George orwell essay shooting an elephant

George orwell essay shooting an elephant

Shooting an Elephant,Cite this page

WebShooting an Elephant George Orwell (c. ) IN MOULMEIN, IN LOWER BURMA, I was hated by large numbers of people--the only time in my life that I have been important Webkilling a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the WebThese papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of Shooting an Elephant by George Orwell. George Orwell: Modernism and Imperialism in "Shooting WebWhen Orwell spots the elephant stuffing grass into its mouth, apparently calm after its violent actions in the town, his first reaction is to want to avoid shooting the elephant. WebFeb 17,  · George Orwell was a police officer in the British authority in Burma, in the story of Killing an Elephant; he clearly shows how he opposed the idea of imperialism. ... read more

Weirdly, he needs their respect. This quotation appears shortly after the one quoted above. And then his whole personality, his true identity, becomes lost as he starts to become nothing but the persona he has adopted, until his true self has been completely lost. And as so often with Orwell, he focuses on some surprising or unexpected aspect of the topic under discussion. But he comes at it from a surprising angle: the idea of laughter and humiliation. And once you have a crowd of Burmese people and just one white British man, you effectively have an audience which has a peculiar kind of power: the power to make the white man feel small by laughing at his cowardice or foolishness.

I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. But for Orwell, the elephant seems kindly and gentle, even slightly pathetic. I had halted on the road. As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him. It is a serious matter to shoot a working elephant — it is comparable to destroying a huge and costly piece of machinery — and obviously one ought not to do it if it can possibly be avoided. And at that distance, peacefully eating, the elephant looked no more dangerous than a cow. Moreover, I did not in the least want to shoot him. I decided that I would watch him for a little while to make sure that he did not turn savage again, and then go home.

But at that moment I glanced round at the crowd that had followed me. It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing every minute. It blocked the road for a long distance on either side. I looked at the sea of yellow faces above the garish clothes-faces all happy and excited over this bit of fun, all certain that the elephant was going to be shot. They were watching me as they would watch a conjurer about to perform a trick. They did not like me, but with the magical rifle in my hands I was momentarily worth watching.

And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly. And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man's dominion in the East. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd — seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind.

I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. I had got to shoot the elephant. I had committed myself to doing it when I sent for the rifle. A sahib has got to act like a sahib; he has got to appear resolute, to know his own mind and do definite things. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing — no, that was impossible. The crowd would laugh at me. And my whole life, every white man's life in the East, was one long struggle not to be laughed at.

But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal. Besides, there was the beast's owner to be considered. Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving.

They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him. It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step.

If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do. There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim.

The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward. REQUEST THE REMOVAL. Finished papers: This paper is created by writer with ID If you want your paper to be: Well-researched, fact-checked, and accurate Original, fresh, based on current data Eloquently written and immaculately formatted.

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The essay explores an apparent paradox about the behaviour of Europeans, who supposedly have the power over their colonial subjects. Orwell begins by relating some of his memories from his time as a young police officer working in Burma. Although the extent to which the essay is autobiographical has been disputed, we will refer to the narrator as Orwell himself, for ease of reference. He, like other British and European people in imperial Burma, was held in contempt by the native populace, with Burmese men tripping him up during football matches between the Europeans and Burmans, and the local Buddhist priests loudly insulting their European colonisers on the streets.

Orwell tells us that these experiences instilled in him two things: it confirmed his view, which he had already formed, that imperialism was evil, but it also inspired a hatred of the enmity between the European imperialists and their native subjects. Of course, these two things are related, and Orwell understands why the Buddhist priests hate living under European rule. The main story which Orwell relates takes place in Moulmein, in Lower Burma. An elephant, one of the tame elephants which the locals own and use, has given its rider or mahout the slip, and has been wreaking havoc throughout the bazaar.

It has destroyed a hut, killed a cow, and raided some fruit stalls for food. Orwell picks up his rifle and gets on his pony to go and see what he can do. Orwell discovers that the elephant has just trampled a man, a coolie or native labourer, to the ground, killing him. Orwell sends his pony away and calls for an elephant rifle which would be more effective against such a big animal. Going in search of the elephant, Orwell finds it coolly eating some grass, looking as harmless as a cow. It has calmed down, but by this point a crowd of thousands of local Burmese people has amassed, and is watching Orwell intently.

So he shoots the elephant from a safe distance, marvelling at how long the animal takes to die. He acknowledges at the end of the essay that he only shot the elephant because he did not wish to look like a fool. It is about how so much of our behaviour is shaped, not by what we want to do, nor even by what we think is the right thing to do, but by what others will think of us. Orwell confesses that he had spent his whole life trying to avoid being laughed at, and this is one of his key motivations when dealing with the elephant: not to invite ridicule or laughter from the Burmese people watching him. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing — no, that was impossible.

The crowd would laugh at me. That would never do. Being trampled to death by the elephant might be something that Orwell could live with as it were ; but being laughed at? Unthinkable …. And from this point, Orwell extrapolates his own experience to consider the colonial experience at large: the white European may think he is in charge of his colonial subjects, but ironically — even paradoxically — the coloniser loses his own freedom when he takes it upon himself to subjugate and rule another people:. I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys.

He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. He is the alien in their land, which helps to explain this second paradox, but the first is more elusive. However, even this paradox is perhaps explicable. He may have a gun, but they have the numbers. But he does it anyway, in an act that is purely for show, and which goes against his own will and instinct. Hmm now I make another connection here. A degree of the hypocrisy of human society. I know it is all very post-modernist to consider things from a non-human point of view, but there seems a very obvious mirroring here.

Circuses — it still goes on, tragically. Pingback: The Best George Orwell Essays Everyone Should Read — Interesting Literature. Pingback: 10 of the Best Works by George Orwell — Interesting Literature. One biographer claimed that the incident never took place and is pure fiction created to make the points you mention. Is there any proof that it actually happened? Enter your email address to subscribe to this site and receive notifications of new posts by email. Email Address. Interesting Literature is a participant in the Amazon EU Associates Programme, an affiliate advertising programme designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by linking to Amazon. Share this: Tweet. Like this: Like Loading Robin Saikia April 5, at pm.

Paul CONNOLLY March 29, at pm. Caroline March 29, at pm. Absolutely fascinating and very though provoking. Thank you. interestingliterature March 29, at pm. Thanks, Caroline! Very kind Loading Subscribe via Email Enter your email address to subscribe to this site and receive notifications of new posts by email. Interesting Literature. Privacy Policy. Copyright © Interesting Literature Designed by WPZOOM. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website.

Free Essay On Shooting An Elephant George Orwell,“Living Like Weasels” – Annie Dillard

WebWhen Orwell spots the elephant stuffing grass into its mouth, apparently calm after its violent actions in the town, his first reaction is to want to avoid shooting the elephant. WebThese papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of Shooting an Elephant by George Orwell. George Orwell: Modernism and Imperialism in "Shooting WebShooting an Elephant George Orwell (c. ) IN MOULMEIN, IN LOWER BURMA, I was hated by large numbers of people--the only time in my life that I have been important WebDec 2,  · Orwell’s criticizes the attitude of the local population, but reluctantly goes ahead with the shooting of the elephant – even though he finds it painful to watch the Webkilling a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the WebFeb 17,  · George Orwell was a police officer in the British authority in Burma, in the story of Killing an Elephant; he clearly shows how he opposed the idea of imperialism. ... read more

And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man's dominion in the East. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. HIRE A WRITER Sign in. In contrast to his description of the natives as "little beasts", the narrator labels the elephant as a "great beast" and suggests that he holds it at a higher status than the locals. And from this point, Orwell extrapolates his own experience to consider the colonial experience at large: the white European may think he is in charge of his colonial subjects, but ironically — even paradoxically — the coloniser loses his own freedom when he takes it upon himself to subjugate and rule another people:. It was a bit of fun to them, as it would be to an English crowd; besides they wanted the meat.

I agree. They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing — no, that was impossible. At the bottom, when you got away from the huts, there was a metalled road and beyond that a miry waste of paddy fields a thousand yards across, george orwell essay shooting an elephant, not yet ploughed but soggy from the first rains and george orwell essay shooting an elephant with coarse grass. This parallelism is perfectly used to carry out the purpose of the essay, which is to make distinction between the mindlessness weasel who lives in necessity and by instinct, and the human who has choices and who lives and acts with self-consciousness and fore-thought.