by Linda Tucker
At the end of another year of fighting for Marah’s freedom, I have assembled a war council for today’s zoo meeting. Along with my trusted attorney, I called in my most seasoned of gladiators, Dr. Ian Player, to provide conservation clout; the straight-talking ecologist Jason Turner, to provide scientific expertise; and Selby Gumbi, to represent the spiritual beliefs behind the White Lions.
My team begins in a conciliatory fashion. Ian keeps the forum spellbound by retelling tales of his successful battles to save South Africa’s white rhino from extinction, going on to make the same case for the White Lions. Jason Turner follows with a detailed outline of the critical importance of protecting the White Lion gene pool for the biodiversity of its endemic habitat, effectively producing data to warn the zoo against any premature breeding with Marah or the use of fertility-inducing drugs.
I summarize the cultural importance of the White Lions, not only for the indigenous people of our country, but also for other First Nations around the globe, whose knowledge of the Earth is profoundly consistent. And Selby Gumbi concludes with a prayer in Zulu.
One might have expected that a heartfelt prayer in any language would have softened the atmosphere and united our purpose, but it’s as cold and hard as a vivisectionist’s laboratory in here.
It’s four months since I first met Dr. Cloete, in which time he has set up an Animal Disposal Unit and declared Marah to be the zoo’s highest genetic specimen. It’s clear that nothing short of a ten-phase battle plan will extract Dr. Cloete’s prize hostage from his viselike grip.
For him, my signed agreement with the zoo was a meaningless scrap of waste paper. First he blocked any prospects of returning Marah to the wild by claiming the captive lioness would never survive and that I was intent on “killing her.” Then he began genetic tests on Marah. Furthermore, in the eventuality that I might actually succeed in winning my claim for Marah’s adoption, he’s embarked on an aggressive speed-breeding program to retain Marah’s genetics by mating her underage. The earliest breeding age for lionesses in the wild is four years. But that hasn’t stopped the mercenary vet from putting plans in place to impregnate Marah prematurely—under two years of age—without regard for the young female’s health or welfare.
With Marah held prisoner in the zoo, which has now reneged on their contract after Cloete identified her as their prize specimen, the situation has become fraught and dangerous. I urgently have to restrategize. My emotions are in turmoil. Lives depend on my trusting my instincts and following my innate sense of higher justice, above and beyond the man-made status quo.
Furthermore, there is a celebrity aspect to all this, which makes the situation all the more complicated. The famous illusionists Siegfried and Roy are playing a central role in this chess game, having signed an existing contract with the zoo that gives them (the celebrities) equal ownership rights of all White Lions in the zoo’s possession. Since I met with them in Las Vegas in the ’90s while writing Mystery of the White Lions, I imagined they would assist my cause, particularly as I found Roy to be a genuine animal lover under his showman’s facade. I imagined that he and Siegfried would be horrified to hear that the magnificent White Lion Thor, whose kingly image they had splashed over their billboards and publicity material to pull in crowds to their show at the Mirage Hotel, had been appropriated by Riccardo Ghiazza, one of South Africa’s most notorious animal-cruelty figures, recently found guilty on two counts. I also imagined they would wish to support any genuine attempts to reestablish White Lions in their natural endemic territories, given that these regal animals had so significantly contributed to their fame and fortune. However, all my attempts at collaboration have been stonewalled by their agents. I went so far as booking a flight to Las Vegas, flying all the way from South Africa to meet with them again to ask their approval for me to adopt Marah (which, apparently, as half owners, they need to provide), but even after my arrival, their agents refused my calls.
As Maria predicted, the trading value for White Lions has skyrocketed since the publication of my book. But having advance notice hadn’t helped me. A moment ago, I offered the zoo a figure for Marah, double the trading rates of White Lions at the time of my book launch. However, with glinting retinas, Cloete has just dismissed this figure as “paltry.”
I feel ill. If there is justification for the existence of zoos, it can only be for educational purposes (educating children and adults on the critical importance of nature and species) or conservation purposes (raising funds to protect species at risk in their natural habitat). By contrast, a zoo run solely as a commercial enterprise to make money from innocent animals trapped in cages is not very different from the child-slave trade.
We’ve been in tough, hard, clinical negotiations all day and have gotten nowhere. What next? Only through Maria Khosa’s powerful example can I take each uncharted step. Her loving maternal presence continues to guide my actions from the ancestral realms, but I miss her down-to-earth practical wisdom. What would she have advised? Aware that Marah’s future hangs in the balance, I summoned not only my lawyers but also my council of advisors. With Maria Khosa gone, I’ve had to draw on the wisdom of Credo Mutwa, Selby Gumbi, Dr. Koka, and other indigenous wise men and women from around the globe. Now that my book has reached foreign shores, I’ve also been invited to present at a number of international environmental congresses, where I was introduced to indigenous leaders of different continents and various tribes. It’s been a tremendous honor and privilege. Many of these First Nations leaders have lent their names in support of my cause, identifying the similarities between the prophecies of their indigenous people and the mystery of the White Lions.
Among them are High Chief Francois Paulette of Canada’s Dene Nation, Mother Moon of the Chippewa Ojibwa Nation of Native America, Dr. E. Richard Atleo of Canada’s Nuu-chah-nul people, and Dr. Apela Colerado of Hawaii’s Oneida people—all indigenous leaders of great standing and ancestral wisdom. From Kitasu elders of British Columbia, I learned of the fabled “Spirit Bear”: snow-white bears born from the Black Bear species, as a long-prophesized sign of climate change. On June 21 of this year, I was fortunate enough to join Chief Arvol Looking Horse of America’s Sioux Nation in leading a crowd of some ten thousand people marching for peace. We were on horseback, with the Native American leader in full-feathered regalia. This date has been declared World Peace and Prayer Day, and Chief Arvol himself holds the title of nineteenth-generation Keeper of the White Buffalo prophecies, while the wisdom of his people corroborate my own beliefs about the White Lions’ spiritual importance.
Meeting with representatives of such deep Earth knowledge and standing was extremely humbling for me, but it also strengthened my heart. It provided profound support of my cause for the protection of the White Lions as sacred harbingers of climate change on Earth. All the white animals—the White Raven of Canadian First Nations, the White Reindeer of the Sami people, the White Whale of the Icelandic people, and the White Buffalo of the fourteen nations—they are sacred signs from Nature and the fulfillment of ancient prophecy.
My own beliefs were further corroborated by two indigenous leaders from the Inuit people: Ilarion Imerculieff (of the ancient Aleut people of Alaska) and Angaangaq Lyberth, of Greenland, who pointed out the parallels between the White Lion mysteries and the prophesies of their own people, which speak of the coming of the fabled Black Polar Bear. At a time when the Earth is in ecological crisis, it is said the Black Polar Bear will appear on the ice, which will signal great change but also great hope. It is Nature’s sign that humanity should unite spiritually, or great devastation will ensue. Angaangaq—a short man with a long, twisted gray beard and intense blue eyes that belied his advanced years—spoke about his people’s belief in polar reversal. Polar regions that were once icy and snowbound would melt, and other places that had been clement could suddenly become frozen wastes. With a deep knowing, he simply asked me, “Why should snow lions appear in a sunny landscape in Africa? Mother Nature doesn’t make mi
stakes. What is she telling us?”
Far from being freaks of nature, out of time and place, the profound wisdom from indigenous wisdom keepers confirmed for me that the White Lions are not an isolated phenomenon but a global one, impeccably related to our present time and age.
Recently, I received a message from Angaangaq through a third party, which gave me much encouragement. He wrote, “Tell [Linda] that my heart truly belongs to her and that I am wishing her my very best and that I am in support of her and all she does for the Great Cat—Qitsussuaq Qaqurtaq, or the Great White Lion—whose importance the world over will become known in spiritual significance.”
Here, now, I need that encouragement. In a context where spiritual significance is at risk of dissolving in Cloete’s callous test tube laboratory, I imagine Ingwavuma, my Spirit Guardian, standing by my side. I remind myself that I am not alone: in the midst of all my trials for Marah’s freedom, the convergence of wise men and women from all over the world in support of the White Lion as a holy animal has been wondrous and confirmed what Maria herself forecast: “The White Lions will bring the rainbow nations together.”
From these many esteemed First Nations advisors, I have now established an official advisory council of indigenous elders, whose sage guidance the Global White Lion Protection Trust takes very seriously. All in all, the united wisdom of these various indigenous elders combines in one clear message, which links the White Lions with peace on Earth.
Yet, in my efforts toward achieving this noble goal, it seems I have to be prepared to go to war.
Following my official offer of payment for Marah, which was rudely dismissed, I now hand over to Dr. Cloete the file with letters from many of these esteemed indigenous leaders, who committed in writing their support of the global importance of the White Lions and demanded the return of Marah to her sacred ancestral lands. Whether or not the director is interested in local or global culture is not the issue; the weight of opinion from esteemed First Nations leaders around the globe should have significant sway. Or so I thought. Instead, I see that any mention of indigenous people’s beliefs has fallen on stony ears.
Cloete snaps my file closed, unread, and flicks a glance at the zoo director, as if waiting for his next tactical instruction.
Apartheid South Africa was a good training ground in resisting institutionalized injustice, and one would have hoped that since the collapse of the previous regime, people in power would be more open to appreciating the rights of all stakeholders. Clearly, however, as far as the zoological institution is concerned, rights don’t extend to animals, or native peoples. In this chilling moment, I stare into the unblinking, reptilian eyes of Dr. Cloete. With glinting retinas, he’s snapping my file closed, unread, and flicks a glance at the zoo director, as if waiting for his next tactical instruction.
“Excuse me, sir,” he says to the director, who gives him the nod. “I need to get back to the lab.”
The director concludes, looking exasperated, as if we’ve taken up too much of his precious time already: “We’re a serious institution. We don’t have time for primitive people and their childish theories.”
Glancing conspicuously at the clock on his wall, he adds: “Thank you for your presentations, but my staff and I need to get back to work.”
Work? War! I know my campaign is far from over.
I am reminded how contemptuously my shamanic indigenous teacher, Credo Mutwa, was treated for his prophetic warnings, so much so that when he was compelled to finish an oil painting of the dreaded 9/11 events before these events happened, no one even took notice.
SELBY GUMBI AND OUR ATTORNEY HAVE GONE HOME, while Jason, Ian, and I sit at the zoo restaurant late in the afternoon having a postmortem on the failed meeting. I’d like to follow Ian’s example and down a stiff Scotch, but I know it won’t help. I suppose it was naive of me to imagine the confrontation was over after that second police raid into Bethlehem. I think back to the short-lived sense of relief I first felt after rescuing Marah from the Bethlehem killing camp. I had no way of anticipating that the institution itself would have its own reasons for incarcerating Marah. First the zoo refused to honor the agreement we’d made prior to the police raid on Bethlehem. Then the haggling over genetics and threats of artificial insemination began. How much better are her new confines in the zoo than those razor-wire fences of the hunting camp?
From our position at the restaurant, we are no more than five hundred meters from Marah. Not taking into account how many walls, man-made moats, electrified fences, fast-moving traffic lanes, and other barriers stand between us. Perhaps most formidable of all, there’s the stone wall of Dr. Cloete himself. Of my opponents in the canned-hunting industry, Dr. Cloete has to be counted among the most recalcitrant.
Jason answers his cell phone. By the time he gets off the call, he looks ashen. It was Greg Mitchell relaying terrible news: the canned hunter has offered Aslan as a trophy on the Internet. A rare White Lion is worth more dead than alive, and Greg just learned that a Dubai sheik was prepared to pay more than triple the current trading value for Aslan’s head on a platter.
This dreadful intel has caught me off-guard. We had emerged from the deadlock at the zoo feeling three-quarters defeated but ready to up our offensive. Poised in strategic battle mode, I feel my resistance failing.
“Keep focused and keep your gunpowder dry,” Ian instructs me, taking careful stock. I hear his words but barely comprehend their meaning.
Sympathetic, but battle-scarred by a half century of tough environmental campaigns, he advises me to accept that Aslan would be but one of the inevitable casualties in my lifelong efforts to save the White Lions. Having himself won many crusades on behalf of Nature, including a campaign against the world’s biggest mining company that would have destroyed the greatest wetlands in the Southern Hemisphere, Ian cautions me to approach this as guerilla warfare that will demand every possible resource available to me for the rest of my life.
Sound as his advice is, I’m simply not prepared to accept any inevitable casualties. Having lost Ingwavuma to the hunter’s bullet, I cannot count Aslan among the dead.
IT’S OCTOBER 3, 2003, and I’ve just had the most shocking news from Las Vegas. An accident occurred that has stunned the world. During a Siegfried and Roy show on Roy’s sixtieth birthday, today, in the midst of a magic act, while he was instructing his white tiger Montecore to lie down, the big cat refused; then, when Roy insisted, he took Roy’s head in his jaws and carried the performer off stage like a ragdoll.
Montecore is no novice. He is, in fact, Roy’s favorite male tiger, who has been meticulously trained from the time he was a little cub. He was just a few days old when Roy removed him from his mother. This magnificent beast went on to perform for many years on stage prior to the incident, helping to establish Siegfried and Roy’s stardom. In fact, Montecore was the brightest star of the highest income-earning show in Las Vegas, a spectacle that has drawn crowds for thirty years and more than thirty thousand showings.
Shocked, like everyone else, I’ve sent several messages of condolence and heartfelt sympathy to Roy Horn, whose love for animals I know to be genuine under his showman’s makeup and glitter. But while I feel deep compassion for Roy, I can’t help formulating the obvious question over and over again: What was Montecore’s message for Roy? And perhaps more importantly, what was Montecore’s message for humanity at this time?
I know through my shamanic training that nothing in Nature happens by accident. Everything has an impeccable meaning and karmic significance, if we humans are only prepared to open our eyes and hearts to the truth. The spectacle of Roy taken by his white tiger was seen live by thousands of people at the show itself, while the story is being aired to millions through news channels around the globe. So, what is Nature’s message to the world?
Certainly, the unfortunate incident has raised considerable awareness. Figures are emerging in the press. There are more than fifteen thousand tigers in the United States, all bred
in captivity—a distressing statistic, given that this equates to one-third of the existing wild population. According to authorities, there are more big cats in the backyards of Texas than in all the jungles of Asia. In the United States, the sale of tigers and other exotic animals to be kept as pets, or for meat, fur, or medicinal uses, is a multibillion-dollar industry. Many of the transactions are illegal, but many more are legal and equally unjust. Even those wild animals kept as pets end up euthanized for convenience, or living out their lives in inadequate sanctuary camps. Exotic animals raised by humans in captivity can never be returned to the wild, because they are dependent on humans—they can’t fend for themselves and are regarded as a danger. So they are doomed to cages for the rest of their miserable lives.
Siegfried and Roy’s publicity protests that they are saving the White Lions and White Tigers from extinction. But even the American Zoo and Aquarium Association doesn’t buy that stunt. The AZAA has published numerous articles educating the public about the fact that breeding white tigers in captivity is not conservation. They’re emphatic: “It would be different if [Siegfried and Roy] took all their profits and gave them to conservation in the wild. Because the only way to contribute to conservation is with money. Breeding just to breed is not conservation. Especially if you are breeding a genetic rarity.”
As for mass-producing rare animals in captivity for commercial purposes, investigations have now made it clear that while South Africa is the canned-hunting capital of the world, Texas is the breeding ground of the world’s worst canned hunters, subhuman humans whose idea of fun is a South African trophy-hunting holiday to massacre White Lions in cages.
With Siegfried and Roy sadly out of the picture, I only have the local zoo to deal with.
NOVEMBER 16, 2003. After an incredibly difficult three and a half months of urgent and focused press exposure, we have managed to stave off the planned trophy hunt of Aslan. Through some well-placed calls to trusted members of the media, the story was splashed over the front page of leading South African and international newspapers. Even with his vast ego and budget to match, the sheik shied away from the spectacle of his misdemeanor being open to public. Few people like to commit murder under that level of scrutiny. No doubt, tomorrow will bring new challenges, but for the moment, the Lion King’s life has been spared.
