I can’t imagine living my lifeinside of a cage, alone, with no one else to communicate with but myself. Ican’t imagine being fed what somebody else thinks I want everyday of my liferather than having the freedom to get the food that I want to eat for myself.
I can’t imagine my every movebeing restricted to the confines of a barred enclosure while life in its fullsplendor and motion is in clear view just on the other side of the bars. Idon’t even want to imagine what it would feel like to have to lay my head nextto a puddle of my own urine while waiting for someone to come clean my cage.
Imagine having the skill and desireto be an engineer, a doctor, an architect, a writer, a sketch artist, or asinger but being denied the right and the means to do what you were put on thisearth to do and being stripped of who you really are in order to be somebodyelse’s token or good luck charm.
Imagine not being able to leaveyour own legacy but having the symbolism of your life assigned to you alongwith a name that has no true meaning. Imagine dying without experiencing thejoy of a natural, free existence. That’s not living. That’s prison.
When I think of the jaguar,I see a strong, beautiful creature, the king of its’ own domain. I envision afearsome lovliness whose beauty can only be admired by man from a distance likea rainbow or a star.
I think of a thing so majestic andgorgeous that to try and contain it would only taint and cheapen its’ beauty. Ithink of a wild predator with surreptitious movement stalking its’ next mealand caring for its’ young in the freeness of the jungle. I see an alluringanimal taking joy in the two things that it has in this world: its’ family andthe hunt. When I think of the jaguar, I think of independence and pureness. Ithink of the pursuit of satisfaction and happiness. I think of liberation. Thejaguar I see epitomizes freedom.
Then I remember Lacumba. Iremember all those times I used to pass by her cage and wonder if she was happycooped up in there. Imprisoned like that, I didn’t see her as a symbol ofstrength. I didn’t see a proud condition as she sat confined in that habitat.
I saw a beast being denied theright to live its’ life the way that it was meant to be lived. As the namegiven to her by the school echoes through my brain, I think of the brothers andsisters in prison being handed a number to replace their names by the state. WhenI remember Lacumba’s caged condition, I think of the condition of so many youngbrothers and sisters who have become victims of circumstance in a society thatsees them merely as animals. When I think of Lacumba I think of cagedpotential. I think of captivity.
It’s sad that the activitieson campus during black history month will be used to raise money to build a newcage for a new animal life to be held captive in. During a time of year that ismeant to celebrate struggle, accomplishment, pride and freedom, money will becollected by black people to perpetuate more bondage. There are so many morethings we can do with half a million dollars besides build a cage for a cat.I’m sure teachers and faculty members can think of a few things. Students and campusresidents, I’m sure, can think of a few things. It’s funny what a death canmake you think about. It’s also funny what a life can make you think about,human and animal.
