An Open Letter From A Lion To Humans
Human Ignorance And Arrogance Cause Untold Suffering
An Open Letter From A Lion To Humans – As I sit in my enclosure, surrounded by a large group of my fellow lions, all eagerly competing for a spot around the watering hole, I ask myself what I have done to deserve this. Where I went wrong. What imposition I posed to the humans who have forever confined me to a life of servitude and exploitation.
Guest Writer
Jacalyn Beales
I am a captive bred lion. And I am the direct result of your greed and ignorance!
I was born and raised in a lion farm in South Africa. I remember nothing of my birth except the despairing wails of my mother as I was ripped from her grasp. I can only slightly recall the grip of human hands around my young belly as I cried out for my mother to save me. “Don’t let this bad man take me,” I cried. But my mother could do nothing as she watched myself and my siblings stolen from her.
Since that moment, I have been raised, coddled and exploited by you. The first sip of milk I ever had came from a bottle shoved forcibly in my mouth by a volunteer impatiently awaiting their turn to cuddle me. Before my eyes had even opened, the hands which surrounded me were not the paws of a lion but the hands of a human. By the time I could open my eyes and peer out at the world around me, I was tossed into an enclosure with a group of other cubs, all being drooled over by tourists keen to smother us with hugs for a photo. From the moment I was born, I have known no peace; only exploitation.
At night, I would often hear my mother’s faint chuffs and forlorn cries. She was looking for me, her child. She was crying out for the loss of her children. But she would have more offspring. As I grew up and matured, I would come to realize that I was not the first of her children, nor would I be the last. More children like me, more innocent cubs, would be mercilessly taken from her over the course of her life. Some, I would meet through fences and enclosures as they too were thrown to the ‘wolves’ (tourists); others, I would never know. At times, I would witness mature lions being shipped off in trucks in the middle of the night; I would never see them again. I can only assume they have perished in a canned hunt. Now, they hang on the wall in the home of a wealthy American as a pride and joy. But there is no pride or joy here.
Whilst I grew up and became bigger, stronger, I was no longer needed for cub petting. No one wanted to hold me, cuddle me, smother me, or take my photo. I was no longer necessary. I no longer brought in revenue for the monsters who toss meat at me everyday through holes in the fence. So here I sit, growing older without the space to roam, to run, to hunt. I have not seen my mother or siblings for quite some time. Where have they gone? What happened to my mother? Where are my siblings? I will never know.
I am often slapped on the nose, hit, neglected, mistreated. I grow restless, needing room and space to stretch my legs; but that is impossible when you live in an enclosure with hundreds of other lions. The other day, however, I was given some freedom. A nice enough looking couple paid to walk with me and two of my friends; we were made to jump in the air for meat, and often the tour-guide and couple would tug on my tail or bait me with treats if I ran too far ahead. It was nice to be out of my enclosure, but I knew the freedom was not to last. About half an hour later, I was shoved back inside my fenced-in area, my fellow lion friends enviously watching me, awaiting their own turn for a walk.
I know this is exploitation; I know I am being used for profit, having been raised in an industry steeped in greed and cruelty. But what choice have I? The walking is the only freedom I will ever experience before my death. You see, I know I am going to die. And I know my death will be for profit. You don’t live your life in the cub petting and lion-walking industry without learning a thing or two. I smell the fear and sadness on the other lions who walk out of the enclosure, but never walk back in. I see the looks on their faces and the light dim from their eyes (what little light we have, anyway) as they leave our ‘home.’And I know that, one day soon, I will be that lion. The one who leaves but never returns.
Why should this happen to me? Why do you continue to cuddle me, walk with me, pay into my inevitable death? Don’t you see that I will die mercilessly? That my death will be the result of one man’s greed, his lust for a lion trophy? This young cub who grew up being raised for profit, will soon be someone’s rug, someone’s trophy. Is this really what you want for me?
Whilst you ask questions of your own, about the cruelty behind cub petting and canned hunting, let me ask you some of my own. What’s with the habitat loss? Does the government not care at all about the reckless increase in human population which deteriorates the lion’s habitat? And what about this canned hunting business? It’s legal here in South Africa! Why is that? Don’t even get me started on these young tourists and volunteers who actually believe that cuddling me aids conservation! It’s like they’ve been brainwashed into believing that a selfie with me will save my life! But it won’t. Hasn’t anyone told them that the money the pay to pet me, funds the cub petting and canned hunting industries? Why don’t people do their research first, before visiting us in South Africa?
My existence here on earth has had little to do with conservation. Soon, I will no longer be safe to walk with, and no one will want me. I will be good for nothing. And, because I am expensive to care for, I will eventually be sold into a hunt, or to a hunter, so the park I live in now can profit from both my existence and my death. But I will die a slow, painful death. One bullet, two bullets, three…it takes more than one to kill a lion. My hide and head will be used for home decor, for trophies. My bones may even make it to Asia to be used in ‘medicine’that won’t work because, as you already know, my bones have no medicinal properties. The only way I will ever see the outside of this park, the only way I will ever truly be free, is in death. And this all happens with a cuddle. It all started when you paid to pet me as a cub.
So, I ask you again, is this what you want for me? What have I ever done to you, to deserve this? Who is going to save our future lions? Because it’s too late for me.
Please visit CACH (Campaign Against Canned Hunting) at www.cannedlion.org to learn more about cub petting and canned lion hunting. Help save Africa’s lion and be their voice.
