I posted a while ago about our last trip to a zoo (The Denver Zoo, actually—during our trip out for last year’s ASA conference). Today, we visited the Buffalo Zoo, which is actually one of the oldest zoos in the country. Zoos are fascinating places. They still have the stink of empire and colonization to me. But, I’ve been sociologically interested in zoos ever since seeing Marjorie DeVault present on some of her research concerning zoo visits and family life. Zoos are an extraordinary example of how families learn to look at the world in similar ways. Parents teach children how to position themselves to look at something, to be mindful of others (or not), what to look at, what is “important” (animals) and what should be ignored (fences, cages, and plant life), etc. It is through small practices like this that intimate groups (like families) collectively reaffirm themselves.
For instance, most visitors passed right by a rhinoceros lying down in a pool to cool off. The rhino was mostly concealed beneath the water. But, rhinos are my son’s favorite animal of late. So, while a half-hidden rhino doing nothing but shaking her ears is something many people chose to walk by, our family stopped because it’s significant to Ciaran. And in stopping, we collaborated in producing a small family ritual—one of those insignificant moments that is part of what makes us “Us.”
A great deal about zoos has changed since I was young. I remember being able to ride elephants and camels. I remember exhibits constructed in such a way that animals could not hide from view. Not today. Habitats today are more expansive, often permitting animals the ability to put themselves “on display” or out of sight. Perhaps our understandings of the psychological consequences of captivity on (some) animals have changed. Or perhaps our collective beliefs about animals themselves have changed. Either way, exhibits are dramatically different than I remember as a child.
Beyond the spaces themselves, technology has dramatically altered the ways in which people interact with the exhibits. Witnessing the exhibit often felt secondary to digitally documenting the visit. So, unable to turn off my inner sociologist, I started documenting the documenters. I watched a family of four come up to a habitat, each with digital cameras of their own. They all took pictures, glancing briefly at the pictures each person took, took a few more, and moved on to the next exhibit. Sometimes, someone took pictures of the signs, too. Perhaps this was to remember a few facts about the animals they were so busy photographing. Capturing the animal in an interesting pose (like this shot of my son looking at the otters) was prized. But, getting the shot was a must. Groups often didn’t move on until everyone with a camera got a satisfactory shot.
So what?
Inequality by (Interior) Design 