suffering unseen: the dark truth behind wildlife tourism

 Humans identify suffering in other humans by universal signs: People sob, wince, cry out, put voice to their hurt. Animals have no universal language for pain. Many animals don’t have tear ducts. More creatures still—prey animals, for example—instinctively mask symptoms of pain, lest they appear weak to predators. Recognizing that a nonhuman animal is in pain is difficult, often impossible.

But we know that animals feel pain. All mammals have a similar neuroanatomy. Birds, reptiles, and amphibians all have pain receptors. As recently as a decade ago, scientists had collected more evidence that fish feel pain than they had for neonatal infants. A four-year-old human child with spikes pressing into his flesh would express pain by screaming. A four-year-old elephant just stands there in the rain, her leg jerking in the air.

Photos of tourists with captive wild animals abound on social media platforms such as Instagram. With the tap of a finger, travelers post their images of exotic animals for the world to see. But often travelers and fans alike are unaware of what the animals’ lives are really like.

As we traveled to performance pits and holding pens on three continents and in the Hawaiian Islands, asking questions about how animals are treated and getting answers that didn’t always add up, it became clear how methodically and systematically animal suffering is concealed.

The wildlife tourism industry caters to people’s love of animals but often seeks to maximize profits by exploiting animals from birth to death. The industry’s economy depends largely on people believing that the animals they’re paying to watch or ride or feed are having fun too.

It succeeds partly because tourists—in unfamiliar settings and eager to have a positive experience—typically don’t consider the possibility that they’re helping to hurt animals. Social media adds to the confusion: Oblivious endorsements from friends and trendsetters legitimize attractions before a traveler ever gets near an animal.

There has been some recognition of social media’s role in the problem. In December 2017, after a National Geographic investigative report on harmful wildlife tourism in Amazonian Brazil and Peru, Instagram introduced a feature: Users who click or search one of dozens of hashtags, such as #slothselfie and #tigercubselfie, now get a pop-up warning that the content they’re viewing may be harmful to animals.


Gluay Hom, a four-year-old elephant trained to perform tricks for tourists, is chained to a pole in a stadium at Samut Prakan Crocodile Farm and Zoo near Bangkok, Thailand. His swollen right foreleg hangs limp. At his temple is a bloody wound from lying on the floor.
A macaque pauses during a performance at Monkey School, a roadside zoo near Chiang Mai. The monkeys are trained to ride a tricycle, shoot a basketball, twirl a parasol. After the shows, they’re returned to roughly three-by-three-foot metal cages.
Muzzled and chained, three performing bears face their trainer, Grant Ibragimov, after a rehearsal at the Bolshoi State St. Petersburg Circus, in Russia. To make bear cubs strong enough to walk on two legs, trainers may keep them in a standing position, tethered by their necks to the wall.
At Sriracha Tiger Zoo, in Chon Buri, Thailand, cubs taken from their mothers at birth are kept in small cages and brought out for photo ops. Mothers are speed bred to ensure that there are always baby cats for visitors to cuddle.

Read More :