Black Beauty 29-49

Now, having read Black Beauty in its entirety, I still have a few thoughts on my mind. I mean, we're left with all being well and good in the world here, ultimately, right? 

My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple-trees.  (Ch. 49)

But you have to wonder about the rest of the horses who may not have had such a great fate, who would be sold, who might have cruel owners--- or who may not have as much of a natural inclination as Black Beauty to be content with their lot in life. Now we can argue back and forth about whether a horse's life is better in the wild or in captivity, and whether this individual horse or that individual horse "has been bred" without the ability to survive without human help. Ulitmately, I think those arguments are a little too broad, really. I've known many animals that can survive on instincts without human intervention (even if that is not necessarily for very long). And I know animals that if you left them to their own devices, they'd be fine. Yes, it is a difficult, strenuous, and predator-filled world out there--- for all of us. It usually takes some re-introduction and time to get to that point. My point here, though, is that we cannot control everything in nature, (i.e. where they'd be if they were'nt with us. So, if somebody were, say, trying to save the ex-pet bunnies that unwitting owners let out into the wild when they got tired of them, the answer would probably not be to trap all their natural predators, the coyotes-- you know? It would be to make sure that the environment out there were as hospitable as possible. And if you run across that rabbit, and it doesn't look as healthy and happy as you would expect it to (which is relative, right!), then you help make sure it has food and water (maybe by putting some out yourself) and make sure that you're not responsible for any pets that might attack it. But enought about that extended metaphor. I don't think Sewell was even mentioning that really, except maybe vaguely.But she did seem to stress the whole "Good Samaritan" idea of civic duty and action.

The Good Samaritan, and the donkey in the background. Perhaps he hangs his head because he does not get the same sympathy and kindness.

Many folks would have ridden by and said it was not their business to interfere. Now I say that with cruelty and oppression it is everybody’s business to interfere when they see it; you did right, my boy. (Ch. 20)

Furthermore, it's not just the big gestures (like not blatantly beating your dog or using painful methods of forcing them to do things they wouldn't naturally do) but also the small ones (like giving nice feed, or simply considering that they might have feelings that deserve consideration, and acting accordingly) that matter. 
             This actually made me think about my lapses in sympathy, and maybe where they stem from. I mean, I'll most likely never be a lobbyist in D.C. for anti-vivisection or a senator that someday passes the bill outlawing factory farming, but that only means that I need to be that more aware of how I treat animals in my everyday life. It's a taste of self-reflection that helps keep all of us in tune with how our actions affect others. Plus, as some like to argue, awareness and thoughts don't always make a difference in the immediate lives of some animals. (So those of you who feel bad about puppies being in animal shelters, take the hour or so it takes to go and pet them and love on them. And those who don't like the fact that somebody might mistreat their dog, then tell them. Do something about it if you feel something.) Anyway... I've been thinking about Blue (from Am I Blue?) and Black Beauty here for the past few days, and reflecting on my childhood, when I remember I used to say, you know, if I ever had a horse in my life, I wouldn't make them suffer and they would feel free, and we'd just be friends--- me and my imaginary horse. I thought they were the most regal, strong, enduring animal there ever was.

And then I got one. 

         And she had a ton of personality and independence. She was just downright bossy and dominant. So I would get frustrated when she would do things like push me around or walk a completely different direction from where we were supposed to be going. After a long day in the 100 degree weather, I would be tired, grumpy, and just wanting to go home, but I couldn't  do that until we had washed her down and put her in the paddock. So I would get all kinds of irritated when she wouldn't let me put the halter back on and take her back. I'd cuss her out under my breath. I'd pull a little harder than I normally would on her lead rope as soon as I'd caught her. (I hate to admit.) I'd just generally be grumpy.... and then I would feel bad about it. It was like a power struggle in my brain that I just automatically thought I was supposed to win. At that point, horses no longer symbolized all that was good and powerful and enduring or regal. At that moment, they were forces to be reckoned with, who didn't have a way of communicating with me that she was hot and tired and grumpy, too. It was only sometimes that I would think about that and commiserate, and we always took the trip back home slower and easier, and usually then, I'd share the apples and celery from my packed snacks and we'd walk back to the house without a halter or anything.

What is this horse thinking?

          There were times when I hadn't really thought of it from her perspective. Then again, if she had been a different horse, maybe doing what I had wanted would have been the thing that made her happy. I don't know. We all know those people who seem to have no will of their own because they are always trying to do what others expect of them and what others want---  and they seem to be just peachy. Do we consider them enslaved... if it is their choice? Because they're human? Isnt' that speciesist? Or is it just the fact that we know that they have a choice that is the issue. If we could just separate the animals that want to live their lives in human homes and lives, helping do their part to create things in the world that better human lives (and in turn, hopefully theirs) from the animals that don't want to be part of any of this--- the world would be a much easier place. And then we could go about enforcing some kind of agreement as to what responsible pet-coexistence (not ownership) would be, in which we were held to a standard in which we were kind and considerate, and didn't react with violence towards animal behavior. That's not possible, though, right now.
            With that in mind, I have one more question: Do the same qualities that make a good horse, or a good dog, etc.---- make a good human? Remember how Black Beauty talked about how his mother had taught him that no matter what, he should be nice and obliging and accommodating. (The war horse would follow his rider into battle, figuratively speaking, without question. Black Beauty always tried to do the best at whatever his job, no matter how painful, without a fuss.) 

I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of it might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do not mind hard work if we are treated reasonably (Ch 41)

I have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till now the utter misery of a cab-horse's life...Skinner... was hard on the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer... He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. (Chapter 47) 

  It is the humans, then, on the other end of this spectrum, who didn't possess those qualities of common sense, compassion, and kindness, that Sewell seems to laud in this work. Is that then, where speciesism and racism are born, from lack of these characteristics and ignorance? 

Tom: What is this man thinking? Either of them.

I mean, we could compare Black Beauty with Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin (and yes, beyond the fact that they both have "black" protagonists). They have their fair number of parallels.  They are both pleasers and go out of their way not to rock the boat. Moreover, they also embody other traits that the reader will later use to compare other characters to. They have a certain beauty or "good look" in their eyes or face, while Sewell and Stowe very frequently have "bad" characters manifest in less appealing physical descriptions. The eponymous characters each take their hand at saving others' lives. Both Black Beauty and Tom are somewhat seen as long-suffering, noble heroes at the hands of people with more power, but less compassion than they. Throughout their respective books, far from allowing themselves to be completely exploited, they in whatever methods they can, hold up for their beliefs (and for this, they are grudgingly admired, even by what we would consider "enemies" or human antagonists). And as a last point, they have certain friendships with children, which would argue that a lot of the cruel behavior towards others of adults may be learned rather than born into them. The Johns, the George Shelby's, and the Ava's, then, of the literary world might prove that it has more to do with a perpetuation of these behaviors rather than an inherent thing. 

But how should one know what is dangerous and what is not, if one is never allowed to get used to anything? I am never afraid of what I know.(Chapter 29)

I think, though, that I do have a point to make about this that makes it all seem convoluted. The name of Uncle Tom should represent something good in popular culture, then, shouldn't it? Well, for a time it did. But in more recent years, the term Uncle Tom has become an epithet directed towards African-Americans who are accused of selling out to whites. It seems so counter-intuitive. Consider how we look at animals that give into what we want them to. Do their fellow animals disparage them? Do we disparage them for not fighting back harder? Or in a way that we understand? Maybe if my horse had kicked me back in the days when I would be grumpy with her I would have consI just thought it was an interesting thought to consider. Tell me what you think.