ The Ecological Self (London: Routledge, 1991).
25. For more context of and on environmental education, see David Orr’s Earth
in Mind: On Education, Environment, and the Human Prospect (Washington, D.C.:
Island Press, 2004) and Ecological Literacy: Education and the Transition to a Postmodern World (Albany: SUNY Press, 1992) as well as Mitchell Thomashow’s Ecological
Identity: Becoming a Reflective Environmentalist (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1996), esp.
chapter 6.
26. Gaia, 135.
27. A notable exception is Melanie S. Thomson’s “Placing the Wild in the City:
‘Thinking with’ Melbourne’s Bats”, Society and Animals 15.1 (2007): 79–95; even
this, though, is more about discursive symbology at a meta-level than about city-bat
behavior itself. Cf. Annabelle Sabloff’s Reordering the Natural World: Humans and
Animals in the City (Toronto: U. of Toronto Press, 2001), which is similarly pitched
more at the hermeneutic or metaphoric level than at the primary order of literal
activity.
28. Transpositions: On Nomadic Ethics (Cambridge, U.K.: Polity, 2007), 108.
29. Cf. Clare Palmer’s Animal Ethics in Context (New York: Columbia University,
in press) and Ralph Acampora’s Corporal Compassion: Animal Ethics and Philosophy of
Body (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh, 2006), esp. chs. 3f.
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Afterword:
Following Zootopian Visions
Nicole Mazur
The last time I spent a considerable period of time thinking about the zoo,
I was busy looking at their evolution and questioning how well they had
realized their stated mission to help restore certain animal species and to
encourage people to care more for nonhuman nature.1 Towards the end of
that work, between 2001 and 2002, what did seem clear to me was that zoos
(or “the Ark”) had come some way towards meeting such ambitious and
admirable goals. Many people in the zoo community had been working tirelessly for decades to chart and steer a course for “the Ark” that would bring
it closer to the dark-green end of a continuum of environmental values. Still,
while important steps had been taken, the zoo’s journey seemed incomplete.
More substantive progress was being restricted by various social, economic,
environmental and political constraints. I was left wondering “where to
next” for the zoo?
Ten years on, it may still be too soon to tell what waters the Ark has sailed
to: Is its journey complete? Will the zoo continue to evolve along a more
environmentally-friendly trajectory? Will the zoo community and the public
remain satisfied that the zoo of today does not need to change any further?
Irrespective of the answers to those questions, it is encouraging to see that
the dialogue about zoos and human relationships with nonhuman nature is
continuing. It is encouraging to hear calls for people to be more reflective
about and innovative in the way we interact with animals in particular and
nonhuman nature more generally.
257
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The collection of writings in Metamorphoses of the Zoo: Animal Encounter
After Noah rightly challenges us to imagine a different way of relating to
nonhuman nature, especially animals. The authors beseech us to consider
the impact on animals of our observations, interactions, and use of them,
and ask what those impacts say about who we are as a species. Metamorphoses
of the Zoo suggests that our encounters with “wild” animals impose varying
degrees of “captivity” on those animals. Zoos might be seen as being at one
end of a spectrum of captivity. Here, human needs are primary—they drive
the very existence of zoos, and various attempts are made to accommodate
animal needs within that basic premise. At the other end of the spectrum
wild animals have a right to exist in and of themselves, they are left to live
their lives relatively unfettered by human interference, and therefore human
encounters with them occur more by chance.
Collectively, the zootopian visions presented offer two main pathways for
change. Some of the authors focus largely on identifying the ethical, moral,
and practical weaknesses of the zoo and how it might be modified. The other
authors are less focused on the zoo per se and spend more time considering other
spaces in which we interact with (by chance or with intent) nonhuman nature
more generally and “wild” animals in particular (e.g. ecotourism, urban parks).
The authors struggle with the act of confining animals—be that literally
(keeping them in an enclosure) or figuratively (through our unseeing gaze).
The morality of imposing captivity on wild animals in zoos is questioned
strongly. Irrespective of even the best of intentions, confining wild animals
in zoos often fails to meet the needs of individual animals, compromises their
“true animality”, and often fails to realize conservation goals on a significant
scale. After reading the works of Kemmerer, Fawcett and Warkentin, Rollin, Lulka, Margodt, and others before them, one would really be inclined to
wonder if zoos are better at meeting human needs than they are at meeting
other animals’ needs. And one might even need to consider how beneficial
zoos really are for humans, given that the symbolic value of confining animals can send an unpalatable message back to us about how we consistently
privilege ourselves above other animals.
Metamorphoses of the Zoo makes important suggestions for using progressive principles and practices in zoo reform, some more radical than others.
Principles of reciprocity, accommodating the full range of animals’ needs,
including the need to choose, underpin the recommendations to change:
• The emphasis of existing zoo collections: reduce the number of species
held, shift the emphasis to smaller species whose needs can be more
readily accommodated within the confines of urban spaces;
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Afterword: Following Zootopian Visions 259
• the existing spaces and the design of new spaces to reflect more closely
those zoos/wildlife parks that feature endemic flora and fauna and use
large naturalistic enclosures (or no enclosures) to display animals,
which gives animals more space (and therefore more choice) and potentially sends more healthy messages to human visitors; and
• the very existence of zoos by phasing them out and replacing them
with welfare sanctuaries that allow animals used by zoos, circuses, and
research to live out the remainder of their lives in more appropriate
spaces.
The theme of minimising anthropomorphism continues in the work of
Acampora, Bradshaw et al., Chrulew, Pedersen and Dian, Malamud, and
Wolch. They look further afield from the zoo and make suggestions for
changing the nature of human-animal encounters in other spaces. In these
brave new worlds our heightened sensitivity to animals means that we have
created innovative places and spaces where—if we are lucky—we might see
“wild” animals. For example, the “architecture of reciprocity” between humans and animals is becoming a fundamental principle of planning theory
and practice and has driven the rise of “urban renaturalization”. In these
cases, our chances of encountering animals might even be increased, because
there are now more spaces in urban environments that have been designed
to meet humans’ and other animals’ needs. There might also be vast tracts
of environmentally valuable and protected land that essentially morph zoos,
botanical gardens, national parks, and forests into a functioning ecosystem,
which in turn would support scientific and educational endeavors and local
economies.
All the ideas for change in Metamorphoses of the Zoo are exciting and
important. They give us plenty food for thought, helping us imagine new
relationships with and spaces for other species that are more considerate
of their needs. These ideas and examples are fundamental to helping us
understand where we are now and where we might get to. They inspire us
and provide us with some guidance for our “voyage”, should we collectively
choose to take it!
Yet at this juncture I feel compelled to step away from thinking more
about the “whats” of a future in which humans and animals interact in more
mutually beneficial ways, and delve instead into the “how” of our possibility
of getting there in the first place. The notion of change is at the very heart
of Metamorphoses of the Zoo. If we are abandoning the more traditional ideas
and practices of “the Ark,” we need strong, durable and more contemporary
vehicles (or vessels!) to lift us out of our current inertia and move us steadily
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along a different pathway. We also need high-quality maps to guide in the
right direction (towards an appropriate destination). Finally, we need fair
and equitable processes for determining who gets to help plan and steer that
voyage.
Our ability to realise these zootopian visions depends in part on improving our understanding of how people’s identities (their basic values,
attitudes, beliefs, and corresponding behaviors) differ, how such differences influence our relationships with nonhuman nature, and what kind
of relations tend to dominate society today. Each individual develops
perspective on the world in the context of a particular culture and society.
These mental characteristics and associated actions are learned as part of
the broader processes of acculturation and socialization. Factors influencing people’s values and attitudes include a wide range of aspects of their
society, culture, and immediate situation—including their family context
and lifestyle, religious beliefs, the values and attitudes of the groups they
mix with, and their exposure to other social influences like the mass media.
As they mature, people often tend to seek out particular groups and roles
(professional, interest-based, political, etc.) that are consistent with their
values, and experience in these groups or roles in turn tends to reinforce
their tendency to perceive problems and solutions in the ways that are typical of their peers or colleagues.
The outcome of such complex social processes is that people, groups, and
organizations perceive and approach problems, such as how to manage our
environment or how to design and maintain zoos, in similar and different
ways. The way problems are perceived and framed influences how these
problems are understood, who participates in problem-solving and how, and
what values will be favored by actions and results.2 Eventually, different
standpoints are reconciled in some way when contradictions or opposing sets
of beliefs and action clash in societal decision-making settings or systems. As
Pedersen and Dian note, realizing a vision like the Earth Trusts requires a
critical mass of particular voices that support such “post-zoo developments.”
I would suggest that the outcome of these contests to date is that technocentric or materialistic values still tend to dominate our environmental
decisions, including those relating to wildlife conservation, zoos, etc. These
values tend to drive more negative environmental attitudes and behaviors,
are unsupportive of social justice and equality, and reward manipulative,
competitive behaviors.3 While Western society has made considerable progress in affording nonhuman nature greater consideration, it would be fair to
say that the ideas promoted in Metamorphoses of the Zoo are not fully supported by and challenge the kind of values that dominate that society today.
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Afterword: Following Zootopian Visions 261
One example is the New South Wales Government’s recent $40 million investment in renovating Taronga Zoo’s elephant enclosure and then importing nine Asian elephants from Thailand. Zoos critics, like the Royal Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA), were disappointed that
zoo officials seemed to be—once again—prioritizing commercial value and
imperatives (using high-profile species in the hopes of drawing in ever more
visitors) over animal welfare concerns (confining such large animals in a city
environment).
The way we value and interact with nonhuman nature is always at the
heart of debates about environmental and natural resource issues. Conflicts
about these issues are among the most intractable problems facing our society.4 One need only consider the current debate about climate change to see
how difficult it is to shift the power imbalance away from “climate change
skeptics” to “climate change believers.” Protecting ecosystems, using natural
resources wisely, creating animal-friendly spaces in urban environments are
really about improving our relationships with nonhuman nature, which is
extremely challenging. This involves a fundamental questioning of our traditional, deeply entrenched values and political and economic arrangements
and relationships, which in turn requires some profound identity and paradigm changes (e.g., questioning the worth of unrestricted economic growth,
posing new questions about how institutions should function, and improving
the equity of planning and decision-making systems).5
As social movements, environmentalism and animal advocacy have
helped us to challenge the dominant paradigm and realize some zootopian
principles and practices. We still have a long journey ahead of us—one
fraught by the stormy seas and navigational challenges of getting past the entrenched positions and conflicts that characterize environmental and animal
welfare issues. Keeping our vessel seaworthy might be helped by continually
reminding ourselves that we are part of a social process of change. Understanding the more environmentally problematic aspects of human identity
and the social structures that enable and sustain those values and behaviors
will help us (researchers, policy makers, conservation managers, citizens) to
bring about more environmentally favorable outcomes.6 Achieving further
change requires that we systematically and simultaneously explore the tacit
or explicit threats embodied in proposals like Metamorphoses of the Zoo that
trigger (consciously and/or unconsciously) people’s defense mechanisms and
that we identify ways to sensitively address concerns in a manner that encourages acceptance and support. We must also consider what people value
and what potential there is to find common ground, and then move towards
achieving shared aspirations.7
3/12/10 9:25:33 AM
262
Nicole Mazur
Notes
1. Nicole Mazur, After the Ark? Environmental Policy-Making and the Zoo (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2001).
2. L.V. Bardwell, “Problem Framing: A Perspective on Environmental Problem
Solving”, Environmental Management 15, no. 5 (1991): 603–612; T.W. Clark, A.R.
Willard, and C.M. Cromley, Foundations of Natural Resources Policy and Management
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); R. Harding, Environmental Decision-making: The Role of Scientists, Engineers and the Public (Leichardt, Australia: The Federation Press, 1998); S. Swaffield, “Frames of Reference: A Metaphor for Analysing and
Interpreting Attitudes of Environmental Policy Makers and Policy Influencers”,
Environmental Management 22, no. 4 (1998): 495–504.
3. Kasser et al. (2007), as cited in T. Crompton and T. Kasser, Meeting Environmental Challenges: The Role of Human Identity (WWF-UK, 2009), 65.
4. N.A. Connelly and B.A. Knuth, “Using the Co-orientation Model to Compare
Community Leaders’ and Local Residents’ Views about Hudson River Ecosystem
Restoration”, Society and Natural Resources 15 (2002): 933–948; B. Shindler and
M. Brunson, “Changing Natural Resource Paradigms in the United States: Finding
Political Reality in Academic Theory”, in Handbook of Global Environmental Policy
and Administration, ed. B. Soden (New York: Marcel Decker Publishing, 1999);
J.A. Taylor and R.W. Braithwaite, “Interactions between Land Uses in Australia’s
Savannas: It’s Largely in the Mind”, in The Future of Tropical Savannas, ed. A. Ash
(Collingwood, Australia: CSIRO, 1996).
5. Crompton and Kasser; L. Salzmann, “Ecology and Social Change”, New Politics
6, no.3 (Summer 1997), www.wpunj.edu/~newpol/issue23/salzma23.htm.
6. Crompton and Kesser.
7. J.A. Creighton, T. Pinney, and S. Scott, Lets’s Get to It: Getting beneath Difficult Environmental Resource Debates (Minnesota: Harwood Group and Great Plains
Partnership, Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, 1997); Taylor and Braithwaite.
3/12/10 9:25:33 AM
Ralph R. Acampora, Associate Professor of Philosophy at Hofstra University, conducts research in the fields of environmental philosophy, bioethics, and animal studies. He has authored Corporal Compassion: Animal
Ethics and Philosophy of Body (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006), coedited A Nietzschean Bestiary (Rowman & Littlefield, 2004), has published
work in a variety of books and journals, and is a member of the editorial
boards for Society and Animals as well as Humanimalia. As a result of recent
researches, he tries to stay away from (at least being seen entering or exiting) zoos.
Chilla Bulbeck is emeritus professor in the School of Social Sciences at the
University of Adelaide. She has published widely on issues of gender and
difference, most recently Sex, Love and Feminism in the Asia Pacific: A Crosscultural Study of Young People’s Attitudes (Routledge, 2009). Her research
has also engaged with the meaning of animals in advanced industrialized
societies, leading to the publication of Facing the Wild: Ecotourism, Conservation and Animal Encounters by Earthscan in 2005. With Sandra Bowdler, she
has published a paper on the international debate over the hunting of the
grindradráp or pilot whales in the Faroes (Australian Archaeology 67 [2008]).
She lives at the beach in Perth where she sees dolphins, whales, stingrays and
ospreys much less often than she would like.
1
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2
Matthew Chrulew is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the Centre for Research on Social Inclusion at Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia. He
is writing the volume Mammoth for Reaktion Books, and has published a
number of essays and short stories. See Web site, www.ecologicalhumanities.
org/chrulew.html.
Natalie Dian is an organizational consultant with over 30 years experience
working with people. She has worked on environmental scanning, trend
analysis, scenarios and visions. She has developed Basic Values Charts, a
method for helping individuals and organizations to identify and articulate
their values and she has written a number of articles about futures studies
and values published by professional journals. Dian is continuing her privately funded research on the theory of foresight styles. She published her
introductory article entitled, “Foresight Styles Assessment: A Theory Based
Study in Competency and Change” (www.jfs.tku.edu.tw/13-3/A05.pdf) in
February 2009.
Debra Durham is an ethologist who specializes in primate psychology and
behavior. She serves as a Senior Research Scientist with the Physicians
Committee for Responsible Medicine in Washington, D.C. Her study seeks
to understand how primates and other animals respond to trauma as well
as how human guardians and caregivers can support the recovery process.
Durham’s current research is focused on chimpanzees who live in sanctuaries. Her work has been printed in New Scientist, Chronicle of Higher Education,
USA Today, Financial Times, and Chicago Tribune.
Leesa Fawcett is Associate Professor in Environmental Studies and Coordinator of Graduate Diploma in Environmental/Sustainability Education, with
the Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University. Her work ambles
through the fields of environmental and cultural studies with a particular
focus on the relationships between human beings and other animals. For a
long time she has been fascinated by animal subjectivities and cultures—how
certain animals are considered and by whom. She has worked largely on the
study of wild animals but is intrigued by feral, captive, domestic, and companion animal relationships.
Lisa Kemmerer is the author of In Search of Consistency, which won the
International Critical Animal Studies Book Award in 2006, and a poetry
chapbook, Curly Tails and Cloven Hooves (Finishing Line Press, 2008). She
has also written or edited several upcoming books, including Religion and
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About the Contributors 3
Animals (Oxford University Press), Women as Animal Advocates and Activists
(University of Illinois Press), Call to Compassion (Lantern), Primate People
(University of Utah), The Bible and the Beasts and Buddhism and the Beasts
(all expected later in 2010). Lisa is a philosopher-activist, artist, and lover of
wild places, who has hiked, biked, kayaked, backpacked, and traveled widely.
She currently teaches at Montana State University-Billings.
David Lulka is an itinerant geographer, who has lately haunted the hallways
and queried the classes of several institutions of higher education in California. His research has touched upon many species, but has most intensively
examined the ongoing reintroduction of American bison in the United
States since the end of the nineteenth century. Recent publications include
a consideration of roadkill in Emotion, Society and Space, a critique of Werner
Herzog’s Grizzly Man in Animals and Agency, and an exposition of an ethics
of extension in Ethics, Place, and Environment.
Randy Malamud is Professor of English at Georgia State University. He is
the author or editor of seven books, including Reading Zoos: Representations
of Animals and Captivity (1998), Poetic Animals and Animal Souls (2003), and
A Cultural History of Animals in the Modern Age (2007). He is a patron of the
Captive Animals’ Protection Society (CAPS) and a Fellow of the Oxford
Centre for Animal Ethics. He serves on the editorial boards of Society & Animals, Brill’s Human-Animal Studies book series, and Palgrave Macmillan’s
Animal Ethics book series. He is an international associate of the New
Zealand Centre for Human-Animal Studies at the University of Canterbury.
He writes frequently for the Chronicle of Higher Education. Web site: www.
english.gsu.edu/people.php?req=malamud.
Koen Margodt is an ethicist with a special interest in animal ethics. He is
the author of The Welfare Ark: Suggestions for a Renewed Policy in Zoos (VUB
Press, 2000), in which he argues that zoos should be transformed into sanctuaries. In 2005 he obtained a Ph.D. in moral philosophy from Ghent University, Belgium, on the moral status of non-human great apes and is currently
preparing a book on that topic.
Nicki Mazur is Principal Consultant for ENVision Environmental Consulting and Adjunct Research Fellow at Charles Sturt University’s Institute for
Land, Water and Society. She has a long-standing interest in understanding
the different ways that people interact with each other in making decisions
about how we value the natural environment and use its resources. Her
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4
passion for working with people to build a more sustainable world has driven
her work with governments, industry, and communities, encouraging an
increased awareness of self-in-context and critical thinking. Mazur was a
post-doctoral research fellow at the Australian National University, where
she wrote After the Ark: Environmental Policymaking and the Zoo (Melbourne
University Press, 2001). She has managed diverse projects and programs covering a range of community engagement and resource management issues.
Helena Pedersen holds a Ph.D. in education and is a researcher in the
School of Education at Malmö University. Her primary research interests
include critical animal studies, critical theory, critical pedagogy and posthumanism. She is author of Animals in Schools: Processes and Strategies in Human-Animal Education (Purdue University Press). Other recent works appear
in the volumes Social Justice, Peace, and Environmental Education (Routledge,
2009), Global Harms: Ecological Crime and Speciesism (Nova Science Publishers, 2008), and Values and Democracy in Education for Sustainable Development
(Liber, 2008). Pedersen received the American Sociological Association’s
award for Distinguished Graduate Student Scholarship (Animals and Society Section) in 2006. See her Web site: www.gender.uu.se/node286
Bernard E. Rollin is University Distinguished Professor, Professor of Philosophy, Professor of Biomedical Sciences, Professor of Animal Sciences,
and University Bioethicist at Colorado State University. He is one of the
leading scholars in animal rights and animal consciousness and has lectured
over 1,300 times all over the world in twenty-eight countries. He was a major
architect of the 1985 U.S. Federal laws protecting laboratory animals. Rollin
is the author of fifteen books, including Animal Rights and Human Morality and The Unheeded Cry: Animal Consciousness, Animal Pain and Scientific
Change, Farm Animal Welfare, Veterinary Medical Ethics: Theory and Cases,
and over 500 articles. He has edited a major two-volume work, The Experimental Animal in Biomedical Research. He writes a popular monthly column
on veterinary ethics for the Canadian Veterinary Journal and edits an ethics
column for Veterinary Forum. Rollin served on the Pew National Commission on Industrial Farm Animal Production and serves on the Institute for
Laboratory Animal Resources Council of the National Academy of Sciences.
He has won numerous U.S. and international awards, including the AVMA
Humane Award (2007).
Barbara Smuts is Professor of Biopsychology at the University of Michigan.
She uses perspectives derived from evolutionary theory, studies of complex
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About the Contributors 5
systems, and developmental research to examine the dynamics and functions
of long-term social relationships. She focuses on social behavior in animals
such as primates, wolves, and domestic dogs. Topics of her current interest
include play, social reciprocity, cooperation, greetings, conflict resolution,
emotions, and mood. Smuts edited Primate Societies (University of Chicago
Press, 1987) and authored Sex and Friendship in Baboons (Harvard University
Press, 1999). She has written articles on animal being in a variety of scientific and multi-disciplinary contexts.
Traci Warkentin is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Geography
at Hunter College and is a member of the advisory board for the CUNY Institute for Sustainable Cities. Her research interests include human-animal
relations, environmental ethics, environmental and geographic education,
and animal and cultural geographies. She is currently investigating opportunities for reciprocity in whale-human encounters and best practices for
environmental education in aquariums, involving extensive fieldwork in the
U.S. and Canada. Reflecting the interdisciplinary nature of her work, she
has published articles in Ethics and the Environment, the Canadian Journal of
Environmental Education, AI & Society, entries in the Encyclopedia of HumanAnimal Relationships, as well as book chapters on methods for studying animal
minds and on whale agency in captivity.
Jennifer Wolch is Dean of the College of Environmental Design at the University of California, Berkeley and the William W. Wurster Chair of City
and Regional Planning. She was the founding director of the University of
Southern California’s Center for Sustainable Cities, where she also served
as Professor of Geography. Her research focuses on metropolitan sprawl,
physical activity and urban design, urban environmental justice and political ecology, and society-animals relations. With Jody Emel, she edited Animal Geographies: Place, Politics and Identity in the Nature/Culture Borderlands
(Verso, 1998), and has published articles and book chapters on population
diversity and attitudes toward animals, racialization and animal practices,
and the place of animals in the city.
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Metamorphoses of the Zoo

Transcription

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