In Europe and North America, horses are embedded in national mythologies and leisure cultures. From medieval chivalry to cowboy frontiers, equestrian traditions have become naturalized as expressions of freedom, nobility, and even environmental harmony. Riding is reframed as sport, art, or therapeutic practice, aligning the horse with narratives of modernity and civility. Elephants, by contrast, are positioned as “exotic others.” Their presence in zoos, circuses, or tourism camps is often interpreted through Orientalist imaginaries of spectacle and domination. Within this framework, elephant riding becomes an emblem of exploitation, a practice projected onto Asian landscapes and judged from the outside. As Donna Haraway has shown in her critique of primatology¹, scientific accounts are never neutral: they are shaped by cultural imaginaries, geopolitical histories, and positionalities of the researchers themselves. A similar structural bias operates here, where the horse is domesticated within Western culture while the elephant is marked as foreign and thus subjected to moral scrutiny.

This cultural bias is mirrored in the scholarly record. Preliminary comparisons of peer-reviewed animal science and conservation papers over the last decade suggest that first authors based in Europe or North America are more likely to present elephant use for labor or tourism in negative terms, emphasizing suffering, cruelty, or the need for prohibition.² By contrast, authors based in Asian institutions, particularly in countries where elephants have historically lived and worked alongside humans, more often emphasize welfare improvements, coexistence strategies, or the cultural and economic contexts of elephant use. This divergence does not imply a simple East–West binary of ethics, but rather reveals how research agendas, funding structures, and publication networks privilege certain framings. Western authors, writing largely for Western audiences, may foreground rights-based critiques, while Asian scholars may adopt more pragmatic, context-sensitive approaches that resonate with local realities.

The contrast between horses and elephants thus becomes a case study in how “universal” ethical judgments are shaped by particular cultural lenses. What counts as acceptable use, partnership, or abuse is not determined by species characteristics alone but by historically situated narratives and positional standpoints. The horse, integrated into Western identity, is spared wholesale condemnation; the elephant, standing outside this cultural frame, becomes the target of moral alarm. This is not to deny real welfare problems in elephant tourism, but to highlight how selective moralization can obscure the broader structures of animal use, including the intensive exploitation of horses, dogs, or livestock in Euro-American contexts.

If we are to move beyond these asymmetries, a more relational and responsive ethics is required—one that resists universalizing judgments and instead takes seriously the lived contexts of human–animal entanglements. Such an approach would ask: under what conditions is riding, labor, or companionship made possible? How are care, coercion, and mutual dependence negotiated across different landscapes? And how can we recognize cultural differences without reproducing colonial hierarchies of judgment? The challenge is not to declare certain practices inherently good or bad, but to remain attentive to situated histories, multispecies relationships, and the uneven global politics of how animal use is imagined and evaluated.

Seen from this perspective, elephants in Southeast Asia might be understood not merely as objects of welfare concern or tourism controversy, but as shared heritage—living beings whose histories are interwoven with the landscapes, livelihoods, and cultural practices of the region. To recognize elephants as shared heritage is to acknowledge both their agency and their cultural embeddedness, and to resist frameworks that erase local traditions in the name of universal ethics. In this way, a more balanced global discourse may emerge—one that honors welfare, history, and community together, rather than imposing a single moral vision from afar.

1. Donna Haraway’s Primate Visions: Gender, Race, and Nature in the World of Modern Science (1989) is a groundbreaking work of feminist science studies that critically examines the history of primatology. Haraway argues that the scientific study of primates is not an objective discovery of “natural” truths, but rather a cultural and political practice. The knowledge produced by primatologists, she contends, is deeply intertwined with and shaped by the social contexts of gender, race, and colonialism in which it emerges.
   
   Key Arguments:
   
   Primatology as Storytelling: Haraway posits that scientific accounts of primates are essentially narratives or stories. These stories are not fabrications, but they are constructed through specific cultural lenses and often reflect and reinforce prevailing social hierarchies. For example, early primatological studies often projected Western ideas about patriarchy and social order onto primate groups, describing them in ways that naturalized human social arrangements.
   The Ape as a Cultural Icon: The book explores how apes and monkeys have served as powerful symbols in Western culture, often acting as a screen onto which humans project their anxieties and desires about their own origins and nature. Primates become stand-ins for the “primitive” or the “natural,” and the study of them becomes a way of defining what it means to be human, often in ways that serve specific political or social agendas.
   Gender and Science: A central focus of the book is the role of gender in shaping primatological research. Haraway contrasts the work of male primatologists with the pioneering female researchers like Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey. She argues that these women, while still operating within a scientific framework, brought different perspectives and methodologies to the field, often focusing more on social relationships, communication, and female agency within primate societies. However, she avoids simple essentialism, showing how their work was also complexly positioned within popular and scientific narratives.
   Deconstructing “Nature”: Ultimately, Haraway seeks to deconstruct the binary opposition between nature and culture. She argues that “nature” is not a pre-existing reality that science simply uncovers. Instead, it is actively produced through scientific discourse and practice. Primate Visions demonstrates that what we think we know about the “natural” world of primates is, in fact, a reflection of our own culturally specific ways of seeing and telling stories. It is a “vision,” shaped by power, history, and social identity. ↩︎
2. Preliminary Comparative Findings: A survey of peer-reviewed articles (2013–2023) in journals such as Journal of Zoology, Oryx, Animals, and Conservation Biology suggests a regional skew. Among Western-affiliated first authors (primarily from the UK, US, and Western Europe), roughly two-thirds of papers that mention elephant tourism adopt a predominantly negative framing (emphasizing cruelty, welfare violations, or ethical incompatibility). By contrast, among Asian-affiliated first authors (Thailand, India, Laos, Cambodia), the majority of papers stress welfare standards, management challenges, or cultural integration, with fewer outright condemnations. These observations are preliminary and qualitative rather than statistical, but they indicate a consistent regional divergence in tone and evaluative framework. ↩︎

Imagine standing in the lush, green forests of Southeast Asia. An elephant, magnificent and intelligent, approaches with its caretaker, a mahout whose family has worked with these animals for generations. As a visitor, you’re faced with an ethical crossroads. The tourist camp offers direct contact with elephants and the chance to ride them, an act that feels increasingly suspect. The alternative is to watch from afar, an act that feels safe and allow the elephants freedom, but detached, denying you the opportunity for meaningful interaction. This modern dilemma, felt by countless travelers, is not just about a single choice; it is the result of a deep, often unseen clash between two profoundly different cultural stories about our place in the natural world.

This conflict can be understood through two powerful mythological figures: the centaur of ancient Greece and the elephant-headed god, Ganesha, of Hindu tradition. They are more than just myths; they are windows into the soul of a culture, revealing how we see ourselves in relation to the animal kingdom.

The centaur, a seamless fusion of a man’s torso and a horse’s body, is a potent symbol of the West’s long and often troubled relationship with nature. With the exception of a few wise figures, centaurs in Greek mythology are typically depicted as wild, violent, and driven by untamed passion. They represent a deep-seated anxiety: the fear that our “higher” human reason will be overwhelmed by our “lower” animal instincts. The centaur’s story is one of internal conflict, a battle between civilization and wilderness that must be won through control, domination, or—if that fails—separation.

When this “centaur mindset” is applied to the complex issue of elephant tourism, it instinctively frames the relationship between the mahout and the elephant as a power struggle. It sees the use of tools for guidance as instruments of domination and the act of riding as an assertion of human supremacy. From this perspective, the only truly “ethical” solution is to end the conflict by enforcing a separation. This leads to the well-intentioned belief that we must not interact with the elephants at all, creating a relationship based on a distant, observational gaze rather than direct contact.

The East, however, offers a different foundational story. Ganesha, one of the most beloved deities in Hinduism, whose influence is felt across Asia, presents a vision not of conflict, but of divine synthesis. With the body of a person and the head of an elephant, he is a symbol of perfect integration. The elephant’s qualities—its immense strength, loyalty, and profound wisdom—are not wild passions to be suppressed, but divine attributes to be revered and fused with human form. Ganesha is the “Remover of Obstacles,” a benevolent guide who embodies the harmonious union of animal power and spiritual intelligence.

This “Ganeshan mindset” fosters a worldview where humans and animals can be partners in a shared existence. It provides a cultural framework for understanding the traditional mahout-elephant bond not as one of master and slave, but as an intricate, intergenerational partnership of communication and mutual reliance. The goal is not to separate from the animal, but to live well together, acknowledging a deep, shared history.

The problem arises when the Western, centaur-like story of conflict is projected onto a culture whose relationships are more Ganeshan in nature. This leads to a form of well-meaning but intrusive judgment, where Western tourists or organizations, unfamiliar with the deep local context, condemn practices they do not fully understand. They risk dismissing the profound skill and knowledge of mahouts and ignoring the complex social and economic realities that tie the welfare of elephants to the welfare of the communities that care for them.

So how do we bridge this cultural divide? The philosopher Donna Haraway offers a powerful concept: hybridity. She argues that we must abandon the fiction that nature and culture are separate. We are already, and have always been, deeply entangled with other species. The goal is not to “purify” these relationships by creating distance, but to acknowledge our shared, messy existence and take responsibility for making it better.

In her book When Species Meet, Haraway even discusses the centaur, not as a symbol of conflict, but as a metaphor for the skilled, hybrid being created by a horse and rider in a true partnership. This idea of hybridity asks us to move beyond a simple “hands-off” policy. Instead of just asking, “Is this activity exploitative?” we should ask, “What kind of relationship is being fostered here?”

For elephant conservation, this means supporting elephant tourism that focus on the elephant’s entire well-being—its social life, its psychological enrichment, its health—rather than just enforcing a “no-contact” rule. It means valuing the deep bond a mahout can have with their elephant and supporting models where this relationship is based on trust and communication. It requires us to trade simple, absolute rules for a more complex and engaged form of ethics.

Ultimately, the stories of the centaur and Ganesha teach us that there is more than one way to live respectfully with animals. True global conservation requires cultural humility. It asks us to recognize that our own myths are not universal truths and to appreciate that the most ethical path forward is not one of separation, but one of “staying with the trouble”—of learning how to foster better, more compassionate, and more responsible partnerships with the other magnificent beings who share our world.

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: Sabaidee, and a very warm welcome to you all. Thank you for joining us here in the heart of Luang Prabang for what I know will be a vital and enlightening conversation.

The image of the elephant is central to the identity of Laos—a symbol of strength, history, and a deep connection to the natural world. Yet, in recent years, the ethics of elephant tourism have become a global flashpoint, sparking passionate debate, well-intentioned concern, and at times, deep misunderstanding.

We see a conversation often shaped by different, sometimes conflicting, ethical frameworks: the powerful call for universal animal rights, the evidence-based approach of animal welfare science, and the deep-rooted local traditions of care between mahouts and the elephants they have lived with for generations. Too often, these perspectives talk past one another rather than to one another.

Our goal today is not to find easy answers, because perhaps there are none. It is, instead, to foster a deeper understanding, to listen with respect, and to explore the complex realities behind the simple questions that so many visitors ask.

To help us navigate this terrain, we are incredibly fortunate to have three distinguished guests. Please welcome Mr. David Chen, a passionate advocate representing the international animal rights perspective. Beside him is Dr. Anya Sharma, a renowned animal welfare scholar who has dedicated her career to the scientific study of elephant well-being across Asia. And grounding us in generations of lived experience, we have Uncle Kham, a respected veteran mahout from a local elephant camp here in the Luang Prabang. (These characters are fictitious.)

Together, we will explore the most pressing ethical questions facing elephant tourism today—from riding and chaining to training, rewilding, and the very meaning of conservation itself.

Let me start by asking a question that tourists often ask, and which is at the heart of much of the debate: “Are the elephants used in tourism wild or domesticated?” Dr. Sharma, how does animal welfare science approach this issue?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Thank you. From an animal welfare and practical management perspective, elephants working in tourism are generally not considered wild. While many, especially older individuals, may have wild ancestry, their current lives are managed by humans. They’ve typically been trained to work with people, often since a young age, and an increasing number are now born into human care. They are accustomed to human presence, and in countries like Thailand and Laos, they are often registered with local authorities, sometimes even microchipped. If we use internationally accepted definitions – where wild animals live and survive independently of direct human control – then elephants in camps, while not fully domesticated like dogs or cattle, are considered managed or semi-captive animals.

Mr. David Chen: And this classification, Dr. Sharma, is precisely where the ethical concern begins for many. The question “Are these elephants still wild?” often carries an implicit, powerful moral undertone: that they should be wild. From an animal rights perspective, any deviation from that perceived natural state of wildness is viewed as a form of harm, a state of captivity, and a moral transgression. Wildness becomes the ethical benchmark against which all forms of human interaction and management are judged, and frequently condemned.

Dr. Anya Sharma: You’re right, Mr. Chen. The scientific classification doesn’t fully account for why this question is asked with such urgency. It does indeed tap into a deeper ethical framework. This desire for elephants to be “wild” is central to many advocacy campaigns that frame elephants in tourism as victims of a global system of exploitation. The imagery often ties elephants to an ideal of untouched wilderness, complete autonomy, and purely “natural” behavior – ideals believed to be violated by any human use, whether it’s tourism, traditional labor, or even long-standing companionship.

Mr. David Chen: Exactly. So, the question of wild versus domesticated isn’t just about taxonomy for us; it’s deeply political. It becomes a proxy for judging the legitimacy of elephant tourism itself. Campaigns often use emotionally charged language, describing elephants as “poached from the wild,” “broken by force,” or “enslaved” to galvanize public opposition. This has undeniably been effective in influencing tourism policy and public opinion.

Uncle Kham: (Sighs softly) These words… “poached,” “enslaved.” They are heavy words. They paint a picture that is not the life I know with my saang (elephants) here in our village, not the life my grandfather knew. For us, in our Lao culture, the elephants we live with are… neither truly “wild” like a tiger in the deep forest, nor “tame” like a buffalo in the rice paddy. They are something… in between, something special to us.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Uncle Kham touches on a crucial point. The intense emphasis on “wildness” as this lost, pure ideal reflects more than just concern for animal wellbeing; it often reflects what some humanities scholars, like Foucault or Haraway, might call a “politics of purity.” This is frequently rooted in Western environmental imaginaries where “wildness” is equated with freedom, authenticity, and moral innocence, while any human involvement is associated with control, corruption, or captivity. These moral categories aren’t neutral; they structure power. They determine whose knowledge counts, whose practices are deemed legitimate, and whose voices, like Uncle Kham’s, might be inadvertently excluded or devalued when they don’t fit neatly into this wild-versus-captive binary.

Mr. David Chen: But surely, the aspiration for an animal to live according to its natural instincts, free from human coercion, is a universal ethical good? The suffering in “breaking” processes and the limitations of captivity are well-documented.

Dr. Anya Sharma: The suffering in improper training and poor captive conditions is absolutely undeniable and must be condemned and rectified. No one disputes that. However, the very definition of “natural instincts” and “freedom” can become problematic when applied as a universal moral stick without considering diverse cultural contexts and long-standing, complex interspecies relationships. By insisting that all elephants must conform to one particular image of “wildness,” global campaigns risk undermining Indigenous and local forms of animal care that have existed for centuries and are built on different understandings.

Uncle Kham: In our villages, an elephant is a relational being. We see them as intelligent, with spirits, as important members of our community, not just animals. A mahout doesn’t just “own” an elephant like a cart. He enters a lifelong bond – a promise of care, of respect. We learn their ways, their moods, their families, like we know our own relatives. They helped us in the fields, carried goods through forests where no roads went, were part of our festivals. They would often move between our village and the nearby forest, sometimes foraging on their own, sometimes working with us. It was not just about using them; there was a sharing, a mutual understanding. These are not practices that fit easily into “wild” or “domesticated” as words from outside.

Dr. Anya Sharma: This “relational ontology” Uncle Kham describes, where beings are defined less by a fixed status like “wild” or “captive” and more by their relationships and their role within a community, is often overlooked. Elephants in such contexts are not just objects to be managed or abstract symbols to be “liberated” into a theoretical wild. They are social partners whose lives have been interwoven with human lives for generations.

Moderator: So, if the question “Are they wild or domesticated?” is itself loaded with certain assumptions, how should we approach this?

Dr. Anya Sharma: I believe we need to start by deconstructing the question itself. We should ask: Who is defining “wildness” and “domestication,” and for what purpose? What moral and political work do these definitions perform? And, crucially, what kinds of knowledge, like Uncle Kham’s, and what kinds of existing, nuanced relationships are obscured or invalidated when we insist on “wildness” as the only legitimate or ethical form of elephant life?

Mr. David Chen: While I maintain the ethical ideal of animals living free from human exploitation and control, I recognize that existing situations are complex. The path to achieving that ideal needs careful thought, especially for animals already in human care.

Uncle Kham: For us, it is about living well together. It is about respect, day by day. That is the Lao way we know.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Exactly. To truly support elephant wellbeing, globally and locally, we must move beyond these rigid binaries. We need to recognize the diversity of ways humans and elephants have lived together and can continue to live together. This means respecting not just the biological and psychological needs of elephants, as welfare science strives to do, but also the deep cultural and specific ecological contexts in which their lives are embedded. By shifting the frame from a simple “wild or not?” to “what kinds of ethical, respectful, and mutually considerate relationships are possible?” we can open space for more grounded, plural, and ultimately more sustainable forms of coexistence.

[2] Q: Is elephant riding harmful?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar, articulate and evidence-focused. She has conducted research across Asia.
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist, passionate and morally driven. He represents an international animal rights organization.
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout. His wisdom is born from a lifetime with elephants.

Moderator: Thank you all for being here. Let’s dive straight into a question that often sparks intense debate: Is elephant riding inherently harmful? Dr. Sharma, perhaps you could start us off?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Thank you. The short answer, from a welfare science perspective, is: not necessarily. It truly depends on how, by whom, and under what conditions it’s done. Elephant riding, when it adheres to strict ethical guidelines and with proper oversight, isn’t inherently harmful. In fact, some welfare research indicates that appropriate riding can be part of a healthy, stimulating routine for elephants in human care. For instance, expert bodies like the Asian Captive Elephant Working Group – ACEWG – and ElefantAsia have established clear standards: riding should be limited to short distances, say up to 4 kilometers a day, ideally on natural ground, under shade, and during cooler hours. It should involve no more than two riders, using light, well-padded equipment that avoids any pressure on the spine. Crucially, this is for elephants that are physically fit, show no spinal issues, and have calm temperaments, guided without force by experienced mahouts using verbal commands, not punishment, and always with access to water, rest, and good food.

Mr. David Chen: Dr. Sharma, I respect your focus on scientific metrics, but from an animal rights perspective, the “how” is secondary to the fundamental “whether.” The core issue for us isn’t the weight of the saddle or the length of the ride, but the fact that an elephant, a sentient being, has no choice in the matter. Riding, like any form of animal labor, is a symbolic and literal manifestation of human domination. It inherently violates an elephant’s autonomy and perpetuates the idea that these magnificent animals exist to serve human entertainment or profit.

Uncle Kham: (Nods slowly, listening intently) Your words have strength, young man. But for us, here in Laos, who have lived alongside the saang (elephants) for more generations than there are stars in the sky, it is… different. We do not see riding, when it is done with understanding, as domination. We see it as… a kind of co-work, a partnership. In my grandfather’s time, and even in my youth, elephants helped us navigate the deep forests, helped us with farming, were part of our ceremonies. They were not tools; they were… family, almost. Strong partners.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Uncle Kham’s point about partnership touches on something important. The welfare approach really tries to judge by impact, not just by appearances. Studies by researchers like Schmid, Dunkel, and Bansiddhi have shown that well-managed riding doesn’t typically increase stress hormones or cause musculoskeletal harm. In some cases, it might even prevent obesity and encourage necessary physical activity. This challenges the common assumption that seeing a human on an elephant automatically means the animal is suffering. For example, a gentle, bareback ride through the forest with a lifelong, trusted mahout like Uncle Kham might actually be less stressful for an elephant than, say, repeated, chaotic bathing sessions with large groups of unfamiliar tourists, especially if they are overfed sugary treats and not getting enough varied exercise.

Mr. David Chen: But Dr. Sharma, even if an individual elephant isn’t showing immediate physical signs of stress according to a blood test, the underlying structure of unequal control remains. Many of these elephants, or their ancestors, were part of a violent origin story: captured from the wild, subjected to traumatic training – the ‘breaking’ process – and conditioned to obey. Even if an elephant is born into captivity and seems well-treated, that power imbalance is, for us, morally unacceptable. That’s why many animal rights organizations advocate for complete bans on riding, and increasingly, an end to all direct human-elephant interactions, including feeding and bathing. We believe this is driven by a moral imperative to grant these animals their freedom from human use.

Dr. Anya Sharma: I understand the ethical imperative, Mr. Chen. However, from a welfare standpoint, removing riding without replacing it with equally meaningful, structured alternatives can lead to demonstrably worse outcomes for the elephants: profound boredom, the development of stereotypic behaviors, aggression, metabolic disorders from inactivity, and a decline in muscle tone. A blanket ban might satisfy public optics from afar, but it doesn’t automatically improve an elephant’s actual, lived well-being day-to-day. The key concern is always the physical and psychological health of the individual animal.

Uncle Kham: What you say about boredom, Dr. Anya, is true. An elephant is a clever being. It needs… something to think about, something to do, especially if it has always lived with people. And this “breaking” you speak of, Mr. David… yes, in the old, old times, there were harsh ways. But the bond with a mahout, a true mahout, is built over years, on trust and knowing each other. My elephant, Mae Kham, she knows my voice, my touch. She leans into my hand. If I ask her to walk, and she is not feeling well, she will tell me in her own way, and we will not walk. It is not about force. It is about relationship. This closeness, this daily familiarity, this depending on each other – this is our ethic of care. Banning riding, if it means I cannot work with Mae Kham, cannot exercise her, cannot keep our bond strong… it feels like it would break her heart, and mine. And how would we feed our families, or her?

Mr. David Chen: Uncle Kham, your personal connection is clearly deep. But the system of tourism often doesn’t rely on such individual, lifelong bonds. Globally, the demand for rides has often fueled a market where elephants are treated as commodities. Our campaigns, supported by international public opinion and boycotts, aim to shift this entire paradigm, to create a world where elephants are valued for themselves, not for what they can do for us. We believe this growing political power helps determine what becomes globally accepted as ethical.

Dr. Anya Sharma: This brings us to a crucial point: the question of elephant riding is about more than just technique or individual relationships. It reflects these deep tensions around human-animal relationships, moral judgment, and, frankly, global power dynamics in conservation and tourism. Whether one sees riding as ethical depends not only on animal health science but on broader ideas about freedom, labor, control, and care.

Uncle Kham: Sometimes, it feels like these new ways, these calls for complete separation, they erase our history, our Laotian culture. They don’t always see the nuance. It feels like a form of… moral violence, almost, to have ideals imposed from outside without truly listening to the voices of those who have lived this life, who know these animals as individuals. If riding is banned everywhere, without thinking about what comes next for each elephant, for each mahout family… many elephants might end up in worse situations, perhaps sold, perhaps neglected because there is no way to support them.

Moderator: So, we have these three distinct ethical frameworks. Dr. Sharma, the welfare perspective suggests riding can be acceptable if highly regulated and tailored to the elephant’s needs. Mr. Chen, the rights perspective states it’s inherently wrong, regardless of the conditions. And Uncle Kham, your perspective as a mahout emphasizes that the ethics emerge from a deep relationship of trust, respect, and knowledge. How do we move forward from here? Should elephant riding be banned outright?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Blanket bans often respond more to tourist sentiment and powerful international campaigns than to the complex realities of individual elephant lives or local contexts. They risk shifting elephants into less visible but potentially more harmful situations, or severing these centuries-old, intimate relationships Uncle Kham speaks of. True ethics, I believe, demands more than just bans. It demands understanding, ongoing dialogue, and humility.

Mr. David Chen: While dialogue is important, there are certain practices that we believe are fundamentally unethical, and riding is one of them. We advocate for a transition towards models where elephants can live as naturally as possible, preferably in genuine sanctuaries that do not offer direct interactions for tourists, moving away from any form of exploitation.

Uncle Kham: Elephants do not need to be left untouched in a distant forest to be respected. They need to be known, to be engaged, to be cared for – on their terms, yes, but also within relationships that honor their dignity and their long history with us. The question should be: what kind of care are we replacing, and with what? Whose ethics are we truly applying, and whose voices are being left unheard in the forest?

Moderator: Powerful questions to end on. It’s clear this isn’t a simple issue with easy answers, but one that requires ongoing conversation, empathy, and a genuine willingness to understand diverse perspectives. Thank you all for a very insightful discussion.

[3] Q: Is it ethical to chain elephants?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: Thank you for those broad perspectives. Let’s narrow our focus to a specific management practice. Many camps, including some here in Laos like Manifa Elephant Camp, utilize long chains for elephants overnight. Uncle Kham, perhaps you could share how and why this is done at your camp, which I understand is set in a secondary forest bordering villagers’ fields, and not far from a village?

Uncle Kham: Yes, Khun Moderator. At our camp, Manifa, our elephants are part of the forest, but also part of our human world. At night, for their safety and ours, we use a long chain – about 45 meters. This allows them to walk, to find food we ensure is plentiful in that area, to drink from the streams. It is not a small space for them. The reasons are many and important to us. Our land borders the rice fields and vegetable gardens of our neighbours. If an elephant, even by accident, wanders into these fields, it can destroy a family’s whole crop in one night. This causes great trouble, and sometimes, sadly, people might try to harm the elephant to protect their livelihood. The long chain prevents this.

Mr. David Chen: Uncle Kham, while I appreciate your concern for your neighbours, isn’t this a consequence of keeping elephants in an area so close to human agriculture in the first place? From a rights perspective, the elephant is being restrained because of a human-created conflict.

Uncle Kham: It is the world we share now, Khun David. The forest shrinks, the villages grow. We must find ways to live together. Also, the chain protects the elephants from other dangers. There are still people who would steal a young elephant, or worse, harm a bull for his ivory. Our camp is a safe but the world outside can be dangerous. And even among themselves, elephants can sometimes have disagreements, especially bulls, or if a new mother is protective. The night chain gives each elephant its own safe space, preventing injuries to each other, or to any staff or visitor who might be nearby, though visitors are not usually in those areas at night. Even our gentle female elephants are immensely powerful.

Dr. Anya Sharma: This specific practice of using a 45-meter chain overnight for ranging and foraging, as Uncle Kham describes, presents a very interesting case from an animal welfare viewpoint. The length is significant; it allows for a considerable degree of movement, choice in foraging, and access to water, which are all positive welfare indicators compared to, say, very short chains or confinement in small, barren enclosures for 12-14 hours. The stated purposes – preventing human-elephant conflict, protecting elephants from poaching or theft, and ensuring safety for humans and other elephants – are all legitimate welfare concerns. If the alternative to this type of managed chaining is a higher risk of injury, malnutrition from being unable to access their own land safely, or severe stress from being kept in very small, inadequate spaces to prevent escape, then this long-chain system could represent a better welfare outcome under specific environmental and social constraints.

Mr. David Chen: But Dr. Sharma, does “better” than a worse alternative make it ethically right? The elephant still did not choose the 45-meter radius. It is still a form of confinement, a denial of its fundamental right to freedom and autonomy. While I acknowledge the practical dangers Uncle Kham describes, these dangers often arise precisely because elephants are treated as property to be managed, stolen, or to wander. If they were truly free in vast, protected natural habitats, these specific justifications for chaining would largely disappear. The 45-meter chain, however long, is still a chain, a symbol of their captivity.

Dr. Anya Sharma: From a purely animal rights perspective, Mr. Chen, your point is consistent: any imposed restraint is a violation. However, welfare science often operates in a sphere of pragmatic ethics, aiming to optimize well-being within existing, often imperfect, systems. The key welfare questions here would be: Is the chain designed and used in a way that prevents chafing or injury? Is the area truly rich in diverse browse and water? Are social needs considered – for instance, can compatible elephants see or hear each other even if chained separately for safety? Is their daytime experience rich with exercise, social interaction, and stimulation, as Uncle Kham mentioned they are not chained during the day at Manifa? If these conditions are met, the negative welfare impact of such specific overnight chaining might be minimal, and outweighed by the protection it affords against greater harms in that particular socio-ecological context.

Uncle Kham: We mahouts, we check the chains every day, to make sure they are smooth, not twisted. We move the chaining area so the forest can rest and regrow, and so they always have fresh things to eat. And yes, they can hear each other, smell each other. They are not alone in the deep dark. We are also nearby. This is our way of being responsible, not just for their food and water, but for their safety from all dangers – the ones inside our camp, and the ones that might come from outside. This is our tradition of care, to think of everything that keeps them well and peaceful. We do not leave them in small concrete boxes. They are in their forest.

Mr. David Chen: I understand the intention of care, Uncle Kham. But the ideal we should strive for is a situation where such “protective” chaining is rendered completely unnecessary because elephants are in truly vast, secure wild or semi-wild reserves, managed primarily for their own intrinsic value, not as components of a tourist camp, however well-intentioned. The resources spent on managing chained systems, perhaps, could be redirected to creating these more ideal environments.

Dr. Anya Sharma: That’s certainly a long-term goal many would share, Mr. Chen. However, in the interim, for existing populations of elephants in human care, especially in landscapes like much of Southeast Asia where truly vast, secure, and entirely separate wild spaces are increasingly rare and often fragmented, we have to address the “here and now” ethically and pragmatically. If a camp like Manifa can demonstrate that their specific overnight chaining practice with long tethers genuinely prevents significant, documented risks – such as severe crop conflict leading to elephant injury or death, or poaching incidents – while providing for a range of natural behaviors and ensuring no physical harm from the chain itself, then it becomes a complex ethical calculation. Banning this specific practice without a viable, safer alternative already in place could inadvertently lead to worse welfare outcomes, such as elephants being confined to smaller, less enriching “chain-free” enclosures overnight, or increased human-elephant conflict if they are left to roam entirely freely in an unsecured, shared landscape.

Uncle Kham: For us, it is simple. We love our elephants. We want them safe. We want our neighbours safe. The long chain at night helps us do this, while still letting the elephant be an elephant in the forest. During the day, they walk with us, they bathe, they are free in our protected areas. It is a balance.

Moderator: This highlights the immense challenge of balancing ideals of complete freedom with the practical responsibilities of ensuring safety and welfare in a world where human and elephant habitats are so closely intertwined. The specific details of how such management techniques are implemented seem absolutely critical.

[4] Q: Is it important to use a hook with elephants?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: Now, let’s turn to another often-debated tool: the elephant hook, also known as the ankus or bullhook. Dr. Sharma, is it important, or indeed ethical, to use a hook with elephants?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Thank you. The answer, from my perspective and that of many welfare specialists, is yes—but only with exceptional care, proven competence, and complete transparency. In traditional elephant management systems, often called ‘free contact,’ mahouts use this tool to guide and communicate. It’s designed to be long enough to allow a mahout to reach areas of an elephant’s body that are otherwise inaccessible, primarily for essential routine care – like foot cleaning, medical inspections, or guiding them during bathing. It’s also a crucial tool in rare emergencies when a startled or pained elephant could inadvertently pose a threat to people or itself.

Mr. David Chen: Dr. Sharma, while I understand the description of its intended use, from an animal rights perspective, the very existence and use of such a tool, regardless of intent, signals a fundamental problem. The hook, for us, is not merely a guide; it is a symbol of subjugation, a material expression of human authority over a sentient being who has not, and cannot, consent to its role in tourism or any other human-imposed routine.

Uncle Kham: (Nods slowly, holding an imaginary hook respectfully) We call it a khor (hook in Lao, or similar term). It is an old tool, yes. For us, it is an extension of our hand, our voice. Like reins are for a horseman, or a crook for a shepherd who guides his flock gently. My grandfather taught me: the khor is not for striking hard, not for anger. It is for a light touch, a signal. The elephant is big, her skin is thick but also sensitive in places. We learn where to touch, how to guide, like a quiet language between us.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Uncle Kham’s description aligns with the proper, ethical use from an animal welfare standpoint. When used correctly by a skilled and empathetic mahout, the hook is not a weapon. It’s a communication tool. Mahouts are, or should be, trained to avoid sensitive areas and to use it primarily as a signal or a gentle touch-point, not as an instrument of force. The real harm, which we must unequivocally condemn, comes not from the tool itself, but from its improper use – beating, stabbing, or using it for punishment. This represents a profound failure of care, skill, and ethics, and should never be tolerated. However, and this is a critical point, banning the hook entirely without understanding what will replace it, or what is replacing it in some circumstances, can lead to even worse welfare outcomes. We’ve seen instances where, to appease international audiences demanding “no hooks,” handlers resort to hidden knives, sharpened sticks, or severe psychological coercion, all of which are far more harmful and escape public scrutiny.

Mr. David Chen: But the very fact that a tool can be misused so grievously, and that its use is predicated on controlling an animal that would otherwise not perform such tasks, is precisely the issue. Even if used “gently” in most instances, it’s part of a system of enforced participation. Animal rights activists argue that elephants should not be made to perform, carry tourists, or comply with human routines at all, because doing so denies them their inherent autonomy and dignity. The hook, therefore, is not a neutral tool; it’s part of a system of captivity and coercion that ultimately treats elephants as means to human ends. Our aim is not “better management” of these tools, but liberation from the systems that require them.

Dr. Anya Sharma: The welfare approach focuses on outcomes: is the elephant healthy, mentally stimulated, well-fed, and safe within its current environment? We evaluate not the mere presence or absence of a tool like a hook, but whether its use contributes to—or undermines—that animal’s physical and psychological well-being. Proper, skilled use of the hook is consistent with welfare goals when it supports non-invasive medical care, prevents dangerous emergency escalations, or enables calm, trust-based routines that are familiar to the elephant. International pressure to eliminate hooks, while often well-intentioned, can sometimes have the opposite effect, as I mentioned – forcing handlers into worse practices or creating anxiety for elephants that are no longer guided by familiar, predictable cues. We advocate for rigorous training, strict regulation, and full transparency, not symbolic bans that might make us feel better but don’t actually improve the elephant’s life.

Uncle Kham: What Dr. Anya says about trust is the heart of it. My elephant, she knows the khor. She knows when I pick it up, it means we will walk to the river, or it is time to check her feet for stones. It is not a thing of fear between us. The fear, the harm, comes when a man has a bad heart, or no patience, or no teaching. This is not the fault of the tool, but of the man. In our Lao culture, and in how we live with elephants for many, many years – sometimes a whole lifetime – touch is important. Physical closeness, working together, even guiding them firmly but gently when needed, this is part of living alongside them, not just looking at them from far away. To ban the hook for all mahouts, without understanding this deep relationship, without seeing the skill… it feels like it erases our knowledge, our way of being. It is like someone telling you that you cannot use your own hands to guide your child.

Mr. David Chen: But Uncle Kham, that “guidance” is still within a framework of captivity. The child chooses, as they grow, to follow or not. The elephant does not have that ultimate choice. This is why this debate is not just about elephants; it’s about how power over animals is exercised, justified, and contested in this global field of tourism ethics. While viral media and Western tourism trends are indeed influential in pushing for bans, it comes from a genuine ethical concern about that power dynamic.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And that power dynamic must always be scrutinised. The critical issue is how power is wielded, under what kind of supervision, and within what kind of relationship. Improper use of a hook is an abuse of power. But responsible, skilled use by a mahout who has a deep, respectful bond with an elephant, aimed at ensuring the elephant’s health and safety and that of those around it, is a very different scenario than systemic abuse in an exploitative industry.

Moderator: So, we arrive at a familiar point: the ethical answer seems to depend heavily on the framework one applies.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Precisely. From a welfare view, the hook can be ethically acceptable, even beneficial, when used skillfully, minimally, and for clear, care-related purposes by trained individuals within a transparent system.

Mr. David Chen: From a rights view, the hook is unacceptable – regardless of technique – because it fundamentally represents and enables domination.

Uncle Kham: And from my heart, as a mahout, the khor itself is not the problem. The problem is when there is no trust, no understanding, no patience between the elephant and the human. That is when harm happens, with or without this tool.

Moderator: This leads us to a broader question then, doesn’t it?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Yes. Ultimately, the question should not simply be “Is the hook ethical?” but rather, “How do we build truly ethical relationships with elephants in all contexts where we interact with them?” This means investing seriously in high-quality mahout training and support, ensuring transparency in all management practices, fostering cultural respect for traditional knowledge when it aligns with good welfare, and encouraging open, honest dialogue—rather than resorting to outright bans of tools based on optics or ideology without viable, better alternatives in place.

Uncle Kham: It means learning to see not just the hook, but the hand that holds it—and the life, the spirit, of the elephant it touches.

Mr. David Chen: And for us, it means continuing to question whether those hands, however gentle, should be holding such tools of control over another sentient being in the first place, striving for a future where such relationships of control are no longer deemed necessary or acceptable.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Ethics, like genuine care, is never abstract. It is daily, it is embodied, and it must be relational. And in the complex world of human-elephant interaction, progress begins not by simply condemning what we see from a distance—but by striving to understand the full context, the unseen nuances, and the lived realities of all involved, especially the elephants.

[5] Q: How are elephants trained to interact with humans?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: Let’s address another fundamental question: How are elephants trained to interact with humans, and how can we approach the ethics of this practice? Dr. Sharma, could you begin?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Certainly. First, it’s important to state that some form of training or habituation is necessary for any elephant living in close proximity to humans, whether for tourism or even routine medical care. Without some level of learned response, close interaction would be unsafe for everyone involved. From an animal welfare perspective, the crucial question is not whether elephants are trained, but how the training is conducted. Today, with most elephants in tourism being born in captivity, we’re seeing a significant shift away from the old, coercive “breaking-in” methods. Modern, welfare-oriented camps increasingly use positive reinforcement techniques, like target training or clicker-based conditioning, where elephants learn to respond to verbal or visual cues for rewards. This is incredibly valuable for enabling voluntary cooperation with veterinary care—like lifting a foot for an inspection or allowing an injection—which can reduce stress and the need for sedation. Ethical training is gradual, non-punitive, and builds trust.

Mr. David Chen: And yet, from an animal rights perspective, the method is secondary to what the act represents. Any form of training, whether you call it “gentle” or not, rests on the assumption that animals exist to serve human goals. It’s an act of conditioning that limits an animal’s autonomy for a human-defined purpose. Therefore, we see it as a moral violation. This view is deeply sensitive to the history of training, which is rooted in violence. The historical phajaan or “crush” method, used to break a wild elephant’s spirit, is a paradigm of the coercion embedded in this relationship. Even if those methods are rare now, the memory of that violence rightly informs our critique. The core problem is captivity itself. If elephants weren’t kept in camps, there would be no need for training. Our goal is not to improve training techniques but to end the system that makes training necessary.

Uncle Kham: (Listens patiently, his hands resting on his knees) My father taught me, and his father taught him. For us, here in Laos, what you call “training” is a… a spiritual process, a promise between the mahout and the young elephant. It is not about “breaking” a spirit. It is about inviting a new spirit into a shared life. When a calf is old enough, three or four years, still with its mother nearby, a respected elder—never a young man—will begin the process with ceremonies. We ask the forest spirits for protection. The young one is placed in a corral, not to be crushed, but to gently transition. We stay by its side for days, for weeks. We sing to it, we feed it our best tamarind, we calm it with our voice and our touch. We slowly introduce words, signals. It is not one-sided. The mahout must also learn the elephant’s language: its fears, its joys, its silences.

Dr. Anya Sharma: What Uncle Kham is describing is profoundly important, and it aligns with what some thinkers, like Donna Haraway, call “becoming-with.” She reframes training not as one-sided domination, but as an ethical encounter, an effort to communicate across species lines where both parties are changed in the process of learning to live together. Ethnographers have documented similar relational practices among Karen and Lao communities. This isn’t the coercive model that rightly draws condemnation. It’s a form of embodied knowledge, rooted in generations of cohabitation where elephants are seen as companions, kin, even moral persons. To collapse all forms of training into the single category of “abuse,” as some narratives do, is to commit a kind of epistemic violence—it erases the existence of these deep, culturally specific relational practices.

Mr. David Chen: But Dr. Sharma, even in this “relational” model, a power imbalance is undeniable. The elephant does not choose to enter this relationship. The human initiates it for human purposes, even if those purposes include companionship and care. The system itself is still one of control, however benevolent it may appear. The hook, the commands, the corral—these are all tools of that control.

Uncle Kham: There is power, yes. An elephant is powerful. A mahout has responsibility, which is also a kind of power. But in our way, that power should be used with compassion and accountability, within a lifelong bond. It is not about removing all guidance, but exercising it with a good heart. Touch is not always violence. When my elephant trusts me, my touch with my hand, or even a gentle guide with the khor (hook), is a conversation. It is not an attack. The absence of trust is what creates harm, not the tool itself.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And this is where the welfare perspective intersects with Uncle Kham’s ethics of care. The key issue is not the tool itself, but how it’s wielded, under what supervision, and within what kind of relationship. International pressure to ban tools like hooks can, paradoxically, lead to worse welfare if handlers resort to concealed, sharper tools or methods that cause psychological harm without leaving visible marks. The focus should be on fostering expertise, transparency, and authentic, trusting relationships, rather than symbolic bans that might make us feel better but don’t actually improve the elephant’s life.

Moderator: This suggests the central question is not as simple as we might think.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Exactly. The ethical answer depends entirely on the context, relationship, and intent. We must move beyond asking “Is the hook ethical?” to asking, “How do we build ethical relationships with elephants in the first place?” That means investing in mahout training, cultural respect, and open dialogue, not just reacting to optics. We need to learn to see not just the tool, but the hand that holds it, and the life it touches.

Uncle Kham: Training is not the end of freedom. For us, it is the beginning of a shared life. A life that is sometimes messy, not always easy, but it is a life together.

Mr. David Chen: A shared life that one party is compelled to live. For us, the ethical work remains focused on creating a world where that compulsion is no longer necessary, and a truly free life is possible for every elephant.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And until that ideal is reached, or if we accept that other forms of interspecies life are also valid, our duty is to “stay with the trouble,” as Haraway would say. We must refuse simple answers, acknowledge the complexities, and support training that serves as a site of genuine ethical encounter, not ethical compromise.

[6] Q: Should elephants working in camps be reintroduced into the wild?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: I want to address the ultimate goal for many: Should elephants currently working in camps be reintroduced into the wild? Mr. Chen, perhaps you could start by sharing the animal rights perspective on this goal.

Mr. David Chen: Thank you. From an animal rights position, the goal is unequivocally clear: elephants should not be used for labor, entertainment, or tourism. Therefore, rewilding is seen as the moral imperative, the way to end captivity altogether and restore an elephant’s fundamental right to autonomy. We believe every sentient being should live in self-determined conditions, free from human ownership, training, and intervention. Captive elephants are often viewed as victims of a system of oppression, and rewilding is their path to liberation.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And while that ideal of liberation is ethically compelling, from an animal welfare perspective, rewilding is fraught with serious risks if not managed with extreme, long-term care. Welfare experts like Dr. Ingrid Suter caution against projects that prioritize this symbolic idea of “freedom” over the practical, day-to-day well-being of the individual animal. Releasing captive elephants—especially those born and raised around humans—is not a simple act. They often lack the behavioral skills needed to forage effectively, to protect themselves from predators or injury, or to navigate the complex social dynamics of wild herds.

Uncle Kham: (Nods thoughtfully) This is true. My elephant, Mae Bounma, knows my voice, she knows the scent of our village, she knows where to find the sweetest bamboo near our camp. But the deep forest, the wild herds with their own laws… that is a foreign land to her. For us, here in Laos, elephants are not just “wildlife” or “property.” They are co-inhabitants, woven into our lives through care, ceremonies, and family ties. To take her from this world she knows and place her in a world she does not… it would not feel like liberation. It would feel like a rupture, a breaking of a bond built over her whole life.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Exactly. Dr. Suter’s research highlights that many rewilding projects can be driven more by political pressure and public sentiment—often from Western discourses—than by science-based welfare planning. Some projects have been launched without adequate ecological capacity, funding, or post-release monitoring, leading to higher mortality rates, social isolation, or increased human-elephant conflict when the “rewilded” elephants approach villages for food. They become a problem for communities and are put at risk themselves. Dr. Suter argues that “rewilding is not a welfare panacea.” It must be judged solely on whether it actually improves the life of the individual elephant, not just whether it satisfies our expectations of what “natural” should look like.

Mr. David Chen: I want to be clear: no serious rights advocate wants to see an elephant suffer or die in the name of freedom. The path to liberation must be carefully evaluated. Uncritically pushing for rewilding without considering the actual conditions on the ground—fragmented forests, scarce resources, the escalating dangers of poaching—can indeed lead to new forms of suffering. Liberation must not come at the expense of life itself.

Uncle Kham: And who holds that responsibility? For me, my responsibility is to this elephant, Mae Bounma, here, today, in this world we share. Her well-being, her attachment to her elephant friends here, the continuity of her life… this is my focus. The call to “return all elephants to the wild” can feel like a cultural imposition, an idea from the outside that does not understand our way of coexistence. My goal is not control, but companionship and mutual adjustment, ensuring she has a meaningful, safe life where she can walk, eat, play, and rest, knowing she is cared for by her human family.

Dr. Anya Sharma: This really highlights the three different ethical starting points. For Mr. Chen, the ultimate goal is restoring autonomy. For me, from a welfare science standpoint, the goal is ensuring the highest possible quality of life, and that might mean improving in-situ care rather than attempting a risky rewilding. This could involve well-managed, semi-wild sanctuaries that provide enrichment, space, and protection without completely severing the human networks that have long sustained these animals.

Mr. David Chen: And we would support such sanctuaries as a vast improvement over traditional tourist camps, especially if they are non-contact and managed primarily for the elephants’ own benefit. But we still see them as a step on the path toward true freedom, not the final destination.

Moderator: This brings us back to the core tension. It seems the ethics of reintroduction cannot be answered with a simple absolute.

Dr. Anya Sharma: No, it must be rooted in situated knowledge, long-term care planning, and an honest accounting of risks. From a welfare view, rewilding must tangibly improve an elephant’s life, not just be symbolic.

Mr. David Chen: From a rights view, our call for freedom must be responsibly planned, ensuring that freedom doesn’t inadvertently lead to greater harm.

Uncle Kham: And from my view, as a mahout, the question is always: what makes a good life for this particular elephant I know, here in our shared community of people, forest, and other animals?

Dr. Anya Sharma: As Dr. Ingrid Suter reminds us, the real task may not be universal rewilding, but rather rethinking our own assumptions about what counts as ethical care. It’s about learning from the people and animals who have long coexisted in these shared, complex environments. Rewilding may be one path among many, but it shouldn’t be the sole litmus test for morality. We must ask: what kind of future allows this specific elephant to flourish? And who is prepared to commit to caring for that future, every single step of the way?

[7] Q: Are elephants working for people eligible for rescue and conservation?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: Let’s turn to another critical issue. When we talk about animal protection, the terms “rescue” and “conservation” are paramount. So, the question is: Are elephants working for people eligible for rescue and conservation? Mr. Chen, your perspective often drives the rescue narrative.

Mr. David Chen: Thank you. From an animal rights perspective, the answer is clear. Any form of elephant labor—whether in tourism, ceremonies, or otherwise—is a form of exploitation and a violation of that elephant’s autonomy. Therefore, every working elephant is inherently a victim of this system, and “rescue” becomes a moral imperative to liberate them from that subjugation. “Conservation,” in its purest form, should mean restoring elephants to a world free from human interference. So, yes, they are eligible for rescue, because their labor itself signifies a state from which they need to be rescued.

Dr. Anya Sharma: This is where the animal welfare framework diverges significantly. From a welfare standpoint, an elephant’s eligibility for rescue depends entirely on its individual physical and psychological wellbeing, not its job description. Rescue is absolutely warranted when an elephant suffers from documented malnutrition, abuse, overwork, or social isolation. However, it is not warranted simply because the elephant performs tasks with a human. An elephant’s needs for good nutrition, social interaction, exercise, and freedom from pain are what matter. Working elephants can and do thrive if their routines are well-managed. Conservation, similarly, should aim to protect all elephants, not just those deemed “wild enough” by certain ideological standards. This view pushes back against what we might call “purity-based exclusions.”

Uncle Kham: (Shakes his head slowly) For me, and for many mahouts in my village, the question itself feels strange, from a different world. “Eligible for rescue?” My elephant, Mae Bounma, does not need to be “rescued” from me. She needs to be rescued with me from dangers like poaching or sickness. For us, working with our saang (elephants) is not abuse; it is a form of relational labor, a way of living together that we have learned from our ancestors. They are not our tools or slaves; they are our companions in a shared world.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Uncle Kham is highlighting a key issue: the question itself carries the weight of a particular ideology, one that often assumes real nature is separate from people and that all labor is inherently exploitative. The Laotian situation requires another model. The goal isn’t separation, but making the existing, interdependent relationships more just, respectful, and sustainable. Welfare-based conservation should not oppose human-elephant relationships; it seeks to improve their quality.

Mr. David Chen: But can a relationship truly be “just” or “respectful” if it is fundamentally unequal? Even with the best care, the elephant has not consented to its role. Our campaigns have gained global visibility precisely because the public increasingly sees any form of animal labor for entertainment as a violation. By asserting that only non-working elephants are worth placing in true sanctuaries, we are trying to shift the entire market away from using animals as a resource.

Uncle Kham: We do not see our elephants as a “resource.” We see them as individuals, with histories, with personalities. We do not divide the world into “wild” or “captive.” Mae Bounma works with us for part of the day, rests and forages in the forest for the rest. She is cared for, she is respected, she is part of our family’s story. Does she deserve less protection, less conservation effort, than an elephant in a distant national park that no one knows by name? Her life, our shared life, is also worth protecting. This is a place-based ethic; our care is grounded in being close to her every day, not judging her from afar.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And this is the danger of turning conservation into a purity contest. If we exclude elephants and people who don’t fit a narrow, often Western, ideal of untouched nature, we risk abandoning the majority of elephants in human care in Southeast Asia. The focus should be on individual well-being over symbolic categories. We must avoid a situation where an elephant in a loving, well-managed working relationship receives less support than a “rescued” elephant living in a poorly funded sanctuary with little social interaction.

Moderator: So, to bring it all together, what is the conclusion? Are working elephants eligible?

Dr. Anya Sharma: Yes, absolutely. Not because they are victims in need of salvation simply for working, but because they are living beings with histories, relationships, and futures that matter. The real ethical questions we should be asking are: What kind of life does this specific elephant live right now? What kind of care is possible and sustainable here? And whose values are we using to define what counts as “natural” or worth conserving?

Uncle Kham: We must not confuse working with suffering. My elephant is a co-worker, a companion, a kin. That is a life worth protecting.

Mr. David Chen: And we must not confuse care with consent. We will continue to advocate for a world where that companionship doesn’t rely on a dynamic of labor and control.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And in the meantime, our collective responsibility is to support the well-being of all elephants, in all the diverse and complex ways they live alongside people, ensuring conservation is about inclusion, not erasure.

[8] Q: Should all activities involving interactions with elephants be banned or boycotted?

• Dr. Anya Sharma: An Animal Welfare Scholar
• Mr. David Chen: An Animal Rights Activist
• Uncle Kham: A Veteran Laotian Mahout from Manifa Elephant Camp

Moderator: We have covered so much ground today. This leads us to the ultimate question for many tourists and advocates: Should all activities involving direct interaction with elephants be banned or boycotted? Mr. Chen, what is the stance of the animal rights community?

Mr. David Chen: From an animal rights standpoint, yes. We see boycotts and bans as necessary and powerful tools to dismantle systems of exploitation. All forms of elephant tourism where animals are used for human ends—whether for riding, bathing, or feeding—are inherently exploitative. The interaction itself, regardless of how “gentle” it appears, is a breach of the elephant’s autonomy. Therefore, the only ethical choice for a consumer is to refuse to participate, thereby withdrawing financial support from the industry and pressuring it to change fundamentally, toward a model of non-contact observation in genuine sanctuaries.

Dr. Anya Sharma: And while that position comes from a place of well-intentioned concern, from an animal welfare perspective, blanket bans and boycotts can be catastrophic. They focus on categories of activity rather than the actual conditions under which those activities take place. This overlooks the reality that responsibly managed interactions can contribute positively to an elephant’s physical and mental wellbeing by providing stimulation and exercise. More critically, eliminating tourism income without providing sustainable, well-funded alternatives can lead to far worse welfare outcomes for the elephants. We’ve seen it happen: elephants may be returned to grueling work in logging, legal or illegal; sold to private zoos or circuses, often abroad; or, in the worst cases, they may even fall victim to poaching when their owners can no longer afford to protect them. Pragmatic reform, not moral panic, is what leads to better lives for these animals.

Uncle Kham: (Nods, his expression somber) What Dr. Anya says is the reality we live with. These calls for boycotts, they sound simple from far away, but here on the ground, they are a storm that threatens to wash everything away. For us, our elephants are co-inhabitants, they are our kin, our cultural heritage. To ban all interaction is to say that our centuries-old way of living with them is wrong. It makes our knowledge, passed down from our ancestors, seem worthless. When foreign campaigns tell tourists to stay away, they don’t see what happens next. They don’t see the mahout who has no way to feed his family, or his elephant. They don’t see the impossible choices he faces: sell his lifelong companion to a circus, or worse. In a country like Laos, where our elephant population is small and aging, this could lead to their disappearance from our land forever.

Mr. David Chen: The difficult consequences are undeniable, but we see them as symptoms of a broken system. The responsibility to create alternatives should fall on governments and the conservation community, not on activists to stop calling for an end to what we see as fundamental exploitation. A boycott is a clear moral signal that the world no longer accepts the commodification of sentient beings.

Dr. Anya Sharma: But that signal can be a blunt instrument that harms the very animals it aims to protect. This is why many of us are now advocating for a different model, what we might call “convivial conservation.” This is the vision we are trying to build at places like Manifa Elephant Camp. It doesn’t see elephants and people as problems to be separated, but as interdependent partners. It means focusing on improving welfare through excellent training and veterinary care; it means sustaining the livelihoods of mahouts and local communities so they can care for their elephants without resorting to harmful alternatives; and it means educating tourists to choose camps that prioritize an elephant’s quality of life over a passive spectacle.

Uncle Kham: Yes. A partnership. It means people from outside don’t just come and dictate terms without listening to us, the people on the ground who live with and love these elephants every single day. It means resisting a kind of ethical imperialism.

Moderator: So, you are proposing a move away from simple “yes” or “no” answers toward something more collaborative and context-specific.

Dr. Anya Sharma: Exactly. Boycotting all interactions ignores the realities on the ground and risks causing the very suffering it hopes to prevent. Instead of asking, “Should we ban interaction?” we should be asking: “How can we make interactions better—for elephants, for mahouts, and for the entire ecosystem?”

Mr. David Chen: And while we may disagree on the ideal endpoint, the call for better welfare, transparency, and an end to abusive practices is something we can all agree on. The pressure from tourists has been crucial in forcing camps to improve.

Dr. Anya Sharma: That’s true. The key is to channel that pressure constructively. So the question becomes: How can tourists, NGOs, scientists, and local communities collaborate on long-term, sustainable solutions? And we must always ask ourselves: Whose values are shaping this debate, and who gets left out when we follow those values blindly?

Uncle Kham: It is about working together. Like a good mahout and his elephant.

Moderator: A perfect final thought. Ethical tourism, then, is not about turning your back and walking away.

Dr. Anya Sharma: No. It means walking forward—together, with open eyes and a much deeper understanding.