The Ones With No Voice

When it comes to animals, there’s something about how most are treated that I can’t shake.

I remember taking my son to the circus once. It was my very first time as well. There was an opportunity to let your kids take an elephant ride. Me, having never seen one up close, thought it would be fun, so I put him on for a ride, thinking it was something normal, something fun. But every time that elephant came around, I noticed its eyes. There was a sadness there — a heavy, deep sadness — and I thought that didn’t belong in something that big, that strong. And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. And my heart felt shame that I contributed to its sadness.

That was the last time I ever went to a circus.

A few years later, the same thing happened with Marineland. I went once. I saw the beluga whales, how friendly they were, how you could pay to touch them, and how their skin looked — flaky, almost falling off. It didn’t look healthy. And all I could think was… they don’t belong here. They belong in the ocean. Free. Living how they were put on earth to be. Not in a tank for people’s profit or entertainment.

Even the zoo never sat right with me. I remember saying something about it once to a tour guide. I made a comment about how the animals shouldn’t be here, enclosed, and she got defensive — saying they were being saved. But saved from what? Extinction? That is one thing. That’s different. That’s necessary sometimes. But to keep animals in spaces that aren’t theirs, behind bars or glass for people to stare at… I don’t know. It just never felt right to me.

I remember looking at the gorillas, thinking — they know. They’re not stupid. They sit there while people watch them like they’re on display. And I always wondered… how would that feel, to be on the other side of the glass, being on display, exposed, taken from what should be your home and put in a makeshift place with basic necessities and limited space?

I don’t think people think about that.

But I do.

I have birds, and they fly around my house. They have free roam. Do they make a mess? Yes. Do I love it? No. But they’re birds. They’re meant to fly. And I chose to have one, so I have to accept the mess comes with the territory. I adopted one of them because I heard he was cage-bound his whole life, and even now, he’s scared to be free. I have to bring him out daily, let him fly for a bit, but his reaction is always to go right back into his cage because that’s all he knows. My other bird goes everywhere, and I am hoping he will guide the adopted bird to show him it’s OK to come out.

That part always gets me.

Because freedom can feel unfamiliar when you’ve never had it.

And then there are the contradictions.

For example, I took a picture with a tiger once. A real one. Because she was sleeping, I was told to just lay beside it, which I did, and they put its paw over me like it was a normal thing. It looked like a big stuffed animal. Calm. Still. And now, when I look back, I think… does that make me a hypocrite?

Maybe.

Or maybe it just means I was still figuring out where my line is.

I eat meat. I won’t pretend I don’t. But I’ve never been able to disconnect from how it gets to my plate. My dad was a butcher, so I am not naïve to how slaughter works.

I remember I tried cooking lobster once. It didn’t go so well, and I can say I couldn’t do it again because it stayed with me. To this day, even now, I’ll eat it, but I won’t choose it from a tank. I won’t point and say, “that one.” I will just order it. What I can’t see can’t bother me as much.

But there are things I just can’t ignore.

And I’ve realized something about myself.

I don’t just see animals in cages.

I recognize something in them.

Something about control. About being forced into something. About not having a choice. Not having a voice. Being beaten into submission.

Maybe that’s why it hits me the way it does.

Because I know what it feels like to have to obey. To be corrected. To be punished for not getting it right. To not have a say in what’s happening to you. To have to just take it and accept this is how things are.

We’re all mammals. Living creatures.

We all feel.

The difference is — we have a voice. And we have a choice.

They don’t.

You can’t save everything.

But you can choose what you will and won’t be part of.