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Push to Free Chained Elephants at Hanoi Zoo 

An employee cleans the enclosure an elephant that has its leg chained at the Hanoi Zoo in Hanoi on August 16, 2023. (AFP)
An employee cleans the enclosure an elephant that has its leg chained at the Hanoi Zoo in Hanoi on August 16, 2023. (AFP)
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Push to Free Chained Elephants at Hanoi Zoo 

An employee cleans the enclosure an elephant that has its leg chained at the Hanoi Zoo in Hanoi on August 16, 2023. (AFP)
An employee cleans the enclosure an elephant that has its leg chained at the Hanoi Zoo in Hanoi on August 16, 2023. (AFP)

Legs in iron chains and unable to roam freely, the treatment of two elderly elephants at the Hanoi public zoo has drawn outrage in Vietnam, with animal rights groups demanding the pair be relocated.

The groups are calling for the two female elephants -- Thai and Banang -- to be released to a national park, and close to 70,000 people have signed an online petition in support.

State media has also covered the story widely in recent weeks.

On Wednesday morning, the pair's legs were in chains as zookeepers fed them grass and sugarcane, AFP journalists observed.

"The elephants are quite fierce. With a broken electric fence, we had to chain them," a zoo staff member told AFP on the condition of anonymity.

Staff said the two elephants were brought to the zoo from the country's south and central highlands in 2010 and 2014.

"They were not in the same herd. We had to do our best to help prevent fighting between them and ensure safety for carers," the zoo employee said, adding the animals were well cared for and given three meals a day.

But Animals Asia sent a letter to city authorities earlier this month urging the creatures be returned to the jungle at the Yok Don National Park in the country's central highlands.

"Elephants at the Hanoi zoo have been chained for a very long period," the group said in the letter.

"The health of the two elephants will deteriorate if they remain as they are."

Vietnam Animal Eyes, a group of local animal advocates, started a petition to remove the pair from the zoo at the beginning of August.

Zoo director Le Si Dung, however, has characterized the push to free the animals as "illogical", according to state media.

"The two elephants, aged 60-70 years old, have been at our zoo for more than 10 years... They will die if they are put back to nature as they do not know how to seek food or protect themselves," Dung was quoted as saying by the Dan Tri news site.

David Neale, animal welfare director at Animals Asia, told AFP the elephants were likely frustrated they couldn't carry out their natural behaviors.

"Yok Don National Park... has all of the elements which an elephant needs to be able to live well and live happily," he said.

Other animal lovers believe the zoo is not serving the elephants' best interests.

"This (Hanoi) zoo is like a jail," social media user Thanh Nguyen said.

"I was furious after my first visit there last year... I would never go back."

According to environmental groups, Vietnam's wild elephant population has fallen from around 2,000 in 1980 to about 100 in 2022.

The number of domesticated elephants has also declined significantly from about 600 in 1980 to 165 today.

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Varieties

In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
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In Beirut, a Photographer's Frozen Moments Slow Down Time and Allow the Contemplation of Destruction

A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)
A bomb dropped from an Israeli jet hits a building in Ghobeiri, Beirut, Lebanon, Tuesday, October 22, 2024. (AP Photo/ Bilal Hussein)

We watch video after video, consuming the world on our handheld devices in bites of two minutes, one minute, 30 seconds, 15. We turn to moving pictures — “film” — because it comes the closest to approximating the world that we see and experience. This is, after all, 2024, and video in our pocket — ours, others', everyone's — has become our birthright.
But sometimes — even in this era of live video always rolling, always recording, always capturing — sometimes the frozen moment can enter the eye like nothing else. And in the process, it can tell a larger story that echoes long after the moment was captured. That's what happened this past week in Beirut, through the camera lens of Associated Press photographer Bilal Hussein and the photographs he captured.
When Hussein set up his camera outside an evacuated Beirut apartment building Tuesday after Israel announced it would be targeted as part of military operations against Hezbollah, he had one goal in mind — only one. "All I thought of," he says, “was photographing the missile while it was coming down.”
He found a safe spot. He ensured a good angle. He wasn't stressed, he said; like many photographers who work in such environments, he had been in situations like this one before. He was ready.
When the attack came — a bomb, not a missile in the end — Hussein swung into action. And, unsurprisingly for a professional who has been doing this work for two decades, he did exactly what he set out to do.
Time slowed down
The sequence of images he made bursts with the explosive energy of its subject matter.
In one frame, the bomb hangs there, a weird and obtrusive interloper in the scene. It is not yet noticed by anyone around it, ready to bring its destruction to a building that, in moments, will no longer exist. The building's balconies, a split-second from nonexistence, are devoid of people as the bomb finds its mark.
These are the kind of moments that video, rolling at the speed of life or even in slow motion, cannot capture in the same way. A photo holds us in the scene, stops time, invites a viewer to take the most chaotic of events and break it down, looking around and noticing things in a strangely silent way that actual life could not.
In another frame, one that happened micro moments after the first, the building is in the process of exploding. Let's repeat that for effect, since even as recently as a couple generations ago photographs like this were rare: in the process of exploding.
Pieces of building are shooting out in all directions, in high velocity — in real life. But in the image they are frozen, outward bound, hanging in space awaiting the next seconds of their dissolution — just like the bomb that displaced them was doing milliseconds before. And in that, a contemplation of the destruction — and the people it was visited upon — becomes possible.
Tech gives us new prisms to see the world
The technology to grab so many images in the course of little more than one second — and do it in such clarity and high resolution — is barely a generation old.
So to see these “stills,” as journalists call them, come together to paint a picture of an event is a combination of artistry, intrepidity and technology — an exercise in freezing time, and in giving people the opportunity to contemplate for minutes, even hours, what took place in mere seconds. This holds true for positive things that the camera captures — and for visitations of violence like this one as well.
Photography is random access. We, the viewers of it, choose how to see it, process it, digest it. We go backward and forward in time, at will. We control the pace and the speed at which dizzying images hurtle at us. And in that process, something unusual for this era emerges: a bit of time to think.
That, among many other things, is the enduring power of the still image in a moving-picture world — and the power of what Bilal Hussein captured on that clear, sunny day in Beirut.