‘But What About the Elephants?’

Lovely Photo by Stephen W. Oachs

(This posting has been revised since the presidential swerve late Friday evening, via Twitter.) 

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/17/us/politics/trump-elephant-trophy-ban.html?_r=

Ted Turner used to make this impassioned plea for an endangered species -- indeed,  for an endangered planet -- during his noble effort, The Goodwill Games in Moscow, 1986.

Remember 1986? Remember Goodwill? Remember Gorbachev? For that matter, remember Ted Turner? I dubbed him a “holy fool” because of his Dostoyevskian zeal.

John Feinstein, covering those games in Moscow, heard Turner’s stump speech so often that he could sense the punch line coming. 

“But what about the elephants?” John would squawk.

Those were the good old days, when we produced holy fools, not flat-out fools.

Now Turner's cause is sabotaged daily by  Donald Trump, whose only concern is setting up his own spawn and the Mnuchins and Wilburs of the world for more riches. 

Trump is all for porous pipelines and spewing coal stacks (and tax revisions) as long as they make somebody richer. 

For a moment this week he also tried to set up his own killer sons and their type to get richer from slaughtering “trophy” animals in Zimbabwe and importing their parts.

In mid-week Trump announced his intention to make it legally possible to import -- to display -- to brag about -- these tails and tusks and Lord knows what else, cut from the dead bodies of these most civilized mammals. 

The total of worldwide elephants has dropped 30 percent from 2007 to 20014. I read that in the Times. People with the savage name of Trump have contributed to that. Are proud of that. What an ugly family.

For some reason, Trump changed his mind in one of his late-night Twitter eruptions Friday, saying he was delaying any action on the (Obama-era) policy to ban importing elephant "trophies." 

The article in Saturday's paper: 

_r=www.nytimes.com/2017/11/17/us/politics/trump-elephant-trophy-ban.html?_r=


I have felt more personal about elephants since visiting South Africa for the World Cup in 2010. Our guide Witold took four journalists on a day trip out of Johannesburg for the only exposure to nature we would have during a hectic month. 

Witold was trying to find lions and other Bold Letter animals during our quickie run into the wild.

He parked on a dirt road and looked around. Then he saw a family of elephants to our left, moving toward us. We were on their crossroad. He backed up 10 feet, and the family of elders and infants walked slowly in front of us, their heads turned to the right to keep an eye on us, as well they might. (“We’re not Trumps!” I could have said, “We’re not that sort!”)

Their right eyes were patient and wise as they walked with dignity. I fell in love with elephants at that moment, the kind of easy emotion for a day-tripper on a day off from football. I wish I had taken photos, but I was mesmerized.

That was my lifetime African experience. Big deal. But it stayed with me, to the point that I feel familial rage toward a plunderer who enables murderers from his own sordid brood. Have a tusk, Donald. Have a tail, Eric. Go shoot something, brave guys.

“But what about the elephants?”

Where is Ted Turner when we really need him? 

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A Trump with Knife and Elephant Tail