Chapter 1: A Personal Encounter with Captivity

During my last visit to the zoo, I encountered a stark reality that changed my perspective forever.

"No photos, please," the zookeeper instructed, raising her hand to obstruct my camera. I understood the reasoning—backstage areas were not designed for public viewing. The dull concrete and metal bars hardly made for attractive images.

"I apologize, I didn't realize," I replied, tucking my phone away.

She offered a polite smile and returned to her duties, which included conducting a mock health check on a gorilla. I stood with several fellow primatology students in a cramped, warm room, facing a small cage that housed a 400-pound gorilla.

I yearned for him to meet my gaze, yet when he did, I wished he would look away.

The zookeeper and the gorilla engaged in a choreographed routine; he complied with her every motion, lifting his arms and spinning around, while she poked at him with a popsicle stick—a practice for his health assessments.

The proximity to this magnificent creature was exhilarating, yet unsettling. I could almost reach out and touch him. The scent of his sweat filled the air, and the sound of his breathing resonated in the room, heavily weighted by the awareness of his captivity.

This is the allure of zoos: the chance to connect with the exotic and rekindle our relationship with nature. We seek an escape from our urban landscapes, imagining ourselves surrounded by untamed wildlife. Yet, the zoo presents a façade, an illusion crafted with artificial rocks, imported plants, and staff dressed in khaki.

In stark contrast, the gorilla's backstage area revealed a reality that was mostly aesthetic. Instead of the stark concrete walls, the public sees boulders and thick glass. The children’s laughter and the zookeeper’s careful prodding are replaced by bored teenagers tapping on the glass.

The gorillas, designed by evolution for freedom, find themselves confined in predictable environments.

Section 1.1: Observing the Animals

Our assignment for the day involved observing the gorillas from the exhibit window, cataloging their behaviors for future research. The professor encouraged us to look for activities like playing, mating, and foraging. However, for three hours, I witnessed the gorillas merely alternating between sitting and pacing. The data I collected could have come from a reflection in the glass rather than the animals themselves.

Zoos are not created for the comfort of their animal residents but rather for human entertainment. In nature, gorillas traverse home ranges of more than five square miles; in captivity, they live within enclosures the size of a hotel lobby. Wild gorillas thrive in lush habitats, yet these animals are kept in barren surroundings designed for visibility.

Every animal in a zoo endures a life of confinement—gorillas fare better than many. Lions and tigers inhabit spaces over 17,000 times smaller than their natural territories, while polar bears are often kept in conditions that are a million times less spacious than their wild environments.

The mental toll of captivity is severe. The daily monotony is suffocating, with no opportunity for new experiences, devoid of privacy, and stripped of freedom. Each day mirrors the last, leading to what is known as "zoochosis," a term that captures the mental suffering endured by these animals.

Subsection 1.1.1: The Impact of Confinement

Animals in zoos frequently display behaviors akin to mental illness, such as pacing and self-harm. Some are heavily medicated to mask their distress, with numerous zoos administering drugs like Zoloft and Prozac to their residents. This reality reveals a troubling truth: these animals suffer from the same mental health issues we do, a reflection of our similar biological makeup.

Chapter 2: The Illusion of Conservation

The belief that zoos contribute to conservation is misleading. A staggering 83% of species in zoos are neither endangered nor threatened. The few endangered animals kept in captivity are rarely prepared for release into the wild, having been bred for human entertainment rather than survival.

The financial contributions to conservation are minimal. AZA-accredited zoos allocate less than 3% of their budgets to this cause, and many facilities do not contribute at all.

When faced with these facts, proponents of zoos often retreat to the notion that their educational value justifies their existence. However, research indicates that most children leave zoos with misconceptions about animals, rather than a genuine understanding.

As I walked towards the exit, I was struck by the scent of the zoo—a mix of hay, sweat, and dung—evoking a sense of nostalgia. I felt as though I was attempting to breathe life back into childhood memories that had lost their meaning.

I gazed one last time at the ostriches, confined behind wires, realizing that their lives were as unchanging as the barren landscape they inhabited. In that moment, I understood that it was time for humanity to evolve beyond the confines of the zoo.

I turned away, leaving them behind.