Open letter to an elephant

There is a lot I want to say when I look at the family photo taken in Singapore more than ten years ago.  The afternoon was blisteringly hot, the vegetation was unfamiliar.  It was the five of us, bathing in the luxury of a stopover in the middle of Asia.  On that photo, we were perched on your back, mindlessly enjoying the unknown experience. I used to only see ourselves in this photo.  A nice family shot from a holiday abroad.
It never occurred to me that there could be anything wrong with doing what tourists do : riding atop an elephant.

At no point did it cross my mind that you had to pose for a similar photo several times that day, the day before, the day after and every other day after that. So many times per day.  I thought it was … your job. 
We were there for the thrill of riding atop the world’s largest terrestrial mammal.  We were there for the photo.
Weighing on your tired back like a brainless load.
 

I am not sure exactly when the shift happened inside me. One day when looking at the photo, you suddenly appeared in it.  I couldn’t brush off  the uneasiness.  How could I’ve missed you?   How could I have been blind to the emotional depth of such a majestic being?

And flooding in : the palpable story of your life.  

I experienced the pain, the exhaustion, the anger and the despair of your crushed spirit. I felt the weight of several humans pressing directly on your spine, causing pain and stress on your vertebrae.  I knew the exhaustion after working for extended periods of time without breaks.  I felt oppressed picturing your space reduced to a few square meters of hard concrete. I experienced the numbness of your leg where the heavy chain sits.  My stomach churned at the thought of you being taken away from your mother as a cub and I silently cried knowing your spirit had been beaten into submission in the training process. I saw the metallic limits of your captivity that only allow a few steps in every direction. I sensed the loneliness of your days, away from your community.

I allowed the grief to completely smother me. Despair was a pretty small price to pay.

I see you now.  And I am so sorry.