It was a tiny incident in itself, but it gave me a better glimpse than I had had before of the real nature of imperialism — the real motives for which despotic shooting an elephant essay act. Free Case Study About Diagnosing Managerial Characteristics. 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. However, symbolically, he destroyed the strong chain of imperialism, torture and inhuman treatment. Moreover, shooting an elephant essay, I did not in the least want to shoot him. He is told on the phone about an elephant which has shattered his fetters and gone mad, intimidating the localities and causing destructions. But I did not want to shoot the elephant.
The Orwell Foundation
In this essay, Orwell. essay, shooting an elephant essay, Shooting an Elephant, George Orwell illustrates his experiences as a British police officer, and reflects it to the nature of imperialism. Therefore, Orwell, a white man is being treated shooting an elephant essay by the Burmese which allows him to hate his job and British Empire, the root of everything. However, the incident of shooting of an elephant gives. Orwell was a British author best known for his essays and novels. After an elephant comes rampaging through the village in must, killing an Indian man, Orwell is looked upon to take care of the problem. The intense scene causes Orwell to make a crucial decision, reflecting on the vicious imperialism with the military.
his father stayed in India. The novel Shooting an Elephant, that George wrote, took place in the bottom of Burma in the middle of Moulmein. The story is about George Orwell hesitating to kill an Elephant that has killed a man. All Shooting an elephant essay planned to do was to test the elephant to see if it really meant any harm. George feels pressured by the crowd following him because they expect him to kill the elephant, shooting an elephant essay. He eventually made the decision to kill the elephant to make the mad crowd happy and plus he. Orwell wrote the essay called Shooting an Elephant. While working as a police officer for the British Empire in Burma, Orwell experienced an event that inspired him to write his essay.
This essay, was written for the British people, shooting an elephant essay order to make them aware of the injustice and cruelty of Imperialism. This essay explores the negative impact that Imperialism has on those who are being governed under it, but also on those who are in power, exercising it. Shooting an elephant also explores the strong. titled "Shooting an Elephant. He relates it to British Imperialism and uses the individual's experiences as a reference to larger experiences that we all face. While it appears to be a story of a rampant elephant being euthanized. Later he joined the Imperial Police in Burma were he traveled to countries. All throw out his life he wrote about difficult situations that had ordinary incites.
In he died but his lifelong shooting an elephant essay was as relevant as ever. As Orwell continues his quest to find the elephant, a crowd joins his side. Soon, he finds the elephant doing no harm. Who Holds the Power? All he wants is attention and it is evident that even negative attention is better than being ignored. He hates working for the British as a sub-divisional police officer in the town of. Struggle in Shooting an Elephant In the essay Shooting an Elephant by George Orwell, the ideas of power, imperialism and the struggle of the British Empire are shooting an elephant essay central themes in the text.
The text begins when Orwell is expressing how much he is hated by the locals in Burma, how he was always taunted, made fun of, and laughed at. One day, he got a call saying there was an elephant that had. Home Page Shooting An Elephant. Free Shooting An Elephant Essays and Papers, shooting an elephant essay. Sort By: Most Relevant Highest Grade. Satisfactory Essays. Page 1 of 35 - About essays. Good Essays. Shooting an Elephant Words 4 Pages, shooting an elephant essay. Shooting an Elephant. Shooting an Elephant Words 3 Pages. Shooting An Elephant Analysis Words 2 Pages.
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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, not yet ploughed but soggy from the first rains and dotted with coarse grass. The elephant was standing eight yards from the road, his left side towards us. He was tearing up bunches of grass, beating them against his knees to clean them and stuffing them into his mouth. 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. 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. 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. 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. When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick — one never does when a shot goes home — but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered.
He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time — it might have been five seconds, I dare say — he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping.
I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay. I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling.
His mouth was wide open — I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken. Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. com, Feb Free Essay Examples - WowEssays. Published Feb 17, Share with friends using:. Removal Request. 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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