Blurring the line between man and beast
What would you do if you found your child being wantonly cruel to an animal? My guess is that, in many cases, it would depend on what kind of animal. Unless you are a Jain or a Buddhist of strict pedagogic tendency, little Johnny would probably avoid a spanking for squashing a few ants.
But what if the animal were larger and - dare one add - cuter? Then you might step in with a heavy hand. You would at least stop Johnny from carrying on with whatever he was up to. And, especially if Johnny was normally a good boy, you would probably try to find out what caused his actions in the first place.
Note that there is absolutely no basis in morality or science for your choice of action. You show outrage at Johnny poking the dog with the stick - and fair enough. But did you take him to an abattoir before serving that delicious roast of beef last Sunday? Haven't you in fact taken him hunting one time in the United States? And taught him fishing? Weren't you proud of him for killing that snake in Sai Kung last weekend all by himself?
What is at work here is anthropomorphism pure and simple - the feeling that some animals are just so human that mistreating them is not nasty or cruel, but actually criminal. If the absurdity of this isn't immediately obvious, think of your reaction if the dog had been attacking your child. Too bad for any species that isn't cuddly enough.
This is the only way to explain the reaction of a so-called 'animal rights' group to the 'sadistic attack' recently on two kittens in Mongkok. Presumably fearing the outbreak of cat-baiting throughout the city, something calling itself the Animal Welfare Advisory Group has launched a petition to increase massively the legal penalties for cruelty to animals. The group says that existing penalties are 'below international standards', and even our local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals 'doesn't seem to care'.
Should this kind of creeping confusion between mankind and the beast of the field worry us? After all, Hong Kong people have for long had a high but eminently practical respect for other species. Dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters and the rest are kept not only by New-Age expatriates but by many normal old or single people to whom they provide the only alternative to the comfort of real human friendship.
The rich keep horses; the rest of us enjoy watching them with an enthusiasm unmatched elsewhere. People want zoos, aviaries and pet gardens. Birds and fish are ubiquitous in traditional Chinese homes - and in many that are not so traditional. Animals are honoured throughout the year in colourful Buddhist and animist religious festivals. And they provide a front line for research not just into beauty products and cosmetics, but into life-saving medicines.
And, of course, we love to eat: all species, in the Cantonese saying, that 'fly, walk or swim'. Some traditional delicacies may owe more to prestige than flavour; others may fall victim to fears of animal-spread diseases.
But think how many remain: drunken prawns; king oil crabs; stuffed rice birds; roast pigeon; and baby suckling pig. Where else would my seven-year-old daughter be able to pick out her own snake and have the blood poured live into her wine cup?
In Isabel Allende's wonderful book Aphrodite, the understanding of nature is part of the joy of being carnivorous. To exhibit gratuitous cruelty towards living creatures is a disgusting trait. But to identify with the animals in the zoo is to ask to be exhibited with them.
Andrew Wells is a former senior civil servant and a freelance writer
