by David Kirby
Killer whales in captivity exhibited nothing but “normal behavior,” and they reproduced successfully, indicating “that they are comfortable in their surroundings.” Animals bred at SeaWorld were at no greater risk for health problems than animals bred in the ocean. “In fact, they probably are at less risk at SeaWorld.”
Hoyt was likewise off base in attacking SeaWorld for its alleged paucity of scientific research on killer whales. His paper had ignored “basic research on animal physiology and blood chemistry” conducted at the parks. SeaWorld staff had authored or coauthored more than three hundred abstracts, book chapters, technical reports, and peer-reviewed papers. SeaWorld also provided access to its animals for outside researchers to conduct investigations.
Finally, SeaWorld mocked Erich Hoyt for declaring that the days of captive orcas “are and should be numbered” by saying that the 10.5 million people who visited a SeaWorld park each year “obviously do not share this belief. They have seen and understood the magnificence of these animals and many have requested information on how to become more involved in saving habitats for ocean-dwelling species. For that reason alone, we feel we are accomplishing our purposes and remain committed to pursuing them.”
Naomi was exasperated. Arguing over the use of quotation marks around the word “accidents” was petty, she thought; stating that wild killer whales lived for just twenty-five years was preposterous; and suggesting that all orcas “thrived” at SeaWorld, exhibited normal behavior, and were perfectly healthy ran counter to the evidence. Furthermore, of the three hundred papers worked on by SeaWorld staff, only a handful, at best, had anything to do with killer whales or were published in peer-reviewed journals.
Naomi wondered how many visitors had actually requested information on becoming more involved in saving habitats for marine species. She saw no evidence that SeaWorld guests went out and got personally involved. Nor was it clear how such efforts might specifically protect killer whale habitats.
SeaWorld’s PR push continued. Naomi found another article, published by United Press International, about how content killer whales were in captivity. “Trainers at SeaWorld say they know the killer whales at the park are happy because of the animals’ sex lives,” the article said. SeaWorld had the world’s most successful breeding program, with an 88 percent survival rate, as opposed to the “best estimate” of 44 percent in the wild, said park official Bill Hughes, without providing evidence. “If animals aren’t happy, they won’t reproduce,” he told UPI.
Chief trainer Ted Turner upped the ante. The animals at SeaWorld were happy “because I’ve devoted my life to making them happy,” he said. “I see more of them than I do my own children.” He said he would not get in the water with the animals if they were unhappy.
Now Naomi was fuming. This belief that “the animals are having sex so they must be happy” was demonstrably ridiculous. While some species were so strongly affected by confinement that they did not reproduce readily or at all, the sex drive was one of the most powerful in nature. Many animals—including humans—had sex and reproduced even under the most stressful conditions. Libido was especially powerful in members of the dolphin family. All dolphins, whether free roaming or captive, were sexually charged, seeking sexual contact even when reproduction was not involved. Humans were the same way. Prison inmates had sex with each other, but that didn’t mean they were “happy.” Even inmates at internment camps throughout history still managed to reproduce.
These controversies—poor mental health, violent aggression, the question of whale “happiness” in an artificial environment—fascinated Naomi. But little discussion about them appeared in the scientific literature. And Naomi’s investigation was focused on mortality rates, using the US Marine Mammal Inventory Report (MMIR) and its rich lode of data on captures, births, and age at and causes of death. Her task was to compile data on the four species of small whales most commonly found in public display: belugas, pilot whales, false killer whales, and orcas.
Naomi had no idea she was about to wade into a treacherous pool of statistical quicksand.
The debate over whale longevity in captivity-versus-nature had long been contentious and complicated, especially when it came to killer whales. The industry, for example, said it was impossible to determine killer whale life expectancy in captivity until all animals currently on display had lived out their full lives.
Naomi was unaware of these pitfalls. She did not know what she was doing. She felt lost. But she had no idea how far into the reeds she had wandered.
To make her estimates on mortality, Naomi took her cues from past HSUS statements on survival rates that counted the total number of animals from each species that was taken captive and the number of animals that had died. She then calculated a simple percentage, compared that with data from wild whales, and called the result the relative mortality rate.
The finished product was called Small Whale Species: The Case Against Captivity.
Among the wild orca population in British Columbia, Naomi wrote, a total of 248 animals were alive in 1973 or had been born since then. In the subsequent twenty years, 45 of their members, or 18 percent of the total, had died. But among captive killer whales in a comparable time period, 30 out of 62 whales, or 48 percent of the total, had died. SeaWorld had the highest number of whales, 37 in total, 20 of whom (54 percent) were now dead.
“In other words,” Naomi concluded, “killer whales are more than 2.5 times as likely to die in captivity as in the wild.” Most whales were captured at about the age of three, and for orcas, the average life span after capture was about six or seven years, “reducing the life expectancy of these animals to just one-quarter that of wild orcas.”
Only one animal out of thirty achieved the average life span found among free-ranging whales: Orky II. None had even come close to the maximum—at least not so far. Several females, meanwhile, had died after giving birth to just one or two calves.
The three other whale species were also faring poorly. Among belugas, seventy-seven had been held in captivity since 1961, and thirty-two had died—or 42 percent of the total. The average age at death was ten. Among false killer whales, sixty-seven had been held in captivity since 1964, and thirty-eight of them, or 57 percent, had died. The average age at death was seven. Pilot whales had the grimmest record: thirty-eight had been captured and thirty-five were dead, or 92 percent of the total. The average age at death was six.
Given these facts, “it should be clear that the small whales commonly held in U.S. facilities are not suitable animals for captivity,” Naomi said. “Their mortality rates are aberrantly high.” The whales’ size, space requirements and social needs “all prohibit captive facilities from providing adequate conditions. Most tanks are at best seven times the length of the animals.” Given their wide range, a killer whale or beluga would have to swim over five hundred times around its tank to complete a normal day’s travel.
“The world of a whale is three dimensional,” Naomi concluded. “A tank is for all intents and purposes two-dimensional. Whales require the wide and deep ocean in order to live a healthy, long life. Concrete tanks guarantee an impoverished life cut short and an inhumane existence at every level.”
Once the document Small Whale Species: The Case Against Captivity was approved by Naomi’s superiors, the HSUS publicity team prepared to drop it on the public. A press conference was planned to present the paper to the media on July 16, opening day for Free Willy. The venue was strategic: the Radisson Hotel on International Drive, in Orlando, a short walk from SeaWorld’s main gates.
Four days before the premiere, Paul Irwin faxed a letter to SeaWorld’s vice president for zoological operations, Brad Andrews, with copies forwarded to Anheuser-Busch and all aquariums and theme parks that kept killer whales in captivity. Drafted by Naomi, the communiqué laid out the Humane Society’s case, based on what it called “a major investigation into the mortality of captivity occurring amongst captive whales.”
Irwin so
lemnly presented the mortality figures that Naomi had compiled. Whales were confined to small pools, he said. Denied their natural free range, they were left to float idly at the top of their tanks. In nature, they might spend 10–20 percent of their time at the surface. But this trend was reversed in captivity, where they “must spend over 50 percent of their time at the surface, resulting in skin problems and collapsed dorsal fins.” Tank water was usually manufactured. And because the whales were cut off from their families and social structures, “many in captivity are solitary,” Irwin stated. “Neurotic stereotyped behaviors abound.”
The consequences of captivity on whales were “appalling,” he said, including “aberrant, neurotic, and destructive behaviors, diseases, abortions, high mortality, and a drastically lowered life expectancy.” The HSUS position was resolute: “Whales cannot be and should not be maintained in captivity for public display.”
Irwin said, “The time is now for change and commitment. With increasing knowledge and understanding, the public no longer accepts that wild cetaceans need to be captured, traumatized, and isolated for public display and profit.” The industry could no longer raise “a chorus of objections” anytime an outside group questioned the ethics of whales in captivity. The day was gone when aquariums and theme parks could get away with repeating the mantra that captive whales were essential for education, for gaining public support, and for species conservation.
“Captive whales teach nothing of the majesty and habits of wild whales or their natural habitat,” Irwin wrote. “At best, keeping these spectacular social creatures weighing up to several tons in small pools teaches only misconceptions based on human domination, not conservation stewardship.”
Irwin’s letter drew an immediate and unexpected response from SeaWorld: The company invited the HSUS president on a backstage VIP tour of SeaWorld while he was in Orlando for the press conference. He gladly accepted and asked John and Naomi to accompany him.
SeaWorld was clearly bracing for a fight. Until recently, the only organized opposition to captivity had come from a small cluster of politically liberal groups that lacked the influence to provoke a meaningful national debate. Industry had been swatting at flies, Naomi thought. Now, with HSUS in the fray, it would be swatting at a large hornet.
“I think we’ve made them nervous,” she told her colleagues. “This VIP invitation was an attempt to head us off. SeaWorld wants to see if they can work things out with us, lay our concerns to rest, and have us call off the campaign.”
Everyone agreed: That wasn’t going to happen.
On the morning of the big press conference, Friday, July 16, 1993, the American Association of Zoological Parks and Aquariums (AAZPA) issued its own preemptive statement to “denounce the alarmist tactics adopted by animal activist groups” to use the Free Willy opening to “further their own agenda.” That agenda was now clear, Executive Director Sydney Butler warned. “It is to deny the public the thrill of seeing whales and dolphins and learning about them. It is to free all captive whales and dolphins to an uncertain future in the open ocean.”4
Future generations of children would be “denied the vital, up-close experience of the young boy in the film” because whale-watching trips on the ocean were the province of “only a privileged few.” HSUS and other groups were simply trying to turn a nice film about a young boy and a whale “into a heavy, message-laden film about animals in captivity.”
Naomi rolled her eyes when she read that assertion. Free Willy was a film about the pitfalls of animals in captivity. That was the intention of the producers in the first place.
Meanwhile, Butler employed the oft-repeated industry line about the high-quality food and medical care given to animals in captivity. He suggested that confinement was superior to life in the wild, which he derided for being “not an idyllic playground.” The ocean was “not a heaven,” according to the AAZPA, and marine parks were “not hells.” It was simply “irresponsible and reckless to the cause of conservation to make universal declarations based upon a Hollywood portrayal.”
This was going to be quite a fight. Naomi was ready for it.
On Friday morning, in a nondescript meeting room at the Radisson Hotel, Paul, John, and Naomi held their news conference and presented their case against captivity. A dozen reporters showed up, including a writer from the Associated Press. This story was going national.
Paul Irwin welcomed the media and announced, “We have chosen today to release our conclusions from this study because of the opening of the courageous and meaningful movie Free Willy, which addresses the world of captive whales.” The society had selected Orlando for the venue “because this is the home of SeaWorld, the best-known and most highly advertised keeper of killer whales in the world.”
When Naomi’s turn came to speak, she held nothing back: “I have studied marine mammals for many years, especially the behavior of killer whales in the wild. Comparing this to the behavior of these animals in captivity, I can tell you that visitors learn almost nothing about whales by watching them in a small pool. I say this because the lives of captive whales are so different from the lives of wild whales.”
Naomi had never seen a lone animal “aimlessly floating in place” in the wild, she said, but it occurs frequently in captivity. “In six years of observing killer whales in the wild, I only saw one head-first leap into the water, which is called a porpoise leap,” she continued, “yet this leap is a routine trick performed in captivity to dazzle the crowd.”
Then she went for the emotional jugular with a compelling narrative of orca life in the “non-idyllic” wild: “I have seen a grandmother share a fresh-caught salmon with a granddaughter. I have seen three brothers play together for hours. I have seen older brothers babysit younger siblings. On one calm and foggy morning, I encountered fifty whales lined up side by side, all resting in family groups, all breathing together—a sight I will never forget.”
In contrast, observing unrelated whales in a pool “can teach nothing about events like these. It is very stressful for an animal as sensitive and intelligent as a whale to be captured and kept in a small tank forever.” Whales in captivity typically died from disease and accidents, not old age.
Finally, Naomi repeated HSUS’s call for the release of eligible captive cetaceans. “Although no whale has yet been released back into the wild, the Humane Society of the US believes it is time for marine parks and aquaria to try.” Rehabilitation and release might not be possible for orcas held for long periods, she admitted. But longtime captive dolphins had successfully been returned, “and the risk for whales is worth it, since life for them in captivity is so poor. Besides, it can’t be said that it is impossible until it is tried.”
The time had come for keepers of captive whales to “do what is best for the animals rather than doing what is best for the bottom line,” Naomi concluded.
Rounding out the event was a recorded statement from John Sillick, the SeaWorld San Diego trainer who was seriously injured by Orky II. Sillick was under a gag order about his legal case, but that did not prohibit him from speaking out against captivity for “Shamu.”
“I want to support the Humane Society of the United States in its call to stop catching whales from the wild to display in marine parks and aquaria,” the former trainer said. “These whales are wild animals. It’s important to remember that they’re wild. The perception is that they seem to be obeying their trainers’ commands. The truth of the matter is no trainer has complete control over a whale.”
Wild whales had no place at marine parks and aquariums because “they can be dangerous to the humans who work with them. I speak from firsthand experience,” Sillick said. “I can walk today, but I still feel the pain of the accident.”
After a brief celebratory lunch, Paul, John, and Naomi arrived at SeaWorld for their VIP tour. It was a blistering summer day. The trio was met by Brad Andrews and the park’s top executives. All comported themselves cordially and respectfully—making no mention of the
press conference that morning—as they toured the grounds in a golf cart. They took in the show at Whale and Dolphin Stadium, which Naomi now found cheesy. She thought the bottlenose and false killer whales were being treated like clowns at a children’s circus.
It left a bad taste in her mouth.
After attending the show “Shamu: New Visions,” they were led back to examine the medical pool and other tanks backstage.
Naomi noticed Tilikum by himself, his massive black shape floating at the surface of a back enclosure. The females were in the front pool, swimming and breathing in unison in endless circles. The animals were not in the shade, and the temperature—91 degrees—was not exactly Icelandic. Naomi watched Tilikum “logging” motionlessly under the relentless sun. It made her angry to think how majestic these animals were up in Johnstone Strait, compared with this pathetic shadow of a former whale, languishing here in the humid soup of summer.
The HSUS party was led to the back corner of the Shamu complex, where the park was building yet another, somewhat larger rectangular tank, called G Pool. Brad Andrews explained that SeaWorld was adding a “Dine with Shamu” feature, where guests could have lunch or dinner at water’s edge as one of the killer whales was brought in for an intimate and low-key exhibition.
Workers were installing large rocks and a few evergreens near the pool to make it resemble something of a northern-tier habitat. The tank was still empty, its harsh and hard-edged sides exposed to the Florida heat. The juxtaposition was striking: the ocher-colored boulders and scenic shrubbery were placed there above the water surface solely for the esthetic enjoyment of paying guests, and to make them “feel” as if SeaWorld’s animals lived in a world quite reminiscent of their own natural environment.
