Gender Perspectives on National and Nation-State Animal Symbolism

Introduction

The relationship between animals and community-building symbolism has, as anthropologists, mythologists, historians, psychologists, and sociologists have shown, been a worldwide, transcultural phenomenon that has been able to adapt itself to the evolving structures of communities. From clans, tribes, and kingdoms to nations and empires, animal symbolism has survived and subsisted within the struggle to mystify the timelessness of such community. And yet the use of animals as contemporary national and nation-state symbols and what they imply in terms of political and constitutional cohesiveness has for the most part, as of today, only been explored from the lens of ethnozoology, that “hybrid discipline that has been structured with elements from both the natural and social sciences, as it seeks to understand how humans have perceived and interacted with faunal resources throughout history” (Alves 2017, 1). Furthermore, such approach has proven limited insofar as its implications regarding gender identities go, for it has not yet analyzed the need to change the animal that symbolizes the social representation of the nation so as to comply with ideologies on equal rights and women’s empowerment. This is a political trend that is closely associated with other significant discursive modernizations, such as the use of gender-neutral lyrics in anthems or the re-drafting of the wording of constitutional texts in order to be more inclusive. Nor has the issue been overtly addressed by aesthetic critics such as Steve Baker (2001), whose groundbreaking and highly influential chapter on animals as national symbols glossed over the significance of gender identities, despite the exegetical possibilities of the case studies he presented.

This exclusion of gender-based perspectives when approaching national and nation-state animal symbols comes off as surprisingly outdated, given the fact that animal studies and especially gender studies, as research fields, have attested to the emergence and consolidation of changing sensibilities and perceptions of sociopolitical discourses. Within the postmodern context, gender studies (alongside a host of other perspectives relating to minorities) have in great part conceived themselves as an instrument of revisionism of a patriarchal (and “patriarchalized”) past, whereupon the power relations that have motored most aspects of society, politics, and culture have been reconfigured through the work of scholars and their alternative discourses. When it comes to examining how gender has in many ways determined how nations are forged and articulated, a number of studies have focused on the particulars of the histories of certain regions and nations (McClintock 1991; Mullholand, Montagna and Sanders-McDonagh 2018; Omar 2004), or on how the intersections with race problematize the conception of gender, as for instance in imperial and colonial contexts (McClintock 1995), or on the different “agendas” envisaged for different genders in the process of nation-building (Nagel 1998; Yuval-Davis 1993). All of this research provides examples from which theoretical premises may be derived. How women become instrumental in shaping national and/or nationalist ideologies (through their participation in the military and warfare, as symbols of domesticity, as gestational agents providing the motherland with more of its children, etc.) is indeed a highly revealing material that evinces their irreplaceable role in geopolitical strategizing and rhetoric.

At the same time, feminist critique in the field of animal studies and in ecofeminism has brought forth all sorts of revisionist stances: from the unearthing of conjoined forms of sexism and speciesism intrinsic to language (Adams 1990; López-Rodríguez 2009) and the analysis of hierarchical dualisms (Plumwood 1993; Warren 2000) to the study of the connections between gender-based and domestic violence and animal abuse (Zilney 2007), the connections between pornography and meat-eating (Adams 1990, 2003), and the recuperation of women’s voice as central to the humane and animal rights movements (Gaarder 2011). These constitute but a few names amongst the scores of scholars who have questioned not only the patriarchal structures implicit in both sexist and speciesist systems but also the androcentrism implicit within the very anti-speciesist logic (Donovan 1993). And yet, although history provides many fertile grounds within which to cultivate perspectives from both the gender and animal studies perspectives, there has been little academic reaping when it comes to the revisionism of national symbologies in this regard.

The aim of this paper is to examine the implications that national and nation-state animal symbols have when it comes to genderizations and the shaping of gendered identities. In order to do so, the interpretive paradigms of several fields of research (political science and law, history, ethnozoology, gender studies, and animal studies) are set to converge the better to elucidate the extent to which gender may or may not be an issue of conflict regarding community-based symbolism. My revisionist focus here is not on the collectivities of women that have been indispensable for the development of nations (and, it would follow, their symbols), but on the implications of the animals symbols themselves, especially in such a historical momentum as today, in which politics and policies aiming at gender equality have become so central in human rights and rule of law.

An overview of Minahan’s (2010) encyclopedic, and almost impossibly comprehensive, two-volume work on national symbols and emblems almost immediately confirms what common citizens of both Western and Eastern cultures have for long unassumingly suspected: that almost all national and nation-state animal symbols are of the male sex. And yet this is a tricky matter that requires further thought into semiotic relations: in the case of species with sexual dimorphism (the sexes are visibly distinguished by physical traits beyond the genitalia), identifying the male sex comes off as a fairly simple task. But what are we to make of instances in which there are no visible differences between the sexes of the species (monomorphism) that embody the symbol? Following linguistic inferences, are we to assume that such sexual neutrality leads to the interpreter’s assimilation of the symbol as the unmarked concept (that is, as male), as opposed to regarding it as female? Does the interpreter of the symbol, as a consumer of signs, even ponder on the sex of the animal at all? What does that tell us about the onlooker’s expectations regarding nationhood and how they may have changed throughout history? Beyond the sex of the animal, how are we to interpret today how the symbols are genderized in order to transmit and disseminate hegemonic notions of masculinity and femininity? And how are such notions challenged by current societies within nations aiming at institutionalized forms of gender equality? Do the symbols reflect a “macho” view of our constitutional member states? If so, does it make sense to revisit and change them in order to adapt to the demands of contemporary egalitarian and gender-inclusive constitutionalism?

Animals as National and Nation-State Symbols

Let us begin with the distinction between national and nation-state symbols. Symbols that have a nation-state status are those that bear a political, social, and cultural position through an official recognition collected in some form of legislation or document upon which the community or collectivity operates (a constitution, a parliamentary statute, or a regulation or declaration). In modern nation-states, there are three customary official symbols: the flag, the anthem, and the coat or arms/emblem/seal. ¹ Regarding the visual animal symbol itself, usually nation-states only have one, which is used to represent its people and its government or public powers (although it should be clarified that the more decentralized the nation-state, the more official animal symbols there will be, given that lower level territorial entities—states of federations, regions, territories, municipalities, etc.—will employ their own symbols). Examples of official (real or mythical) animal symbols include the two-headed eagle in the Russian Federation, the bald eagle in the United States, the lion in the United Kingdom, the unicorn in Scotland, the quetzal in Guatemala, etc. Sometimes the coat of arms or emblems may include more than one animal, as for example the African fish eagle and the oryx antelope in Namibia, and the lion, the horse, the elephant and the sacred cow in India.

I use the term national symbol, on the other hand, to refer to those animal symbols that, although meriting the same sociocultural status, lack the aforementioned official legal recognition. Within this list, we may find the likes of the French rooster, the British bulldog, and the bull in Spain (although there is currently an ongoing debate as to whether it qualifies as such or should be regarded as a nation-state symbol instead). Often enough these national symbols are marketed and incorporated into the imagery of sports banners, souvenirs, or other touristic merchandise, propaganda, etc. Prime examples of such cases include the bear in Russia (Platoff 2012), the Rooster of Barcelos in Portugal, the deer of the Saimaluu Tash in Turkey, etc. Sometimes the animal symbols are included in regulations intended for other purposes, such as currency regulation (the kiwi in New Zealand), or traffic regulations (the bull in Spain).

Despite their technical differences, it does not necessarily mean that national symbols are perceived as less relevant or meaningful to the community than nation-state symbols—their unofficial status just makes them subject to different kinds of legal resolutions regarding, for instance, property rights, or possible offences. Both national and nation-state symbols excite affective responses on the part of the community. In relation to nation-state and national animal symbols, gender politics emerge as a problematic issue because modern nation-states’ proclamation of democracy and constitutionalism has progressively evolved towards inclusiveness. A modern nation-state (an ideal originally conceived in the nineteenth century) will claim democratic constitutionalism on the grounds of the equal rights of its citizenry, regardless of their belonging to a racial/ethnic/gender minority. Exclusion leads to discrimination, and so it follows that if minorities have become more empowered in recent decades, they will naturally be more reluctant to dissolve their identity within the superiority of a symbol, unless one finds a way to interpret the symbol in more inclusive terms (in our case, with regards to gender).

Most bibliographical commentaries on national symbolism will either ignore or obviate the actual legal distinction between national and nation-state symbols, focusing instead on the commonness of the affective response they invite and inspire. And yet such legal difference is of essence in order to comprehend the extent to which gender politics are incorporated within parliamentary debates: contrary to changes in national animal symbols, which may be the result of shifts in popular tastes, fads, attitudes, and perceptions, any changes to nation-state symbols are to be discussed and processed within Parliament. Thus, the debating of gender-based issues regarding nation-state animals within Parliament would be symptomatic of the extent to which that nation’s constitutionalism actually regards gender politics as a pressing issue. In addition, nation-state symbols are procured with an official, linguistic description of the iconography that is also revealing of how gender may or may not be present within such types of legal discourses.

But national and nation-state symbols do share a number of features. As Durkheim (1995) conveyed, community-building symbols are, above all, representations that appeal to the affective and to the emotional, and therefore they articulate a network of understanding or solidarity amongst members that feel that they belong to such group. We may gather, therefore, that regardless of the state regulation on which they depend, both national and nation-state symbols fall within the category of what Mach terms “national political symbolism,” which aims at

[T]he creation of an image of the nation’s unity under the leadership of the state. It does not deny the stratification of the society nor does it often deny ideological differences between groups. What is essential is to present the picture of the entire nation unified in the realization of supreme values of independence, sovereignity, historical mission, new social order, and so on, in spite of the differences which are then comparatively less important. What counts is an image of the superiority of national and political interests over all others. (1993, 110)

Ethnozoology has intervened in the subject of animals as national and nation-state symbols. Following Alves and Barboza (2018, 296–297), the reasons why civilizations invest certain animal species with such metaphorical possibilities may be due to (a) the sharing of an ecosystem with that species, thus making them environmentally closer to humans (such as condors in countries of the Andean region, or giraffes in a number of African countries) ² ; (b) “totemic” origins that point back to creation myths or even to imaginary creatures ³ ; and/or (c) representations of some coveted attributes that are deemed indispensable for the consolidation of the nation’s or community’s sense of unity. That carnivores and large predators (whether in the form of large cats such as leopards in Somalia and Malawi, or tigers in Malaysia and Singapore; or of birds of prey such as the bald eagle in the United States or the eagle destroying a serpent in the Mexican coat of arms) are often enough the choice in this regard certainly says something about the extent to which qualities traditionally perceived as masculine (bravery, courage, and strength) have been imperative for the development of patriotic sentiment.

One may infer, therefore, that perceptions associated with gender have had a determining (and unsurprising role) in the selection of animal symbols. Let us consider, for instance, the unofficial animal symbol in France, the rooster. Originally, the coq appeared in bestiaries as a term that referred both to the male specimen and to the generic species, and so, by extension, hens were beneficiaries of the virtues and traits associated with it. As Pastoureau (2017) explains, it was the Romans who first paralleled the rooster to the bravura of the people of the region, given the similarities between the Celtic word Gallia and the Latin term for rooster, gallus. The rooster, after all, is a bird that is well known for its relentlessness in fighting and the defense of his hens. In the thirteenth century, the French’s rereading of Julius Caesar’s description of the inhabitants of the Gallia led to the recovery of the rooster as a fitting symbol. It is not farfetched to hypothesize that the French’s emphasis on the rooster as a bird that embodies the characteristics of their powerful and courageous ancestors coincides with (or foments) the loss of the generic meaning of the term coq in order to establish it as a signifier that solely refers to the male specimen.

A somewhat similar historic example of how phonics come into play in the adoption of (in this case nation-state) animal symbols is that of the former kingdom of León, which is now included in the Spanish national coat of arms. The choice of the lion symbol originally had little to do with lions themselves (which were certainly never part of the biodiversity of the Iberian peninsula). The term león was a convenient phonic derivation of the Latin word legio (the Seventh Legion of the Roman army was based there for several centuries, leading to the foundation and growth of the city and the region at large). Once again, such phonic similarities led to the choice of a convenient animal symbol insofar as statements on gender qualities go, for the lion symbolized the strength, valor and prowess of the peoples of the region.

Linguistic and Semiotic Challenges

As mentioned in the introduction to this study, the linguistic connections between sexism and speciesism have been the object of research of a number of scholars for quite some time now (Adams 1990; López-Rodríguez 2009; Nilsen 1996; Silaški 2014; Silaški and Kilyeni 2014). Conclusions tend to point in the same direction: that patriarchal dynamics are deeply imbricated within linguistic structures and systems and that, as such, the use of animal metaphors to refer to the female gender are usually aimed at the degradation and the dehumanization (through animalization) of women. The rhetorical possibilities here are numerous: metaphors, metonymies, synecdoche, similes, proverbs, etc. all signify cultural expectations of gender roles. This correlation explains the unsurprising dearth of female animals as national and nation-state symbols, for no nation would want to come off as “weaker” or “degraded” through their emblems. This is not to say that deliberately female animals are completely absent. We might consider here the symbols of territorial subdivisions such as Vermont’s flag and coat of arms with the cow, and the Capitoline she-wolf (in the 1940s shield of the City of Rome she appears nursing Romulus and Remus, and in the coat of arms of the City of Piacenza she appears with swollen udders). Yet here the female gender appears as producer and nurturer of some sort. In the case of the Vermont cow, patriarchal capitalization on milk (through the dairy industry) points to institutionalized forms of female exploitation that sustain economic sectors. These images, therefore, reinforce patriarchal understandings of feminine nature (an inference further strengthened, in the latter case, by the sexual politics practiced by Romulus, who orchestrated the rape—or abduction—of the Sabine women).

On the other hand, in very rare instances, we find examples of female specimens used to signify on the equilibrium of a nation (if and when complementing the male counterpart). Such is the case of the dragons framing the lotus in the emblem of Bhutan—although visibly identical, they each represent one of the sexes, as described in Article 1.5 and First Schedule of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Bhutan. ⁴

In countless instances, the sexual monomorphism of the animal symbol makes it impossible to distinguish between male and female specimens. The official descriptions of the emblems are not necessarily helpful either: in English, the neuter pronoun “it” has a long established tradition of being used to refer to animals, although in the last decades animal protectionists’ encouragement of more sympathy towards nonhuman others has made the he/she pronouns more widespread (Crary 2016, 8), especially with higher animals and domestic animals, as a result of their contact with humans (Zemkova 2016, 111). Thus, unless the gender is specified through the lexeme (bull/cow, cock/hen, fox/vixen, and stallion/mare), through suffixes (lion/lioness and tiger/tigress) or through prefixed pronouns (wolf/she-wolf and bear/she-bear), the case with English is, for the most part, just the same as any other language in which the unmarked gender (usually the male) serves both the gendered and generic usage (Løland 2008, 79). In many other languages, therefore, even if neuter pronouns are not used (or are inexistent) to refer to animals, the masculine pronoun still tends to serve a generic purpose, such as in Spanish, French, or German. (The use of the feminine as a generic, although less common, is not, however, completely absent in such languages: la ballena, la perdiz, and la rata [Spanish]; la puce and la giraffe [French]; and die Kätze [German], etc.).

It must be clarified here, however, that in the English language there are a number of instances of animal names in which the female form became the generic. As Nilsen (1996, 259–263) points out, the terminological distinction between species genders became more urgent in the case of domesticated farm animals on account of the need to obtain animal by-products. In many of the cases, because of the emphasis on the female as producer (and the male as mere inseminator, which means that he will be overwhelmingly outnumbered by the female specimens in a farm), it was their name that became the species generic: duck (versus the masculine drake); chicken/hen (versus rooster/cock); goose (versus gander); or cow (versus bull). Yet once again, as in the case of the aforementioned Vermont cow, the female gender becomes the generic only because of its contribution to an accepted and widespread cultural practice of exploitation of female specimens (whether for milk, for eggs, or other edible offspring).

Beyond the gender specificities (or lack thereof) revealed in the linguistic descriptions, the symbols themselves lead to similar structures and pose further problems. In sexually dimorphic animal symbols, the overwhelming presence of male specimens is historically consistent with nations’ endeavor to represent themselves through strong, courageous, impressive creatures (as opposed to the allegedly weaker female attributes). Such animals may be rooted in mythologies, legends, and religions or bear military meanings, but the choice of the male specimen is deliberate, based on conventional understandings of symbolic homeopathy, whereupon the nation emblematizes the qualities that are supposedly incarnated by the male animal and are believed to strengthen the sense of unity of the community. At the same time, as in linguistic systems, the signified of the male symbol/pronoun signifier also stands for the generic meaning, and so, to get back to Mach, all genders are to feel “included” within the image of superiority fleshed out by the male animal.

In the case of sexually monomorphic animals, the implications are also significant. Beyond possible historical idiosyncrasies that would explain the choice in species, the neutrality associated with monomorphism could signify (a) an effort to include both genders in the symbol (generic use); (b) an understanding of the animal signifier as male on account of national symbols’ abovementioned penchant towards the masculine; or (c) like the pronoun “it” as traditionally applied to animals, the gender dispute is overshadowed by the human-animal dichotomy (this bears connections to the question regarding the extent to which we actually consider gender implications when beholding animal symbols). These different possibilities are of essence within a context in which exegesis based on gender equality interrogates the male-centeredness of constitutionalism.

We should, nonetheless, be wary of both simplifications and over-readings when it comes to revising the historical circumstances that made the animal symbolic both in imagery and in language. One may be tempted, for instance, to interpret Benjamin Franklin’s choice of words when expressing his well-known preference for the turkey for the Society of Cincinnati’s seal (as opposed to the bald eagle, which had been elected nation-state symbol by the US Congress in 1782) as a shot at gender inclusiveness. Distancing himself from the associations that eagles bore with European royalty, Franklin proposed an indigenous species (Rossiter 2010, 7), and in a letter to his daughter dated January 26, 1784, he chose the generic term “turkey” to defend the candidacy, rather than the more male-connotative term “gobbler” (or even “tom-turkey,” a term that is believed to have been in use in the second half of the eighteenth century). However, he used the masculine pronoun “he” to refer to both birds, which attests to the unquestionable authority of the male gender in devising the symbolic architecture of a nation. We should also keep in mind that, as the Merriam-Webster Dictionary states, the first known use of “turkey” was in 1555, and of “gobbler” circa 1725, which attests to the former’s more widespread usage (even today “turkey” is more common than “gobbler”). It would be myopic, therefore, to claim that Franklin’s use of “turkey” as opposed to “gobbler” was intended to include women within the animal symbolism in any way. Such are, after all, the labyrinths of historical and linguistic revisionism.

Revisiting the Symbols

It should be clear by now that animals per se do not really matter in national and nation-state symbolism. Actual species-specific behavior is completely and utterly supplanted by anthropomorphic semiotics that refer to human values and expectations, particularly (as argued in the previous sections) those associated with masculinity. As Merskin notes, “the intention is not to say anything in particular about a species, but rather to use common understandings, even stereotypical representations, to say something about us” (2016, 20). And if there is any particular species-specific behavioral trait that stands out, it may only be meaningful not because of what it says of the species but because of what the animal can tell us about the human, for “much of human behavior seems to be metaphorically understood in terms of animal behavior” (Kövecses 2010, 152). This anonymity of the animal body remains just as vivid within alternative readings that accommodate gender-based interests and that we will proceed to analyze shortly. In other words, the consideration of a gender-neutral versus masculine-based nationalism/constitutionalism is one that will have little to do with the consideration of the animal as a biological, sentient being or with his/her welfare. What the upcoming case studies entail are efforts to update national and nation-state symbolism to gender inclusiveness, often not just in the interest of the minority (in this case, the female population), but also in the interest of the nation itself, the better to reassert its power and democratic values as a modern nation-state. As we will see, sometimes the path, for all its egalitarian pretensions, leads back to androcentrism. Beyond the anecdotal, therefore, these moments should be regarded as part of a wider sociocultural phenomenon that seeks to remedy historical and historiographical bias for the sake of a more democratic future for the nation.

Closing Remarks

The spectrum of national and nation-state animal symbols displays an iconographic array that is worthwhile for gender studies scholars, especially at a time when democracy and constitutionalism have become the most important feature of modern nation-states that proclaim equal human rights for all citizens regardless of one’s ethnicity, race, or gender. As cultural signifiers, animal symbols can be manipulated into conveying expectations regarding gender, and if belief in nationhood is, in the long run, to survive, then governmental and legislative authorities and decision-makers would do well to understand that as gender minorities become increasingly empowered, so will the desire for self-representation through symbols continue to grow. As Kolstø (2006) explains, national identity is something that has to be learnt; should it compete with other categories for self-identity (many of which often prove much more fulfilling for the subject), then symbols must be readapted in order to not become divisive. We must nonetheless remain alert to other types of endeavors that use gender inclusiveness as a means, not an end. For instance, when the symbol of the Catalan donkey was “castrated” by the very artist who had originally conceived the male version (and which had become a bumper-sticker sensation for the Catalan independent movement that strove to distance itself from the nationalist image of the Spanish bull), this was done for copyright reasons, not on account of anti-sexist convictions (Albalat and Bernal 2007).

Yet what are the most adequate strategies to underscore gender otherness (and particularly, women’s identity) within national and nation-state animal symbols? Is sexual monomorphism a biological opportunity through which to proclaim women’s equality or does it ultimately neutralize it because of the overpowering associations between strong, impressive and/or predatory animals and masculinity? Do such associations mean that in order for women to feel less excluded from animal symbolism, the very concept of nationhood itself must be re-examined and stripped from its grounding on hegemonic masculinity? Would women feel more included if rather than a neutral or masculine-generic sign (that is, the sexually monomorphic animal) the emblematic species were more attuned with their preferences? There are actually no conclusive studies regarding women’s inclinations towards symbolic animals, although the (still limited) examination of how women might differ from men in terms of their attitudes towards real animals has drawn some attention (Herzog 2007). The studies that have come closest have been those that, following a conservationist or preservationist agenda, have attempted to decipher which species are deemed more aesthetically pleasing for different genders. Such information is then used to plan ways to make cohabitation with certain species within specific regions less troublesome (de Pinho et al. 2014). But these kinds of studies are still of a very different nature and cannot be extrapolated onto issues about animal symbols and constitutional inclusiveness.

I conclude this article with an anecdote with which the readers are probably familiar, and which I hope that will now be further interpreted under a gender-based perspective. In 2015, Time magazine brought a bald eagle into the Oval Office for a photoshoot with Donald Trump. The twenty-seven-year-old eagle, named “Uncle Sam,” at one point attempted to bite Trump’s hand, startling the President. The footage, of course, became viral and inspired all sorts of jokes. Viewers generally interpreted it as a moment in which a national symbol “out-Uncle-Samed” Trump, the embodiment, for many, not only of fascism and anti-Americanness but also of the type of masculinity that would once again subdue and silence women into second-class citizenry. In the same way that the eagle “spoke,” perhaps many other national and nation-state animal symbols will follow the lead and rise as instruments through which to denounce gender-based under/mis-representation.