{"id":7169,"date":"2014-07-21T10:22:58","date_gmt":"2014-07-21T14:22:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=7169"},"modified":"2014-07-25T09:32:01","modified_gmt":"2014-07-25T13:32:01","slug":"the-panda-complex","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/the-panda-complex\/","title":{"rendered":"The Panda Complex"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Panda\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I first met Yaba, I was so nervous I threw up on a fern in her enclosure.\u201d Norman Spitzer sat back in his metal chair wearing a satisfied grin. He took a sip of water from a Styrofoam cup held delicately as a champagne flute, wrists handcuffed together.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must understand,\u201d he said, \u201cYaba was the last female giant panda in captivity, and the first panda I ever met in person, so I had worked myself into a fit of anxiety before going in. That is not to say I\u2019m anything less than a panda fanatic. True, the world is brimming with enthusiasts; you\u2019ve seen those teenage girls who carry a panda bear plush around the mall like a fashion accessory, or a street canvasser in boho sandals and a World Wildlife Foundation vest, cornering pedestrians with guilt. But I\u2019m no dime-a-dozen pandaphile; I\u2019m an aficionado and a noted conservational biologist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not why you and I are having this little chat,\u201d said Special Agent Morris, sitting across from Norman in the amply-lit interrogation room. An RCA camcorder stared dispassionately at the captive over the agent\u2019s left shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually,\u201d Norman replied, \u201cit has a great deal to do with it. For instance, did you know that the primary concern in determining a panda\u2019s natural territory is access to multiple species of bamboo? That\u2019s why pandas in the wild died out. We forced them into the highlands where bamboo diversity is limited and they all starved to death.\u201d<\/p>\n

Morris frowned. Local police had caught Norman fleeing through a swamp, hysterical and covered in mud, after an exhausting 24-hour manhunt. They dumped him on the FBI like bad news and Special Agent Morris was assigned the interrogation. He felt somewhat like a scapegoat, given the volatility of the situation, but a confession of this magnitude could gild his career. Morris was obviously impatient. \u201cSo what?\u201d he snarled, trying to bully cooperation from the suspect.<\/p>\n

\u201cSooooo<\/i>,\u201d said Norman unaffectedly, \u201cif the wild population had not disappeared, then the Pandatopium would never have been built and I wouldn\u2019t have had the pleasure of meeting Yaba.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat exactly is a Pandatopium?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you watch the news? Only the biggest media spectacle since JFK decided to go to the moon. Every headline was wailing about the demise of wild pandas. China\u2019s government put severe restrictions on deforestation and carbon emissions, but it was futile \u2013 the panda\u2019s habitat was already a glorified quagmire, and smog has a tendency to drift with the wind. Ecosystems are notoriously fragile things, after all. To atone for the loss of their cherished idol, the Minister of the Environment was executed on Chinese National Television by firing squad, as if that could solve anything. The only remaining pandas lived in zoos around the world; two in London, six between Beijing and Hong Kong, two in San Diego, and two here in Anaheim. People rioted en mass to get a last, pitiful look at their dying obsession, the twelve apostles of Mother Nature, which were quickly swept into protective custody, hidden from the frantic mob.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWeren\u2019t there more than twelve? They\u2019ve been bred in captivity for decades.\u201d<\/p>\n

Norman drained his water and produced a stick of gum from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit. He unwrapped it carefully, folding the verdant stick between his teeth as it passed into his mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cGetting them to mate is trickier than it sounds. On top of that, animal rights associations prevented the use of artificial insemination around the same time we got it figured out. It\u2019s ironic, I know, but artificial insemination sounds a little too rape-y for those tender-hearted shepherds of the Earth. The whole world\u2019s rape-y, if you ask me, but the species was on the edge of extinction and something had to be done. That\u2019s when the President commissioned the Pandatopium Complex, a habitat and research facility solely for the conservation of giant pandas. It cost three billion dollars to build, but it meant we had a case for housing all twelve pandas in a safe environment. Besides, London doesn\u2019t have the climate for pandas and nobody trusted the Chinese with them anymore. It took three UN resolutions and some trade sanctions, but eventually China signed off on the transfer and the Pandatopium became the last resort for all panda-kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about you? How did you become involved?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019ll get there.\u201d Norman shot Morris a congenial smile, causing the agent to grimace into his coffee. He could tell Norman was enjoying himself, recounting the tale with unnerving self-assurance. The agent mentally settled in. Goddamn coffee\u2019s always cold at these regional offices<\/i>, he thought, swirling the contents of his cup as he displaced his agitation. In the FBI we trust<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s vital you understand where I\u2019m coming from,\u201d continued Norman. \u201cBesides, panda history is far more interesting than you know; a real modern day tragedy. The most fascinating aspect, for me at least, is the rise of the panda cult. Have you ever noticed how frequently shops will use pandas in their advertisements and window displays? I\u2019ve seen a Swiss chocolatier with upwards of twenty panda bears in the window. There\u2019s nothing wrong with a healthy interest, like mine, but people actually worship the panda in some places. No kidding. I\u2019ve seen shrines, incense, and chanting meant to undo millennia of biological selection and a bit of industrial expansion. You have to consider the animal kingdom in more practical terms like cause and effect \u2013 look at the big picture, so to speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cEither way, they were the world\u2019s pet-project, and the Pandatopium was the nucleus of it all. I wrote a dissertation a few years back that caught the attention of a board member at the Complex. It\u2019s called Factors Contributing to the Extinction of Giant Pandas: an analysis of human influences and their compounding effects on biological impediments<\/i>. Basic stuff really, but the Board of Directors saw something in it and hired me on as the Chief of Sanctuary Assurance. Before you get too excited, it\u2019s not that great of a job \u2013 more like Quality Assurance. I had to sit around all day and monitor the pandas in their enclosures on surveillance camera, making sure their caregivers complied with Sanctuary protocol. Trust me, protocol is monotonous.\u201d<\/p>\n

Morris snorted. He knew the cheerlessness of bureaucracy. Protocol meant an eternity of paperwork if he even thought about his firearm.<\/p>\n

\u201cSanctuary was so close to my office that I occasionally got wafts of an acerbic, mammalian odor down the corridor from the enclosures. In the name of preventing a conflict of interest, Assurance staff at the Complex were never allowed to interact with the pandas, or to even enter the Sanctuary. That\u2019s protocol, they said. And where did all that protocol get us? Nowhere!\u201d Norman became increasingly animated, emphasizing his statements by thrusting his bound wrists into the air.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe bears started dying one by one. Zhu Yu from London developed terminal bowel cancer after only a year at the Complex, and her sister Zhu Yi died shortly thereafter. I think it was depression at the loss of her only blood-relative. You can\u2019t account for that in safety measures, cancer or depression, but a lot of good scientists were fired over it. Things got much worse when the pandas from the Chinese zoos started having allergic reactions to their nutritional supplements. Bamboo is nutrient-deficient, so every day a caretaker would force-feed a vitamin pellet the size of an egg to each of the bears. When the supplements sent from China ran out, the dieticians began feeding the bears from Beijing and Hong Kong American-made supplements. All six went into allergic shock within the hour and four died of anaphylaxis before anybody could figure out what was wrong. The other two were fitted with breathing tubes until their swelling went down. Both survived the ordeal, and were restricted to a supplementary diet of vegetation exclusively from the Orient. You see, the four American pandas were born captive in the States, and they developed a resistance to the local flora naturally. Nobody knew the Chinese bears would be intolerant, but there was another round of firings at the Pandatopium nonetheless.\u201d<\/p>\n

Agent Morris was deathly allergic to shellfish and his heart-rate elevated in unconscious sympathy with the bears. \u201cThat must have been hard,\u201d he offered, goading Norman to elaborate.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t even imagine! I watched all of this unfold on the little video screens in my office. After dedicating myself for years to panda conservation, directing all the energy of my adult life into it, the last of them were slipping away right in front of my eyes. There would never be the chance to touch one. I was the foremost panda authority who had never met a panda bear and it was debilitating, like being a prisoner in my own nightmare.\u201d<\/p>\n

This guy better not be crazy<\/i>, Morris thought, stiffening in apprehension. You can\u2019t hang a maniac<\/i>. Across the table, Norman\u2019s demeanor fell as he meditated on his ordeal, though he soon revived, eyes glinting in the lens of the camcorder, and picked up the narrative.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe circumstances of my promotion were not exactly pleasant, but you\u2019ll need to know the specifics to make an informed judgment. The Pandatopium was down to six pandas: Yaba and another female, Lhang, and the four males; Poko, Tse Tse, Han Ren, and Wei. Our biologists experimented with all sorts of tactics to make them mate; guiding the bears into coital position like giant pose-able dolls, helping the males to achieving an erection, or displaying \u2018instructional videos\u2019 from the days of wild panda copulation. They injected hormones, pheromones, and fertility enhancers, tried different combinations of breeding pairs and pharmaceuticals, and somehow managed to keep the animal rights mafia largely ignorant. It was right around the second-year anniversary of the Pandatopium\u2019s opening, and whether by chance or design, Lhang became pregnant, with twins no less. Relief surged through humanity in a jubilant wave. Many saw it as a miracle, sure proof of the divine cosmic order, but regardless of religion, everyone lost their minds to baby fever.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two curt knocks on the door interrupted Norman. Special Agent Morris left the room, returning a moment later with a bullet-proof vest and a pager. He slammed the door behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that for me?\u201d Norman asked, pointing at the vest.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever mind.\u201d Morris checked his watch. \u201cGet back to the pandas. You still haven\u2019t told me how you came to work in the Sanctuary.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is<\/i> what I\u2019m telling you. Lhang\u2019s panda cubs turned into a real fiasco and I wound up promoted. Panda bears are not capable of rearing multiple cubs in a litter. Their milk is just too thin as a result of their diet. This usually isn\u2019t an issue in captivity; we can give the babies richer milk from a surrogate mother made of chicken-wire and faux fur. Problem is, the mother panda doesn\u2019t know that. As soon as Lhang gave birth to the twins, she picked up the smaller of the two in her mouth and gnashed it to pieces. Gruesome, but in nature this necessary evil increases the overall odds of survival when resources are limited. Pigs do it all the time, so do lions and rabbits. However, ninety million TV watchers around the world had tuned in to see Lhang savage her own offspring, live, and in high definition. It made the execution of the Chinese Minister seem like Sunday morning cartoons. Panic ensued in the Sanctuary as caretakers pounced upon Lhang in a desperate attempt to save the baby from her jaws. Meanwhile, her second cub was crushed under the scrum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got to be kidding me,\u201d Morris interjected. \u201cHow is that possible?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA baby pandas weighs only one eight-hundredth of the mother panda when it is born, the smallest bodyweight ratio of any infant mammal. They\u2019re pitiful little creatures, about the size of a grapefruit, only pink and blind and helpless; Lhang simply rolled over it trying to avoid the gang of frantic scientists.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s horrific!\u201d Agent Morris knew about the death of the panda twins, his wife cried all through Thanksgiving dinner that year, but he had shut his ears to the media scandal \u2013 too much news interfered with his work. Norman grinned at the reaction his words provoked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose are the facts, I\u2019m afraid. Lhang was too old to be having babies and the stress of it crippled her. Three days later she was dead. Needless to say, the public backlash was phenomenal. All the Sanctuary staff were fired, the Board of Directors shuffled itself discretely, and the government cut our budget in half and in half again. By the end of the purge there was no one left with any real panda-handling experience. The Chinese used this as an excuse to start making noise, pressuring the UN to return the five remaining pandas to their homeland, but as far as the UN was concerned, China blew their chance at sheltering the species years ago. For better or worse, we were stuck with them. That\u2019s how I came to work with Yaba; there was nobody left with the proper qualifications \u2013 I had watched as they all disappeared.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can see now why I puked when I walked into her enclosure for the first time. I felt the weight of the world\u2019s expectations hanging over me like a curse the very moment I realized my life-long dream, and it made me sick. Bent over that fern, I could not help resenting Lhang a little bit. We had finally managed to bring a few more pandas into being, add a couple of plusses to the ledger against the slew of negatives, and her basic instinct tore our hopes to shreds in a heartbeat. Yaba was our last shot. The males didn\u2019t matter, at least, not like she did. There\u2019s a whole crate of sperm samples frozen in some vault at the Pandatopium, but we would need a living mother should artificial insemination become an option.\u201d<\/p>\n

The pager buzzed across the table between the two men. Morris picked it up and looked at its digital display. Ten minutes<\/i>. He referenced his watch.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d Norman asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re transferring you to headquarters.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I in some sort of danger?\u201d<\/p>\n

Morris eyed the bullet-proof vest on the floor. In truth, the regional office had been surrounded by an angry mob an hour ago. They chanted Norman Spitzer\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really,\u201d lied the agent, \u201cbut we\u2019re pressed for time. The best shot you have of getting out of this mess is an honest deposition, made now, before this gets completely out of hand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo it\u2019s in your best interest to get back to the story. You were working with Yaba\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I became Yaba\u2019s primary caregiver. It was a big job, considering how few staff were left at the Pandatopium, but at first it was really nice. I got over my dread of failing pretty quickly and immersed myself in getting to know Yaba, feeding her and playing with her. I say playing, but it was more like entertaining myself at her expense. She was incredibly lazy, more so than any of the males, and I would toss a tennis ball at her for hours on end while she lay in the dirt, breathing wearily. Bamboo doesn\u2019t give the pandas much energy, so all they do is eat and sleep. I fed Yaba thirty pounds of bamboo every day, which soon became exhausting. And this gave rise to another problem. Pandas defecate about forty times a day, often without even moving from where they are. I had to scoop up mountains of feces and clean it out of her fur. She would lie there and shit all over herself, and if I didn\u2019t wash it out, it would dry into cement on her hindquarters.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwice a week we would introduce one of the males to Yaba\u2019s enclosure in the hope that they would mate. We tried all the tricks, but it was like attempting to breed coma patients. They were so sexually incompetent I began to wonder how the species could have emerged in the first place. No natural predators or competition for food, I suppose. What a privileged position in nature. Didn\u2019t these bears know that responsibility for the future of their species rested entirely on the contents of their genitals? Could they not sense the necessity of copulation or the imminence of their demise? Isn\u2019t survival supposed to hard-wired into every living being?<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter six months, this routine was no longer fun. All the various tasks I did only served to underscore Yaba\u2019s complete and utter helplessness. It got so that the only thing I enjoyed was force-feeding her the vitamin pellet. This involved lying her back and kneeling on her chest while prying her mouth open with one hand and jamming the pellet down with the other. She clearly didn\u2019t like it, but she didn\u2019t resist too much and I felt as though I helped her; I got to be superior and benevolent in a way she could not possibly understand. Yet, even that got tiresome. The resentment I felt for Lhang months ago was spreading to my consideration of the panda species in general. Why were they all so pitiful?\u201d<\/p>\n

Morris\u2019 pager vibrated again. He silenced it, obviously distressed. Norman saw his window of opportunity closing and moved on to what he knew the agent wanted to hear, though he continued to speak at a leisurely pace.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne day, while feeding Yaba, the truth hit me all at once. I was handing her stalks of bamboo one at a time, watching while she scarfed them back. To pass the time more easily, I prodded her belly with a bamboo shoot, trying to provoke a reaction. Nothing. She was a fat kid tearing through a bag of Twizzlers in slow motion, completely unperturbed by my presence. Just like a fucking dodo bird<\/i>, I thought. And that\u2019s it, the crux of the whole thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t follow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHumanity makes idols out of all these rare and exotic animals, most of whom are threatened or on the endangered list. Honestly, I understand an admiration for snow leopards, elephants, rhinos and the like; their lives are fraught with constant danger, both natural and as a result of us. The Bengal tiger and the polar bear fight tooth and nail for their survival every day. Hell, even a salmon throwing itself upstream is overcoming incredible odds. But the panda does not. The panda lies back in its own filth and gluts itself on the worst possible food, wholly disinterested in mating or anything else. Their idleness knows no bounds. Every other animal, when confronted by danger, exerts itself to adapt, to stay alive by any means possible. The giant panda and the dodo bird were alike, totally apathetic in the shadow of the club.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDammit, just what did you do to the panda? Tell me, Norman.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, when it came time to administer the dietary supplement that day, I put Yaba on her back, like usual, and a knee on her chest to hold her down. I reached out, but instead of opening her mouth, like I intended, my hands clamped around Yaba\u2019s throat. They found her esophagus and squeezed, possessing strength that was not my own. Yaba gawked at me with big, glassy cow eyes. She convulsed once as her windpipe collapsed, again as her jugular drained out, and was deathly still. My hands fell away from the bear. They were fatigued. I stood automatically and fled the Sanctuary.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a loud banging at the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust a minute,\u201d called the agent.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddammit, Morris. Now!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cOne minute!\u201d He leapt up from his chair, moving around the table to assist Norman. When he got the captive standing, Morris shut off the camera and retrieved the Kevlar vest. \u201cWhy did you do it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Agent Morris, isn\u2019t it time to leave?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho gave you the right, Norman<\/i>? What makes you think you can deem a whole species pathetic or an object for your derision and just murder them?\u201d Norman chuckled at this \u2013 Morris snapped. \u201cYou\u2019re so fucking smug. Stop acting like you did us all some magnificent favor. Who made you judge, jury, and executioner? Tell me that!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNobody. Mother Nature. Maybe I was possessed by the spirit of Darwin, the cold hand of destiny culling dead weight from the family tree, I\u2019ve no idea. What I do know is this: even if I could\u2019ve prevented my hands from killing Yaba, I probably wouldn\u2019t have.\u201d<\/p>\n

Morris opened the door. Two agents in full riot gear stood waiting to escort Norman to the transport. \u201cAren\u2019t you going to put on my vest?\u201d asked Norman. Special Agent Morris shoved him out into the hall.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo get \u2018em, tiger.\u201d<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

Kyle Flemmer is a student at Concordia University in Montreal double majoring in Western Society & Culture and Creative Writing. He founded The Blasted Tree Publishing Company in 2014 as an outlet for his writing and to build a community and support network for emerging Canadian artists. Kyle is passionate about social satire and philosophy and enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and critical essays. Other hobbies include DJing, tattooing, and the unmitigated pillage of second-hand book stores. Check out\u00a0theblastedtree.com<\/a>\u00a0for more.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cWhen I first met Yaba, I was so nervous I threw up on a fern in her enclosure.\u201d Norman Spitzer sat back in his metal chair wearing a satisfied grin. He took a sip of water from a Styrofoam cup held delicately as a champagne flute, wrists handcuffed together.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must understand,\u201d he said, \u201cYaba was the last female giant panda in captivity, and the first panda I ever met in person, so I had worked myself into a fit of anxiety before going in. That is not to say I\u2019m anything less than a panda fanatic. True, the world is brimming with enthusiasts; you\u2019ve seen those teenage girls who carry a panda bear plush around the mall like a fashion accessory, or a street canvasser in boho sandals and a World Wildlife Foundation vest, cornering pedestrians with guilt.<\/p>\n

READ MORE.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":204,"featured_media":7501,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,200,219,217],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7169"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/204"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7169"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7169\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7503,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7169\/revisions\/7503"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7501"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7169"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7169"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7169"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}