The pursuit of big-game hunting in the early 20th century was far more than a sporting endeavor; it was a complex theater of power, class identity, and "Social Darwinism" dressed in khaki and pith helmets. During the 1920s, the American elite transformed the wilderness into a curated stage where they could perform a specific brand of masculinity. This era of sport-hunting was defined by a paradoxical relationship with nature—one that claimed to love the wild while simultaneously seeking to dominate and categorize it through the barrel of a rifle.
The spiritual architect of this American movement was Theodore Roosevelt. Although he passed away in 1919, his philosophy of "The Strenuous Life" became the blueprint for the 1920s elite. Roosevelt championed hunting not as a means of survival, but as a "character-building" necessity for the ruling class. He feared that the comforts of the Gilded Age would make American men "soft," and he viewed the hunt as a vital way to reclaim the primal vigor necessary to lead a burgeoning empire. In this context, the wilderness was not an ecosystem to be preserved for its own sake, but a gymnasium for the elite to test their mettle.
This elitism was deeply rooted in the concept of "Fair Chase," a set of ethics popularized by the Boone and Crockett Club, which Roosevelt co-founded. While ostensibly about conservation and sportsmanship, the Fair Chase doctrine served as a social barrier. It distinguished the "gentleman hunter"—who had the leisure time to stalk prey for days and the money to follow arbitrary rules—from the "pot hunter" or the immigrant who hunted out of necessity. By moralizing the act of killing, the elites effectively criminalized the subsistence hunting of the lower classes while sanctifying their own high-cost trophies.
The 1920s also saw a profound "British connection" that influenced American hunting culture. The British Empire had long used the "Shikar" in India and the safari in East Africa as tools of colonial administration. American elites looked to the British aristocracy as the gold standard of sporting conduct. The British model provided the aesthetic of the hunt: the heavy double-barreled rifles, the meticulous camp hierarchies, and the belief that the "mastery" of a wild beast was a symbolic representation of the mastery of "lesser" nations and peoples.
This transatlantic exchange of elitism created a shared language of dominance. When wealthy Americans like Ernest Hemingway or the Vanderbilt family traveled to British-controlled territories in Africa, they were participating in a global network of prestige. The British provided the infrastructure—the guides, the porters, and the legal frameworks—that allowed Western elites to treat the African continent as a private playground. This cooperation reinforced a racial hierarchy where white "sportsmen" occupied the top tier, while indigenous people were relegated to the roles of invisible labor.
The critique of this era must also address the obsessive nature of the "Trophy Room." For the 1920s elite, the value of a hunt was often measured by the rarity and size of the kill, leading to a competitive "collecting" mania. This was a form of conspicuous consumption; a stuffed elephant head in a Manhattan brownstone was a visual ledger of a man’s wealth, travel, and supposed bravery. It transformed living creatures into static monuments of human ego, stripping the animal of its biological reality to serve as a prop for the hunter’s biography.
Furthermore, the conservation efforts led by these elites were inherently exclusionary. The "Rooseveltian" model of conservation often involved the displacement of indigenous or local populations to create "pristine" hunting reserves. By designating certain lands as "wilderness," the elites ensured that the only humans allowed to interact with the land were those who could afford to do so as tourists. This "fortress conservation" preserved the beauty of the landscape but did so by erasing the human history and rights of those who had lived there for generations.
Ultimately, the sport-hunting of the 1920s was an exercise in "Social Darwinism." The elites believed that their ability to conquer the most dangerous animals in the world proved their inherent superiority and their right to govern the industrial world. They viewed the hierarchy of the forest as a mirror of the hierarchy of society. In their eyes, the "alpha" predator was the wealthy man, and the rest of the world—nature, animals, and the "lower" classes—was simply the environment in which he proved his dominance.
As we look back, the legacy of this era remains complicated. While these hunters provided the initial funding and political will for modern conservation movements and the National Park system, they did so through a lens of extreme privilege and exclusion. The 1920s hunter was a man seeking a cure for his own modern anxieties by manufacturing a "primitive" struggle, creating a legacy where the protection of nature was inextricably linked to the preservation of elite power.