by David Kirby
The display industry had never been subjected to such close scrutiny by Congress before. Most previous congressional hearings on marine mammal public display were called for and guided by industry. This would be the first time they would be testifying in front of a potentially hostile panel of lawmakers. For the anti-caps, it could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to air an entire washroom of dirty laundry belonging to SeaWorld and its allies.
“We have succeeded in getting our hearing. It will be held April 27,” Naomi wrote to colleagues. “The worst that will happen is that the impact of the hearing is kind of fizzly—we get some issues aired, but nothing terribly dramatic … the bad guys will certainly try to trip us up during the Q&A, but we have taken hits from all their ammo before and know how to keep our cool and respond rationally.” And the best that could happen? “We blow them out of the water.” The ideal outcome would be stronger regulation and “the beginning of the end of the ‘laissez-faire’ era of public display. This is OUR hearing—the relevant staff are looking to us for input and guidance.”
HSUS was trying to convince CSPAN to cover the hearing, wrote Naomi, who said she was also drafting a two-page proposal for Tilikum’s retirement for the Blackstone Group. Meanwhile, HSUS had issued an action alert directed at APHIS urging the agency to conduct a “thorough and unbiased investigation.” The letter went directly to Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack, bypassing all bureaucratic filters.
For much of early April, Naomi was busy preparing a comprehensive memo and package of supporting documents to share with her allies on the Hill. Because the topic was limited to enforcement of the Marine Mammal Protection Act, whatever she presented to the committee had to be somehow related to the education and conservation provisions of that law.
One rich source of information was the industry itself. It was important to learn what these facilities were saying about their own education and conservation efforts, Naomi figured, in order to draft the most pointed lines of questioning possible. She worked with one of Chris’s graduate students at George Mason University, Megan Draheim, who searched the websites of SeaWorld and other marine parks as well as the sites of the Alliance and the AZA. Naomi also dug up a written Q&A from her files that SeaWorld San Diego had completed in 2007 for a local news station, KGTV, after Ken Peters was injured by Kasatka.
The questions were tough but fair. SeaWorld began by admonishing the station for speaking with industry opponents. “We must express our disappointment regarding your sources,” the unsigned document complained. “You have accepted as fact the propaganda of animal rights extremists whose sole objective is denying Americans the privilege of experiencing marine mammals in places like SeaWorld.”
SeaWorld had put killer whales on display for nearly forty years and conducted more than 160,000 shows featuring millions of interactions, the letter stressed. “While we recognize that there is an element of risk in any animal interaction, there have been a remarkably small number of serious incidents and no fatalities.” In addition, “virtually nothing” was known about killer whales before the orca display industry was born. “They were animals so feared and despised that they were routinely used by military pilots for aerial target practice.”
That argument, Naomi thought, was so outdated it had become moot. No one today would seriously advocate a return to firing upon killer whales. The display industry may have turned public opinion squarely against such barbarity, but perpetual captivity was hardly required to prevent a return to those bad old days.
As Naomi prepared her subcommittee memo, most of the issues she addressed pertained to public education, orca research and conservation, and the debate over killer whale longevity:
Education: SeaWorld did post informative signage around the park with various factoids about the species in its collection, and preshow segments included information about the animals. In the KGTV Q&A, SeaWorld also boasted of its “extraordinary number of special programs.” These included the SeaWorld/Busch Gardens Environmental Excellence Awards, which grant $80,000 to students and teachers working to preserve the environment; Shamu TV, an Emmy Award–winning education series available to more than 50 million viewers; a major animal information website filled with more than four thousand pages of materials; classroom curricula; conservation project “calls-to-action”; zoo career information; and “environmentally focused family resources.”
Public opinion polls seemed to support SeaWorld’s claims that people were being educated during their visits. A Harris Interactive poll commissioned by the Alliance found virtual unanimity (an almost-unheard-of 97 percent of respondents) that marine parks, aquariums, and zoos “play an important role in educating the public about marine mammals they might not otherwise have the chance to see.” Nearly the same number, 96 percent, agreed that they “provide people with valuable information about the importance of oceans, waters and the animals that live there.”1
But Naomi questioned how much of that education was being absorbed by guests, many of whom, frankly, came to SeaWorld for roller coasters and Shamu shows, and not lessons on the rich variety of the family Delphinidae. SeaWorld was not at fault if some people didn’t want to be educated, but it was still obliged to offer information that was accurate. She was equally cynical about poll numbers. “Sometimes they’re asking people for their opinions about SeaWorld as they are leaving the park,” she said. “After they’ve just had a great day, most people are going to say, ‘Sure, you guys are great. You betcha I learned a lot.’ But what do they know after a visit? What do they do afterward? Public display doesn’t actually teach people much. It just makes them feel good, which actually leads to less conservation action rather than more.”
Indeed, signs were now informing guests that, because a small portion of their entry fee was earmarked for wildlife conservation, “Just by visiting SeaWorld today, you’ve helped save species and protect precious places.”2
That SeaWorld did some research and some conservation was not in question, Naomi thought, but how many people actually left SeaWorld thinking, “Hey, we need to go save Puget Sound!” Sorely lacking was an objective, academic means to gauge the educational value of a day at SeaWorld. A controlled, systematic evaluation of SeaWorld’s education programs and how effective they were among park guests would be a fascinating and worthy undertaking, Naomi believed. “But SeaWorld has never done it,” she said.
Research and Conservation: “Visitors are exposed to marine mammals in an exhilarating and educational manner that is designed to instill an appreciation and respect for all living creatures and natural environments,” the company said in its written Q&A with KGTV. Exhibits inspired visitors to “conserve our valuable natural resources by increasing awareness for the interrelationships of humans and the marine environment,” which were the “first steps in conservation.” In the Harris Interactive survey, 93 percent agreed that “visiting a marine life park, aquarium or zoo can inspire conservation action that can help marine mammals and their natural environment.” The same number agreed that “people are more likely to be concerned about animals if they learn about them at marine life parks, aquariums and zoos.”
The success of the company’s rescue and rehabilitation, breeding, and educational programs were “unparalleled in the world,” the company said. Since 1970, SeaWorld parks had rescued more than thirteen thousand animals, including endangered and threatened species. “That averages out to about one animal rescue every day for the past 34 years,” it said. “Our financial commitment to our Animal Rescue and Rehabilitation Program is estimated at more than one million dollars per year.” SeaWorld did not mention how much money it had received in federal, state, and other government grants for animal rescue and rehab, or what percentage of its annual revenue was represented by the million dollars.
As for research and conservation pertaining specifically to killer whales, SeaWorld noted in the Q&A that it had “funded countless studies of killer whale behavior, including conflicts between fishermen and
wild whales in Alaska’s Prince William Sound. We have sent teams to assist wild whales in distress, including a trip in the mid-1990s to rescue eight killer whales from Barnes Lake in Alaska and a trip just last month to stabilize and treat a newborn killer whale beached near Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.” Knowledge gained through its breeding programs “has contributed to our understanding of killer whale biology, reproductive physiology, and behavior. This knowledge is important in assessing the status of wild populations.”
Naomi felt all of these claims were inflated and hyperbolic. Yes, SeaWorld’s often-trumpeted support for gestation research showing that killer whales were pregnant for seventeen months—and not twelve as previously thought—certainly qualified as valuable life-history information. As the company noted, it was “important to modeling expected population growth rates in the wild.” SeaWorld had also “documented growth patterns” in killer whale calves, studied vocal development in killer whales, and demonstrated that calves learned vocalizations “in a manner similar to the way that human children learn language.” But, Naomi knew, this work might not apply directly to wild whales (would growth rates in calves be the same in captivity versus in the wild?), and most of it would need to be replicated in the wild before its value could be assessed.
When KGTV pressed SeaWorld on what it was doing specifically “to aid the whale population in the Puget Sound, the pods that provided the first generation of whales for SeaWorld,” the company seemed at a loss, and it reverted to its general support of orca research. But it did cite the “several” times it had been called upon to assist killer whales in the Sound, including the rescue of an orca named Sandy and rehabilitation of a young whale named Luna. For the record, Luna was never “rehabilitated”; he was not found in Puget Sound but far away on the west coast of Vancouver Island; and SeaWorld’s main role in the saga of the young male orca appears to have been trying to send him to a marine park.
Longevity: Nothing was more central to the killer whale debate than the question of longevity. Solid proof that orcas lived significantly longer in the ocean than in tanks would clearly render captivity unjustifiable in the minds of many people. But if SeaWorld could show that orca life spans were no different in captivity than in the wild—or cast doubt on science’s ability to measure such things—it would deflate much of the opposition’s argument. In its written Q&A with the San Diego news station, SeaWorld said, “No one knows how long captive or wild killer whales live because no one has ever followed a group from birth to death. We have often said that 30 years is as good an estimate of average killer whale life span as we currently have. Clearly animals can exceed that age, as evidenced by one of ours, Corky. She is at least 40 and perhaps as old as 42.”
SeaWorld noted that three of “the world’s most respected marine mammal scientists,” Peter Olesiuk, Graeme Ellis, and John Ford, had concluded that “female killer whales in the Northern Resident community had a mean life expectancy of 31 years and males just 19 years.” Contextually speaking, this was true—but misleading. These values appeared in a 2005 Canadian Science Advisory Secretariat document.3
The researchers analyzed two study periods. The first, 1973–96, was a period of “unrestrained growth” in which the population steadily increased. Mean life expectancy was calculated at forty-six years for females and thirty-one years for males. Maximum life span was estimated at seventy to eighty for females and sixty to seventy for males. In the second period, 1996–2004, the population trend reversed and the number of whales began to decline. Mean life expectancy during this period was significantly downgraded, to thirty-one years for females and nineteen for males, as SeaWorld had correctly noted. The decline was due almost entirely to rising mortality rates.
The authors went back to look at what had changed between 1996 and 1997. They found that the drop was correlated with a major crash in the chinook salmon population, which in turn was due to dams, fish farms, pollution, and overfishing. El Niño conditions were also implicated.4
SeaWorld officials failed to note that they were using values from a period of population decline. They also ignored that, after 2001, the killer whale population began to rebound. By 2004, it was back to its pre-decline highs. Even though this three-year increase was not enough to elevate mean life expectancy for the 1996–2004 period overall, it was likely that the population would return to pre-decline levels. SeaWorld presented the lowest published life expectancy figures out of context, Naomi wrote, without regard to the recent reversal in the data.
“SeaWorld ignores the fact that the second set of life expectancies was calculated when the orca population was in decline,” Naomi wrote to the subcommittee about the sleight of hand. “It also ignores that the population began to increase again post-2001.” Study coauthor Graeme Ellis concurred. “The SeaWorld types picked the statement that met their needs,” he wrote in an e-mail later that year.5 “Since about 2001 the populations have reversed this declining trend, so life expectancies should return to what was previously published.” It would take several more years of data to confirm if the improving trend continued, but there was one other positive sign. In 2006 the Canadian government changed the status of chinook salmon from “endangered” to “threatened.” Serious problems remained, but the population trends for both predators and prey were looking better.
In her memo to subcommittee staff, Naomi asked why SeaWorld was portraying killer whale longevity as up for debate when the science was settled. “The industry’s information is as close to lying as it gets,” she said. “Acknowledging that killer whales don’t live as long in captivity as they do in the wild is clearly not to their advantage.” And she added this thought-provoking statement: “If captivity is safer and healthier, then animals should live longer—it’s simple logic and actually holds true for many wildlife species in zoos. The deaths of captive orcas are ABERRANT—they aren’t achieving the life spans they could and should. That’s simply indisputable fact and no amount of spin or deflection can change that (although SW certainly has tried over the years).”
A far more detailed assessment of the display industry’s education and conservation programs would be conducted at the hearing in DC. Meanwhile, SeaWorld was now under investigation from OCSO, OSHA, APHIS, and the US Congress. As if that weren’t enough, an experienced DC-based investigative journalist named Tim Zimmermann was now snooping around for a major piece commissioned by Outside magazine. Tim contacted John Jett and Jeff Ventre for interviews and drove out to Gaithersburg to spend a couple of hours talking to Naomi Rose. His resulting article, “Killer in the Pool,” would change the course of the growing killer whale debate and finally help bring together such diverse parties—and former antagonists—as the seasoned marine biologist/animal protection advocate and the former orca trainers from SeaWorld.
Naomi had never seen so many people try so hard to unearth what she considered to be “Shamu’s dark and deadly secrets.” One night as she was finishing her memo at home with her husband and three cats, Naomi marveled at the rapid pace of change. “I really think that a lot of SeaWorld’s fans will desert,” she predicted, “once they see what is under those rocks that OSHA and the congressional hearing are going to overturn.”
* * *
Naomi was now closely involved in three separate Tilikum investigations: the OSHA probe, Tim Zimmermann’s article for Outside, and the House subcommittee hearing on oceans and wildlife. She was also in steady demand from the media for interviews on the attack and the factors that might make an orca lose control and take someone’s life. The tragedy had led to a full-fledged national conversation. It was time for another trip to SeaWorld, Naomi figured, for a close-up look at the three-time killer.
In early April 2010 she flew to Orlando with an HSUS videographer. It was the first time Naomi had been to SeaWorld since 2005, when she visited the park in San Diego during a scientific conference. In Orlando, they went to see the “Believe” show twice.
After her return, Naomi wrote an accoun
t of her visit to a small group of allies, including Courtney Vail and Cathy Williamson from WDCS, Bill Rossiter of CSI, and OrcaLab’s Paul Spong. “My brain is still mush from the experience,” she wrote. During the 11:00 a.m. show, she could not clearly see Tilikum because he remained in a back pool and was not moving much. The show itself was “devoid of educational content. The narrative here was the dream of a young boy … who saw a whale in the wild one day [and] wanted to grow up to be a trainer. And he ‘believed’ hard enough and his dream came true.”
The preshow orca Q&A on the JumboTron seemed to draw only a smattering of attention among the crowds, and the factoids were largely centered on general husbandry issues: How much fish did SeaWorld feed Shamu each day? How do you train a killer whale? How cold is the water in Shamu’s enclosure? Only two questions were related to orca biology: Why are they black-and-white? How big do they grow? The show itself “had no factual information at all.”
Afterward, Naomi climbed to the back row of the bleachers, which afforded a view into the backstage area. She could see Tilikum, logging motionlessly by himself. “At no time could we see any trainer(s) back there interacting with him, distracting him while the show went on.” Naomi returned for the 2:30 show, and this time sat high in the bleachers. “In the end we were able to observe Tilikum (mostly not very well) for about 2.5 hours total. Of that time, he was alone for one hour, with another whale for a bit more than one hour, and with his trainers (at a distance, with a fire hose) for a bit less than a half hour (they were probably ‘interacting’ with him for a total of 30–40 minutes between the shows).”
Her bottom-line assessment: “Tilikum seems very depressed. He seems focused or fixated on the gate into the performance pool and/or the gate into the Dine with Shamu pool. He is spending a lot of time alone (with neither other whales nor trainers). It’s very sad.”
