Finally, some good news for the poor imported fat asses of Barnum ‘n Bailey:
Elephants will no longer be part of the circus.
And, in a way, I think we have Hollywood to thank for it.
If you’re like me, you may have seen “Water For Elephants” and thought, “Oh, well that was like twelve million years ago when people were depressed and poor and didn’t care about if animals got treated shittily. That doesn’t happen now.” Then, of course, I saw that horror fuel of a documentary called “Apology to Elephants”, where they snuck in cameras and showed these kidnapped creatures getting abused on the daily. Why? Because pretty much everything they make ‘em do is what they would never do in the wild on their own. So they beat it into them with practice like a Southern dad grooming his two year old son for QB status in fifeen years. Shit, some of it I can’t even do. I mean, imagine (espesh if you’re devoid of upper body strength like me) trying to do a handstand. Even if you can do a handstand, imagine how much effing harder it’d be with a small house’s worth of weight attached to your lower body. Thrusting all that shiz up toward the sky must be murder on those front stumps, the poor bastards.
And then, after the show, they just get tied up and caged for the entirety of their downtime of not being beaten.
If this is all new to you, it basically goes like this: elephants don’t perform for positive reward (i.e. “good dog; you get a treat for rolling over”); it’s simply not sufficient motivation for putting themselves voluntarily through the pain their tricks induce. So, instead, trainers hafta use the threat of a pain worse than the one they have to cause themselves by head standing or one leg standing or maybe flying with their ears at the encouragement of an affable mouse friend (I dunno about that last one – seeing as the closest I’ve come to the circus were those animal crackers boxes I used to eat at warp speed until my mouth felt like it was filled with sugar infused clay). But whatever it is they do, subsequent documentaries with elephant specialists indicate none of it’s natural and that’s why they hafta stab Babar in the ass with a bullhook to get him to do anything. At first, they abduct the baby elephant and tie him down and stab him into sadistic postures with that thing (which, though terrible for him, might just be a good way for me to learn a new batch of yoga postures – I’ll spitball the idea to Nancy, my Zen dungeon mistress). And during those first stages he’s screaming (because: A.) Pain B.) Just been ripped from mother). But several years into it, the main daily motivation’s to avoid pain. So, he’ll perform. But the whole reluctant bit’s like if McKayla Maroney’d been pulling her meme mug during the entire competition. Not just when she won the first place loser medal.
But why get rid of ‘em now?
I mean these little hidden camera efforts have been going on for ages.
(And not just at Barnum.)
Well, simply put, sometimes Hollywood gets it right. There’s a lot of glittering bullshit that emerges from Tinseltown. But every once in a while, the sentimental smut it generates (like aforementioned Notebook meets Peta flick starring Teen Vamp, Legally Blonde, and Scary Euro Bad Guy In Every Movie) sparks just the right line of questioning. “Did this really happen? Is it still happening? Can we stop it?” Given the fact that the documentary started airing on the regular soon after the release of the Hollywood romance, it felt like the animal rights equivalent to the later, more recent but similar phenomenon that happened when the Chris Kyle movie came out conveniently right before his murderer’s trial (smart move on his wife’s part – also explains why the film was sorta devoid of substance compared to the book; they rushed it to change public opinion.)
Similarly (but without the time constraint and maybe less contrived), this synthesis of spotlight-shining on this cringe-worthy practice eradicated the whole “I don’t wanna know how the cow was killed, I just want my burger” element in big top entertainment. You know, maybe that’s the only way to invoke real change in my society. Tell a story through the filter of film first, preferably with a love story thrown in somewhere. That way the audience is good and anesthetized enough to receive the underlying info. Then, because they identify with the story somehow (whether it’s “I support soldiers” or “I support animal rights”), they’ll feel like they’re part of it enough to want to get involved. Even those who just take to the net with clicktivism have the butterfly effect of making shit trend and go viral until public opinion alters and there’s a media monsoon turning on the biggest show on earth.
(I like to imagine she’s Tree Trunks’s even sluttier sister)
And why are a buncha pachyderms doing a Congo line against their will so much more important than prioritizing people suffering domestically and across the globe? I don’t feel like it is. While I joke about my dog being better than any member of my own species, I value people. But half of it is that I have to actively get involved in reading about anyone-but-me-or-my-loved-ones’ plights sometimes before I even care (outta sight; outta mind). I have to make it real. The other half of it, though – once the suffering of others is real – is how much regard or reverence for all life we have. The society my senses are perpetually inundated by might have a cutesy Animal Planet show, but then I turn on the news and see the circus is in town with its tusked behemoth’s covered in visible bullhook scars, or flip to the redneck channel and see creatures that look like spotted alien Dobermans with hooves being murdered and destined for a mantle. Whatever we practice becomes habitual. It just seems that if we’re practicing cruelty – or witnessing the condoning of it – on a mass scale with other life forms, it becomes a little too easy to become cruel toward, apathetic about, or disconnected from our own kind when they’re suffering too. And maybe I’m too PollyAnna style hopeful here, but I feel like people are slowly waking up to that fact. Because B&B is officially losing money. Customers are actively boycotting them if the elephants perform.
Hey, maybe they should make a part two:
“Water For Elephants, Tigers, And All The Other Furry Fucks Who Don’t Belong In Cages Either.”
In my head, I like to imagine it’d just be a 90 minute version of this ubervegan art piece below. On a train.