The novel and film adaptation Jaws had a major impact on how people view sharks.

For most people, the thought or sight of a large fin slicing through the water is enough to inspire panic. While animals such as elephants, tigers, lions, and bears (which combined kill hundreds of people every year) receive strong public support for their conservation and protection, all it takes is one fatal shark attack (of the five that occur on average every year from all shark species combined) to inspire mass hunts of this much maligned predator. Fishermen and sportsmen take to the sea, beyond the reach of the average beach swimmer and armed with harpoons, to find and slaughter any shark that is unfortunate enough to be within reach.

Why is it that sharks inspire this reaction?

Perhaps the answer is simple: we do not understand them. The simple answer, however, is not enough to really make ourselves question our deep-seated fear of an animal we are likely to never encounter in the wild, and we must examine why we do not understand them.

How many advertisements on television or on billboards that promote wildlife conservation have shown a panda bear, with its warm eyes and cuddly exterior imploring you to protect it? And how many advertisements or billboards have you seen that show the grim visage of a great white shark, fearsome teeth and all, with its unblinking black stare, bearing the same message?

Humans find it easier to relate to mammals such as ourselves. They demonstrate intelligence and instinct not unlike our own; they nourish and care for their young; they express emotion and pleasure and pain. In this way, we are able to empathize.

Contrast this with the typical image of a shark. They are already alien to us in that they live underwater, having mastered a part of the world that we can only barely function in, and clumsily at that, which threatens us. But there is empathy for whales and dolphins, mammals like us. But the shark, the shark has black eyes that never blink, unreadable and cold. Their mouths never smile, only occasionally show a glimpse of the teeth that millions of years of evolution has perfected. They appear cold, calculating, and completely devoid of emotion or feeling. Humans rely on facial expressions and body language to determine the motives and mood of other creatures. Animals such as sharks that we can not read are terrifying, much in the same way that robots that closely resemble humans unnerve us.

To prove a point, here are some photographs. The first is a sandbar shark that has been caught by a fisherman, and the second is a mako shark that also has been caught. Which one inspires the strongest gut reaction, not of fear, but of pity or compassion?

A caught sandbar shark. (Photo from tx-sharkfishing.com)

Caught mako shark. (Photo from spire.com)

Hazarding a guess, the first image probably evokes more sympathy than the second image. The first image is remarkable in that the shark appears to be conveying emotion through certain visual cues that humans instinctively pick up on: namely, the eyes. They are not the typical “sharky eyes” that we tend to imagine when we think of sharks. They appear almost human, with color and shape. The second image is more stereotypical, black and vacant. The mako looks cold and mean, while the sandbar appears more pitiful and sad. Both have suffered the same fate. Neither were able to scream in pain or horror as they were pulled into the air to suffocate, hooks through their bodies and unable to escape. Perhaps if fish were able to scream, or even whimper, fishing would no longer be within the realm of those with a weak constitution.

The sad truth is that it is easy for us to justify harming that which we believe can not feel pain. A fish, aside from wriggling ineffectively when pulled from the water, is unable to convey its suffering. A slow suffocation and brutal death is somehow acceptable as the norm in the sport of fishing, but frowned upon heavily in hunting. We lack empathy for creatures that are so unlike ourselves that we can not fathom the scope of their intelligence or ability to feel.

It is this lack of empathy that inspires not only cruel disregard, but fear as well. Somehow, a lion does not seem as terrible as a shark, because we feel that we know where we stand with our fellow mammals. We can read their body language and know when there is danger. With a shark, it merely needs to swim in the wrong place at the wrong time to bring out the worst of our fears.

The challenge, then, is to conquer this inability to empathize. We must remember that sharks and all fish are living creatures just like ourselves, that feel pain and suffering, that are capable of social organization and community, and above all else, that they are not indiscriminate man-eaters. The five deaths a year, with millions of people traveling to beaches year after year, can attest to that. The ocean is their territory, and largely, they leave us entirely alone.

Maybe they’re smarter than we think, and that irrational fear and hatred will evolve into respect for one of the planet’s most magnificent predators.

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