Tyler Abbott

Some Thoughts on a Trip to the Zoo

I took my daughter to the Hogle Zoo today. The weather has warmed up to the point that such an outing was not only bearable but pleasant. Chilly in the shade but merely cool in the sun. Perfect spring weather. Finally.

While we meandered among the exhibits, we came to the great ape house, a smallish space occupied by the gorillas and the orangutans. Inside, where the animals spend most of the winter months, it was hot and sweat-sour—like a high school gym locker room.

Immediately, we were met by gaggles of families, because that’s what you most often find at the zoo: gaggles of gaping humans. It’s the surest sign that something exciting is happening in an exhibit. We joined the gaggle so that we could see what the hubbub was all about.

The gorillas rambled, moseying indifferently through their indoor space, clearly stultified with boredom. We ooh-ed and ah-ed, smiled at one another, pretended that we didn’t all recognize a bit of ourselves in them. After my daughter grew as bored as the creatures on the other side of the glass, we moved onto the orangutan exhibit.

We were met by more gaggles. Right on the other side of the glass was a pair of orangutans, male and female. They were cuddled up in a hammock, the male with his face buried in the chest of the female. She stroked the back of his head, occasionally kissing it. After a few moments, the male lifted his head and they both sat caressing and grooming one another, clearly deeply enamored (could that be the right word?) with each other. Before we left, the male was playing peekaboo with the female, hiding under a blanket they were sharing in the hammock, waiting for her to lift it up and find him.

On the other side of the glass, us humans found ourselves caught up in the sweet intimacy of the moment. It was impossible not to see between the two orangutans the presence of the monogamous love that we associate with human relationships. At first, I was deeply moved. I took a photo to show my wife later. Around me, other people took pictures and videos, all smiling, all clearly feeling like I did—enchanted by the beauty of these majestic creatures. But, as I watched the humans watch the orangutans, a creeping sickness rose in my stomach. I stopped seeing people looking at animals. I saw voyeurs shamelessly caught up in the intimacy of another pair of beings.

Imagine, if you will, the simple, daily moments of privacy you experience with your loved ones. Those moments where time disappears, where past and present dissolve, and all that exists is the tender bond of connection you share with another human. Now, imagine trying to experience that same moment under the watching eyes of strangers. Imagine catching a weirdo watching you and your family through your window, taking photos and delighting in your private intimacies. Obviously, you would be horrified. Who wouldn’t be? A vast corpus of law exists to prosecute the peeping toms who shatter the sanctity of our private worlds.

This same thought experiment occurred to me while we watched the orangutans. I was ashamed that I’d taken a photo. I was ashamed that I enjoyed watching their intimacy, that it was even allowed to be put on display. Suddenly, some uncomfortable questions about our relationship with the animal world began to bounce around in my head. When you’re confronted with two creatures engaged in behavior that we so closely associate with our own humanity, it becomes difficult to draw a line between our world and theirs. And when that line begins to fade, our treatment of animals becomes questionable, to say the least.

When you cross that Rubicon, you become like George Taylor landed on an “alien” world where humans are subjugated by apes. You have the intelligence to understand the dominant species, the ability to understand their logic of domination. But at the same time, you share the inner life of the dominated species, able to recognize that despite their “animality,” they experience much the same emotions as the dominant species. And in bridging that gap you become, like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes, a heretic—a totem of uncomfortable truths whose very existence is a revolt against the “natural order.”

I’m not going to say that we should all become vegans. I’m not going to say that we need to grant animals the same rights that humans have. But watching two animals we’ve trapped behind glass share a moment of love and intimacy does make one question the ethical foundation of zoos, in particular, and the hierarchy of dominance we’ve forced onto the animal world, in general. And despite all of those big questions, I got a burger on the way home from the zoo. To say that I’m conflicted is an understatement.