zoo ambivalence

As a child, I loved the zoo. At some point, like most children, I became intensely interested in learning as much as I could about different kinds of animals. This was probably also encouraged by a Canadian school system that was, at the time, very much focussed on educating students on issues around environmentalism. While green issues that have only recently become part the mainstream conversation in the USA, I was fortunate to have grown up with an active awareness of these important issues. Getting back to the point, though, I loved to learn about animals. For a period of a couple of years, I even collected wildlife cards, that my parents graciously funded. Every month I would get 20 new ones in the mail, and I would spend hours reading about them and then try to tell anybody who would listen that pandas weren't bears and about just how slowly sloths ate their food.

The zoo was, thus, incredible. Poring over a book, no matter how intently, simply fails to capture the beautiful majesty of seeing a tiger up close, in the flesh. Beyond that, the zoo is an environment where noise is ubiquitous, making it an ideal place for kids to cut loose. I think the big cats and the monkeys were my favorite animals at the zoo, but much of the appeal was in the mere presence of so many different types of animals in one place. Lately, though, my experiences have been more mixed. I remember visiting the Bronx Zoo when I was a summer intern in NYC and finding the whole thing inexplicably disappointing. I chalked it up to the Bronx Zoo being subpar, relative to others that I'd seen. Still, that didn't seem to fully explain it. As a friend recently noted-- "It's weird. The zoo seems like it should be so much fun, but it isn't."

A few years ago, I had an experience that brought clarity to my feelings. It happened while I was visiting Robe in DC, who at the time, was living very close to the zoo. On our way to meet a friend, we decided to walk through the zoo and see some of the animals. In the monkey house, I abruptly and unexpectedly experienced a strong sense of pathos when I saw the orangutan behind in a small white room behind glass. Looking at him, I saw not a wild animal, but an old man, kept unjustifiably captive. I saw intelligence in his eyes, and most troubling, I saw what seemed to be a tragic sense of resignation. Across the room, a gorilla threw himself at the glass with such force that the loud thud made people gasp. The whole thing really messed with my head, and the zoo suddenly became something barbaric and distasteful to me.

At various points since, I've described myself as anti-zoo. In truth, my feelings are more ambivalent. Zoos can and do serve important preservation and education functions. Ironically, many of those who crusade for the rights of animals may owe their love of animals to some seminal experience in a zoo. Still, I question whether the end justifies the means, and I lean towards concluding that it does not. In fairness, there is also a wide variance in animal treatment across different zoos. At the end of the day, however, they all still forcibly confine animals in unnatural habitats and put them on display for many thousands of gawkers each day.

What about open air preserves and protected park areas? These serve some of the same positive purposes, and do so in a way that is not cruel to the animals. Are these problematic as well? Would be interested to hear others' thoughts on the zoo issue.