by Donna Anderson
AnimalConcerns.org (formerly Animal Rights Resource Site)
For two weeks, the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey
Circus was in town ...and what hard weeks they were. Leaflets by the
thousands were handed out, urging to make this circus the last until
animals are banned from its entertainment, banned from its abuses. I
completely agree.
I don't know how many times I went to leaflet or how
many hours I stood in front of the Philadelphia Spectrum, but the
experience will be something I'll never forget. The tears still pour
when I think about the elephants in their chains, the horses not being
able to reach the hay on the ground, and the basic fact that they did
not belong there. To heal my grief, I thought of them in wide open
plains, grazing, just enjoying life. It didn't help much, for every time
I walked around to see the animals, I saw Conga, a large, worn elephant
in massive chains. Those were the times my heart broke into
pieces...pieces that I'll never be able to repair.
Whether this elephant was a male or a female, I'll never
know, but I saw him and how violently he rocked, through an opened
section of the tent. His chains rattled with even the most subtle
movement he made, reminding both him, and I, of their presence.
Every day I went to leaflet, I checked on him, knelt on
the grassy sidewalk and strained to see under the heavy canvas that hid
him from all eyes. And every time, my heart broke more. The thought of
him filled my dreams, as well as my waking hours. His rocking (according
to a spokesperson for Ringling Bros. was to keep his blood flowing)
replayed in my mind, battling what little strength I had left. How could
I tell him I was there for him, that I felt the gloom of his life?
The last day, the final show, of the circus was the
hardest for me and all of the protesters who came to photograph,
videotape, and just observe. The tents were down, packed away in the
freight train waiting to roll to a different city. And there was Conga,
the sorrow in his dull eyes staring back at me through the chain-linked
fence. He seemed old, his skin badly cracked, his movements slow. Most
of his time was spent separated from the other elephants, except for the
ten or fifteen minutes he was away at the show, leading the others in
the opening act. I watched as he struggled to reach for a carrot lying
in his own urine (probably the first he had been given in a long time)
and cringed as he stretched his chains so tight to snuggle with another
elephant that I thought he would either rip the hook from the cement, or
tear his leg off.
That was a long day and I still feel worn from its
happenings. At times, I felt as one of the animals being watched, though
my watchers were the circus workers, sure I, or one of the others, would
do something drastic. No one did. We all stood silently and documented
any abuse our eyes fell upon, and to our eyes we saw all...a young
elephant with its trunk badly scarred by an elephant hook, another
rolling on the hard cement as water was given (the closest to a mud bath
he had ever gotten), and the battle from all of them to move further
than their short chains would allow.
Night fell and all left, except myself and two others.
We rode around the stadium a few times, not sure if we were really ready
to go home, not sure what we could do if we weren't. The last time we
neared the animals, all of the elephants were gone... they were getting
ready to walk (in chains) the tenth of a mile to the waiting freight
trains. Our cameras readied, we stood in the street as the first two
elephants passed, our eyes wet with tears. Then I realized, "They're not
in chains!" Needless to say, everyone looked when they heard us cheering
our hearts out. And never before had the tears flowed as rapidly, so
happily. So, for the small one-tenth of a mile, all of the animals felt
a hint of freedom for only the second time since they've been coming to
Philadelphia. (There was only one other time they did not
carry the burden of chains as they walked from the train to the stadium)
And there...behind the line of elephants was Conga, stumbling in his
steps, not sure how to walk without the chains he had grown so
accustomed to.
Perhaps our presence was the cause, or perhaps it was
the presence of the horrified circus patrons who finally believed what
they had read in the leaflets. It didn't matter...Ringling had
surrendered for that small one-tenth of a mile walk of freedom.
Go on to Job
Opportunity
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