If I am reincarnated and get to choose a talent next time, I want to be a songstress. Song is such a powerful platform for social change with its ability to appeal to both a large quantity and diversity of people. Margolick writes of Strange Fruit, “They credit it with helping awaken them to the realities of racial prejudice and the redemptive, ameliorative power of art” (p.6). “The redemptive, ameliorative power of art”… I love that. Margolick seems to imply that art facilitates the reconciliation of trauma, while simultaneously soothing the wound. Music seems to have a greater capacity to do this than photography. I think photography can be incredibly influential in raising awareness and creating dialogue about certain issues, but there is something about a song that can get in your soul. I think that’s what Billy did when she would sing Strange Fruit; she would punch people in their souls.

I also love Studs Terkel’s observation, “… by revealing her own vulnerability, a great artist makes everyone else feel vulnerable, too” (Margolick, p.67). This seems to imply that a great artist can create a collective vulnerability among her audience. Is it possible that by experiencing this vulnerability with others, it acts as a community trust-building exercise? If we are willing to be vulnerable together, does it create a larger space for us to be honest about our complicity in creating collective trauma? Out of this space, can attempts at collective reconciliation emerge? What about collective healing?

Did Billy’s willingness to make herself vulnerable to her audiences contribute to her demise? If we are vulnerable with others, and they are not vulnerable with us in return, what kind of damage does that cause? In Billy’s case, did it diminish her resiliency?  “I think we felt as if we had seen more deeply into another person’s suffering than we had any right to see…” (Vella, quoted by Margolic, p.94). How did the seeing that Vella mentions render the audience, in return, vulnerable? In these instances of witnessing, do we have some sort of responsibility to respond, to engage?

Is there such a thing as collective vulnerability, or is that a fundamentally individual experience? At the individual level, if we are willing to make ourselves vulnerable, what kind of impact can that manifest in our social justice work? Is there something to be gained? Does it make us appear more relatable or perhaps, trustworthy? Is our information conveyed in a more authentic way? Does our pursuit for justice come off as more genuine?

One of the most provocative and encouraging passages in Elephants on Edge was where Bradshaw writes, “But the story of trauma is not hopeless. Astonishingly, traumatic experience has catalyzed profound positive transformations for some. The psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton writes: ‘In almost all of my interviews with people, with Hiroshima survivors and say, survivors of Nazi camps, as different as they are, they talk about something they have learned; some have amazed me and troubled me by saying that they would not want to have missed that experience'” (Bradshaw, p.116). Bradshaw speaks much of survivorship throughout the text, with references to both humans an elephants. I thought her examination of the implication of naming Elephants as survivors was interesting. She suggested that using the term “survivor” with regard to Elephants, “implies agency, selfhood, and righteousness in elephants’ persistence…” (Bradshaw, p.55). I think this conceptualization can easily be applied to any number of traumatic experiences. As mentioned in class, the study of trauma is the study of survivors. I appreciate that the term is imbued with a sense of agency. It seems more hopeful that one could be a victim of a trauma, but still find agency within the experience of survival.

I found the narrative of a male calf torn from its mother at the beginning of Chapter 5 “Bad Boyz” heartbreaking: “It did not seem possible to overcome his grief. He felt an overwhelming sense of homelessness and hopelessness. But day by day he learned how, if not to live, to survive” (Bradshaw, p.70-72). I feel like there is a subtle distinction made between living and surviving. I would venture to guess that as one works through the immediate trauma of an event, they are in the process of surviving. As they heal, and slowly begin to move forward, I would imagine one starts living again little by little. I think “survival” mode is an incredibly useful tool one can employ when trying to articulate and situate their lives both during and after a traumatic event. Not only for Elephants, but also for humans. I have seen this tension between surviving and living play out with my bipolar brother. When he slips into a manic or depressive episode he immediately reverts to “survival mode”- this shift seems to protect him through the episode until he is able to return to a state of “living.”

Dame Daphne speaks of the piece that comes after one has “survived” with reference to Mizma, an orphaned young bull who arrived at the Sheldrick orphanage, “…no longer tasked with just trying to survive, he is now able to contemplate the enormity of his loss, and this, sadly, only time will heal” (Bradshaw, p.118). I think this is true for humans as well. Once we exit fight or flight mode- once we have “survived” and are safe and secure again—when we have reached the point where we are able to let down a little of our guard, I think it is then that the enormity of the traumatic experience begins to seep through. Sadly, for the elephants, time is the only tool they have to heal their wounds. Time is of course instrumental in healing human suffering, but lucky for us, we have access to a much more diverse set of tools for healing once we begin to come to terms with the trauma.

One other way both humans and pachyderms can potentially heal is through the power of touch. Bradshaw writes, “…the intimacy of touch is healing to the heart and body” (p.182). With regard to healing touch for animals, she writes, “Caring touch may provide a chance, particularly in sanctuary, to stimulate the life force that has been suppressed, to create a buffer from the damaging environment, to give a reason to feel and seek pleasure again, and to be alive” (p.182). I believe that the healing benefits of touch can also be applied to humans- I don’t even think it has to be an official “healer”- I think that both animals and humans can sense intent, and if one’s intent is to provide relief from suffering, the touch can heal.