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by Andrew DellaRocca/PNN Community Journalist
"Where hunting was the way of life, the master animal was revered. Salmon,
buffalo, lion, bear, whale, antelope - all these master animals represented
a sacred, informing presence to those societies for whom they were also the
master source of food. The relationship between human beings and these
master animals was not simply one of predator and prey, for in traditional
hunting societies it was believed that the animal appeared and offered
itself willingly. By killing it, the hunter assisted the spiritual journey
of the animal so it could once again return to become nourishment for
humankind. This was the sacred covenant between a divine presence that died
and was resurrected, and humanity, which partook of its body and blood - a
covenant strengthened by the traditional sentiment that there was ultimately
only one Life, though expressed in myriad forms. In other words, the life
of the hunter and that of the animal were not separate but alternate
reflections of the same life source. And because the master animals were
seen to travel so regularly between the world of the living and the world of
the spirit, they were venerated as 'bridges' between these two worlds, to be
used by shamans and priests who ventured into the realm of the spirit for
the health and well-being of individuals and the group.".... excerpt from The Hero with an African Face by Clyde W. Ford
It was the duality of the atmosphere that struck me most on Saturday
afternoon. The parking lot of Cow Palace was practically barren of life,
save for a few souls wandering for whatever reasons between the empty cars
that dotted the asphalt. I had arrived later than expected, having not
taken into account the vastness of the territory covered by the No. 9 San
Bruno. The circus had already begun, everybody was inside, and I was
greeted only by a torn piece of paper that blew against my foot pleadingly.
Memories of a circus long past, when I was a child and went to see the
Moscow Circus at the Knickerbaker Arena in Albany, New York, invaded my
mind, and I held onto a vision of bright lights and ringing sounds, men and
women flying and somersaulting through the air, exotic animals, and cotton
candy. I could not reconcile the contrast of that memory with where I
stood, amidst the industrial gray exterior decor of the Cow Palace, with its
soldiers in equally gray blazers, there to ensure that nobody snuck into the
show through a side door, or hopped over one of the fences to see the
animals who awaited their turn in the ring.
I had never before explored the issues surrounding animal rights, and was
unsure of whether or not it truly was a story for POOR magazine, an
organization that focuses primarily on issues of poverty and race. Ringling
Brothers and Barnum and Bailey's Circus. The greatest show on Earth.
Distraught elephants. Where does it fit?
I crossed through the parking lot, angry that I had missed the
demonstrations, but eager to speak with one of the activists. A man in a
tiger costume with the head removed walked toward me. He carried a picket
sign, and dragged his feet wearily. Again, the contrasts were unavoidable.
I thought of my cousin, who at one point in her adolescence worked in a
restaurant as the restaurant's mascot. She had to wear a bear costume, and
would play with the children as they walked through the door. The tiger
before me, on the other hand, did not wear a costume to entertain children,
or to play. He wore his costume as an act of resistance.
"Excuse me, have you been out here demonstrating?" I asked him. He told me
yes, and that they were taking a break while the show was on. I told him
that I was press, and asked him who it would be best to interview. He
pointed me to his colleague.
Pat Cuviello, from Citizens for Cruelty Free Circuses, walked toward me,
with a slight grin on his face and eager to talk. We stood by a fence. The
trees surrounding it blocked the wind from my tape recorder. I asked him
why he demonstrated against the circus's treatment of its animals.
"The conditions that the animals are living in and are trained in are
conditions of deprivation and infliction," said Pat. "What happens is that
the animals tend to check out, they go crazy. You'll see them bobbing their
head or swaying back and forth, the tigers you'll see them pacing back and
forth, because it's so frustrating in these conditions. So that's the main
reason we don't like it... these animals become a grotesque version of who
they really are."
I asked Pat why, in his opinion, animal acts continue to draw spectators.
He told me, "I think that we are taught to look at animals in a certain way,
growing up in our culture here. We're taught to look at them as objects,
and something to be used. We really don't know much about animals, we've
just been learning about them in the last forty to fifty years."
He continued by speaking about Jane Goodall and Diane Fossey, two famous
researchers who studied the behavior of gorillas and chimpanzees. Before
their work in the jungles, the only things known about gorillas were what
had been learned in the zoos and in the circuses.
"They'd throw water on them and jab them so that they'd be upset. So Dian
Fossey and Jane Goodall go out there, and now we know who these animals are.
We now think of gorillas as gentle giants. You'd never see them in the
circus anymore. Now that people know who they are, they don't want to see
them in these conditions. So, the more we're learning about them,
especially now with nature films and stuff, people are more and more finding
this distasteful, which I'm glad about."
"What I'm advocating is respect, respect for everyone," continued Pat.
"Just because they're a different species, doesn't mean we shouldn't respect
them. Just because someone is a different race, or has different eyes or
hair or whatever, doesn't mean I shouldn't respect them. I think it's a
whole inclusive thing. The environmental movement is also about that,
respecting the planet. It's who we are, it's where we come from, it's why
we're here."
After Pat's interview, I tried desperately to get a look at the animals in
their living conditions. I was denied access, not having the sufficient
funds to get through the gate. But I did catch a few of the animals coming
out of the circus and heading towards their cages. It was a brief glimpse.
The area where they were kept was shut off by fencing, which was covered by
colorful Barnum and Bailey banners. Lamas passed, and horses, and then the
elephants. The elephants' feet lethargically pounded the pavement in unison
as they passed. Their trunks grasped the tails of the preceding elephants,
and they moved forward bound together like a chain gang, heads drooping,
their eyes wandering. The circus employees escorted these "master" animals
into their cages, and that was the last I saw.
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