The Weight They Carry

In memory of Lady, the 15-year-old mare who collapsed in Manhattan

Yesterday in Manhattan, a 15-year-old carriage horse named Lady collapsed and died on the street. She’d been pulling tourists through heat and traffic. Just another shift.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. She brought me back to an elephant I saw as a teenager in India.

She stood in the shadow of a fort, a silent fixture in the tourist spectacle. A chair was strapped to her back, its cushions worn thin from years of riders. I remember marveling at her size, her quiet presence, the way her trunk curled idly in the dust.

I didn’t understand then. The chains, the stillness, the way she seemed less like an animal and more like part of the architecture. But something caught in my throat—a feeling I couldn’t name. Then the shutter clicked, and the moment was gone.

It wasn’t that I never questioned it. I did. Even as a child, I felt the weight of it. But I didn’t know what to do. And the truth is, it already felt normal. Expected. Like something that had been there long before me and would continue long after I was gone. Elephant rides in Rajasthan, horse-drawn carriages in Central Park—these were attractions, scenes worthy of a snapshot. They’ve been established for centuries, entertainment dressed up as tradition or romance.

But when I look back at the photos I took, and read Lady’s headline, my chest tightens. What once felt like a passing moment now feels like a reckoning. These animals didn’t ask for this. At its core, it’s cruelty—plain and simple—and it’s painful to realize I once played a part in it.

It’s easy, in this space, to assign blame. To point fingers at those who run these operations. But that risks oversimplifying something far more complex. Because this isn’t just about the elephant. Or the horse. It’s also about the people—the mahout, the carriage driver—whose livelihoods are bound to these systems.

They’re not villains. They’re often doing what they must to survive within structures that offer few other options.

It’s complicated. But we can’t let that complexity be an excuse for inaction.

Some, at least, are working to change things. Groups like Wildlife SOS (wildlifesos.org) rescue animals and support the people who depend on them. Because real compassion—lasting change—can’t be one-sided.

It’s a hard truth to face. But that’s exactly why we must. Compassion has to hold everyone in the frame.