I spoke to a cockatoo in a cage this morning. I’ve never considered birds to be particularly intelligent animals, but there was a look in his eye that made me wonder. We started out with the usual ‘hello cocky’ banter. He was in a cage about 7 foot high, set back behind the fence between his house and the street on which I was walking. He jumped forward  and, holding himself to the front of the cage with his beak and claws, looked like he was trying to approach me, as much as his circumstances would allow.  

Where Mr Bird lives by day

I noticed that the gate was ajar, so walked through and approached the cage. I put my hand up to the cage and he jumped back at first but, as I continued to hold the back of my hand towards him, he eventually came forward again. He said ‘allo’ and cocked his head to the side so he could look at me. 

I patted his beak as he continued to stare at me. I stopped and he hopped over to the small hole where the padlock and bolt secured the door. He poked his head through the gap and I patted him on the head again. Then he did something quite odd. He put his beak around the padlock and bit it while looking up at me. Anyways, this continued for some time and whilst it might just be coincidence of some sort, moved me to think of how sad it was that this bird was locked up in a cage, able to enjoy so few of his senses. In my head I ran through liberation scenarios.. me coming back at night and cutting through the padlock, or would it be easier to cut the wire? What would his owners think? I’d been past the cage before at night and he wasn’t there. Who took him in at night? Did they pat him? Could he fly around the room?

Eventually I said my goodbyes as he hopped around the cage saying ‘allo’ and ‘allo cocky’ looking, to my eye, a little saddened at his playmate leaving. It reminded me how, at various times, I’ve contemplated the lives of those born into slavery and how so many of the choices that seem so important to us, like which digital camera to get, what job to go for, whether that romantic interest is ‘the one’ or not.. how those choices just aren’t an issue to those people. And yet, they’re people. Capable of feeling like I feel, thinking like I think. By some crazy luck, I’m a guy born in Melbourne who can sit back in a cafe sitting lattes and thinking about these things. Actually, I’m not just using the stereotype there, I am sitting in a cafe sipping a latte as I type. I can’t really change that but I guess I can do what I can to make opportunities where there currently aren’t any, like through the work Trevor is doing in Macassar. There are the obvious sorts of slavery, but there are also so many other ways that prevent people from having choices, from someone born in a Cape Town township with few work or educational opportunities or someone working in Australia and trapped by their mortgage and income to someone who can’t overcome an addiction. I certainly think that mental and spiritual freedom is not dictated solely by our circumstances but I still feel an obligation to do what I can. Whether I can get over myself long enough to do something is a matter for another day.