Culling, done by the government, is actually the selective killing of elephants purposely to reduce their numbers. Despite this, the elephant has been reclassified as a non endangered species.


This poem first appeared on the Commentary page of the 
Providence Journal-Bulletin, October 20, 1997.

Act one, scene one
In Zimbabwe, there is an ivory station,
containing what they claim is their rightful ration
of tusks stacked high from elephants they killed.
They call it culling; the rooms are almost filled,
guarded with a lot of locks,
referred to as their own “Fort Knox.”
“Too many of ‘em is to blame, 
they eat too much,” officials claim.
Elephants are our exclusive property,
which must make money for Zimbabwe.”

Act one, scene two
For years Zimbabwe’s bloody merchandise
as artifacts was disguised.
Until an international committee agreed
trade in ivory to impede.
For eight years Zimbabwe’s ivory prize
in world trade was stigmatized.
But having had their marketplace denied,
behind statistics they would hide.
And, with their purpose well concealed,
contrived to get the ban repealed.

Act two, scene one
There is a gleeful jamboree,
as the ban gets lifted partially.
Frozen assets can be freed
Japan will trade with Zimbabwe.
Some of the ivory now not tainted,
not as bad as it was painted.
Which is, which ain’t, is quite perplexing,
but not the millions they’re annexing
from the tusks that they have stored;
it all is falling in accord.
New culling now will have to start,
with an occasional matriarch,
who directs about twenty in a clan.
To kill them all is the plan
leaving no rogues or orphans in the dark,
causing consternation in their park.
The poachers, too, will have their day,
from the killing fields they need not stray.
Poaching, culling, all the same,
part of a ruthless killing game.

Act three, scene one
Meet indignant Buck de Vries,
entrepreneur of Zimbabwe,
who says that they deserve a fee,
for running a tourist industry,
supplying bull elephants quite tame,
all part of the “big” hunters’ game

If criticized he would say,
‘Kill old bulls, they die anyway.
They fight, don’t breed, why should we feed ‘em.
They irk, don’t work, why do we need ‘em.
Committing crimes just like a felon,
eating corn and watermelon,
taking rights, too dumb to see,
we own all the rights in Zimbabwe.

An elephant’s a commodity,
better dead, than roaming free.
All the money that we earn,
dealing with the pachyderm,
is a business, and besides,
some of them will stay alive.
If safari is your dish,
to serve you is our earnest wish.
You can’t get hurt, you can’t get lost,
eighty thousand is the cost.
And if all that ain’t enough,
your kill we will be glad to stuff.’

Epilogue
Of all the creatures on the Earth,
the elephant has special worth.
Capable of kind emotions steeped in family devotion
and love for those within its clan,
more than that displayed by man.
This gentle giant so debased,
from our world may be erased
and in the future may appear
as just an ivory souvenir.