John M. Kinder’s new book uncovers the overlooked trauma of animals and zookeepers during the global conflicts of the 20th century.

Pelicans at London Zoo receive restricted food rations due to a fish shortage in 1943. (c) Hulton-Deutsch/Corbis

By Anna Fadiah and Hayu Andini

In World War Zoos, historian John M. Kinder explores the forgotten suffering of animals in wartime, focusing on how zoos across Europe, Asia, and America were dramatically affected by World War II. The book is a sobering, deeply researched examination of how war reshapes the human-animal relationship and how animals, like people, became casualties of conflict. With his historian’s eye for detail and a writer’s empathy, Kinder places zoos at the center of a story not often told—one in which imperialism, propaganda, starvation, and mass death all played a role.

Kinder’s journey into this topic began in the late 1990s during a vacation in Berlin, where he stumbled upon a memorial in the city’s Tiergarten. The image of an elephant’s bloodied leg emerging from rubble following an air raid became the spark for what would become World War Zoos. The vision haunted him, prompting the central question that drives the book: what happens to animals in times of human war?

Zoos as symbols of empire, ideology, and control

From the outset, Kinder sets zoos within their broader cultural and political context. Modern zoos, he explains, were never just places of entertainment. Since their inception in the 18th century, they served as manifestations of empire—literal displays of colonial conquest, featuring animals gathered from the far reaches of a ruler’s domain. They were also tightly connected to national identity and modern ideologies.

In Nazi Germany, these institutions took on a particularly sinister symbolism. Kinder details how Hitler’s regime passed one of the most progressive animal protection laws of its time—the 1933 Reich Animal Protection Act—highlighting a paradox: animals were being protected by a regime that was simultaneously dehumanizing and exterminating people. Hitler, portrayed as a vegetarian and animal lover, used this stance as part of his image, even as Jews and others were labeled as vermin and treated worse than zoo animals.

The propaganda utility of zoos was not lost on figures like Joseph Goebbels, who invoked metaphors of nature and dominance to justify violence. Zoos, in their constructed display of dominance and captivity, mirrored the fascist belief in a natural order defined by aggression and hierarchy. Kinder underscores this ideological exploitation, tracing how zoos and their inhabitants became tools of manipulation and control.

Wartime devastation and the ethics of survival

As the war intensified, zoos became dangerous liabilities. Air raids, food shortages, and the threat of animal escapes forced zookeepers into impossible ethical decisions. Kinder’s book recounts in harrowing detail the brutal measures many institutions took to avoid chaos.

In Berlin’s Tiergarten, more than 3,000 animals were kept at the war’s outset. By its end, only 91 remained. Zookeepers were often ordered to preemptively kill animals considered too dangerous if bombs destroyed their enclosures. In London, some 200 zoo animals were euthanized—not by enemy attack, but by staff under instruction to eliminate potential threats. This was part of a larger wave of panic that saw an estimated 750,000 pets put down by civilians during what was called the “September Holocaust,” spurred by a BBC broadcast warning the public to prepare for German air raids.

Kinder’s prose doesn’t shy away from the visceral. A penguin in London was fed cat meat dipped in cod liver oil; a zoo in Spain slaughtered and served a warthog to hungry soldiers. In Tokyo’s Ueno Zoo, animals were sacrificed in state-orchestrated “propaganda killings” meant to steel civilians for the hardships to come. The grotesque fate of a rattlesnake, tortured for sixteen hours before dying, serves as a brutal metaphor for how both animals and people were subjected to prolonged suffering under the pretense of patriotism.

When compassion broke through the chaos

Despite the darkness, World War Zoos also reveals glimmers of compassion. Kinder uncovers moments of resistance and care that defy the cruelty of the era. At Amsterdam’s Artis Zoo, a zookeeper used the “monkey island” enclosure to hide Jewish boys from the Nazis, shielding them from deportation. In Leningrad, a hippopotamus survived the 872-day siege thanks to the devotion of her keeper, who massaged her daily with camphor oil to stave off frostbite.

These stories, though small, are deeply moving. They remind readers that even in the worst of times, acts of kindness persisted. Yet Kinder doesn’t let us rest too long in these comforts. He challenges the very structure of the zoo, asking whether the concept of caging animals for human amusement—especially during wartime—can ever be justified.

The concentration camp zoo and the horror of comparison

One of the most chilling revelations in the book is the existence of a zoo at the Buchenwald concentration camp. Built ostensibly for the leisure of SS officers and their families, the camp zoo doubled as a tool for humiliation. While prisoners starved, monkeys were fed milk-mashed potatoes. Families arrived by Sunday bus to visit the zoo, situated just steps away from industrialized death.

As Allied forces liberated the camps and journalists searched for ways to describe the horror, they turned to zoo metaphors. The language of animality—cages, cruelty, dehumanization—became a way to process the unspeakable. Kinder’s argument is subtle but forceful: the same structures we use to dominate animals are the ones we sometimes use to dominate each other.

A book of moral reckoning

Kinder’s writing is meticulous, occasionally dense, but always deeply felt. His use of sources is impressive, blending archival research with memoir, memoir with cultural critique. While at times the book’s tone veers into the academic, he offsets this with moments of dry humor and conversational asides—though some may find these jarring. Still, World War Zoos is a necessary addition to the historiography of World War II.

It’s also a powerful moral reckoning. By focusing on animals, Kinder challenges readers to reconsider whose stories we preserve and whose suffering we remember. He forces us to ask uncomfortable questions: Do zoos belong in modern society? Can they ever escape their origins in colonialism and control? And what does it say about us when we fail to extend empathy beyond our own species?

Final reflections on World War Zoos

World War Zoos is not an easy read, but it’s a profoundly important one. John M. Kinder brings to light a largely forgotten dimension of 20th-century history—the intersection of war, ideology, and animal suffering. His work pushes the boundaries of traditional war narratives and adds necessary complexity to our understanding of conflict’s reach.

This is a book that will resonate with historians, animal rights advocates, and anyone interested in the ethical dimensions of war. By showing how animals were not only collateral damage but also symbols, tools, and at times even victims of deliberate cruelty, Kinder forces us to reckon with the full spectrum of wartime suffering.