A whale of a story: the case for cetacean captivity

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A
WHALE
OF
A
STORY:

THE
CASE
FOR
CETACEAN
CAPTIVITY

by

Patrick
Bigsby

A
Professional
Project
Presented
to
the

FACULTY
OF
THE
USC
GRADUATE
SCHOOL

UNIVERSITY
OF
SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA

In
Partial
Fulfillment
of
the

Requirements
for
the
Degree

MASTER
OF
ARTS

(PRINT
JOURNALISM)

August
2012

Copyright
2012

Patrick
Bigsby
ii

“All
men
live
enveloped
in
whale-‐lines.
All
are
born
with

halters
round
their
necks;
but
it
is
only
when
caught
in
the

swift,
sudden
turn
of
death,
that
mortals
realize
the
silent,

subtle,
ever-‐present
perils
of
life.”

-‐ Moby-‐Dick;
or,
The
Whale
(Herman
Melville)

iii

To
all
110-‐footers

iv

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many
people
contributed
to
my
work
on
this
project.
I
would
like
to
thank
K.C.

Cole
for
her
encouragement,
Dr.
Félix
Gutiérrez
for
his
guidance,
and
Dr.
Juliette
Hart

for
her
inspiration.
This
committee
was
instrumental
in
allowing
me
to
create
something

I
can
be
proud
of.
I
would
also
like
to
acknowledge
my
colleagues
from
Michigan
State

University’s
Studies
in
Antarctic
System
Science
program:
Dr.
Pamela
Rasmussen,
Dr.

Michael
Gottfried,
Liz
Larsen,
McKenna
Domalski,
Courtney
Shuert,
Laurissa
Gulich,
Ann

Sojka,
Katie
Oswald,
Chris
Brown,
Kathleen
Peshek,
Christine
Olarte,
Matt
Pawlicki,

Gabby
Kleber,
Jessica
Ogden,
Autumn
Mitchell,
and
Brad
Schroeder.
Your
collective

presence
made
my
most
significant
cetacean
observations
unforgettable.
The
creative

work
of
many
other
whale
admirers
has
influenced
my
own
obsession.
Most
notably:

Herman
Melville,
W.
Francis
McBeth,
Led
Zeppelin,
and
Alan
Hovhaness.
Your
own

fascination
fueled
mine
early
in
life.

Finally,
no
part
of
this
project
would
have
been
possible
without
the
unflagging

support
and
patience
of
my
parents,
Brock
and
Judy
Bigsby.
Every
whale
I’ve
ever
seen

can
be
attributed
to
you.

v

TABLE
OF
CONTENTS

Epigraph

ii

Dedication

iii

Acknowledgments

iv

Abstract

vi

Preface

vii

I.
Vale

1

II.
Bubbles/Corky

8

III.
Tilikum

15

IV.
JJ

24

vi

ABSTRACT

The
human
relationship
with
cetaceans
has
been
tenuously
respectful
at
best
and

devastatingly
destructive
at
worst.
Starting
with
Barnum’s
American
Museum
in
New
York
City,

human
entrepreneurs
and
naturalists
have
attempted,
with
varying
degrees
of
success,
to
keep

cetaceans
alive
in
captivity
for
study
and
public
viewing.
As
the
knowledge
base
grew,
questions

arose
over
whether
captivity
is
appropriate
for
large,
highly
intelligent
marine
mammals
and,
if

so,
what
ethical
treatment
of
the
creatures
entails.

The
conversation
on
this
subject
has
become
a
matter
for
public
discourse;
corporations

and
activists
have
become
as
vocal
as
the
scientific
community
and
pending
court
cases
are
the

only
foreseeable
substitutes
for
a
consensus
on
the
horizon.
Evaluating
the
situation
requires

examining
the
lives
of
individual
animals
and
weighing
them
against
the
total
experience
and

impact
of
keeping
cetaceans
in
captivity.
Ultimately,
the
question
is
one
of
ends
justifying

means.

vii

PREFACE

I’ve
seen
a
lot
of
whales.
I’ve
seen
them
in
zoos,
aquariums,
and
marine
parks.
I’ve
seen

them
in
tropical,
temperate,
and
polar
oceans.
My
decision
to
write
about
whales
is
based
on

the
idea
that
everyone
should
see
a
lot
of
whales.
Unfortunately,
this
is
a
difficult
plan
to

execute.
Whales
live
far
away
from
most
of
us
and
aren’t
particularly
common,
at
least

compared
to
their
historical
populations.
Captivity
seems
like
the
obvious
solution
to
this
access

problem,
but
it’s
proved
to
be
a
difficult
plan
to
execute
as
well.
Whales’
intelligence
and
size

have
pushed
our
means
for
exhibition
to
the
limit
and,
occasionally,
past
it.
This
hurts
both

people
and
whales.
But
these
instances
when
our
appetite
for
whales
exceeds
our
ability
to

humanely
keep
them,
while
tragic,
are
minutiae
compared
to
the
instances
where
someone
is

delighted,
awed,
or
inspired
by
incomparable
presence
of
a
cetacean.

Cetaceans,
the
oceans,
and
the
entire
natural
world
need
human
stewardship.
The
whales

and
dolphins
in
captivity
are
ambassadors
for
this
cause.
Though
exhibiting
cetaceans
is
a
work

in
progress,
it
is
far
from
a
hopeless
one.
I’ve
been
blessed
by
the
sheer
number
of
cetaceans

I’ve
encountered,
and
I
am
confident
that
continuing
to
improve
cetacean
captivity
can
make

everyone
so
blessed.
1

I.
Vale

“And
God
created
great
whales,
and
every
living
creature
that
moveth,
which
the
waters

brought
forth
abundantly,
after
their
kind,
and
every
winged
fowl
after
his
kind:
and
God

saw
that
it
was
good.”

-‐ Genesis
1:21

Herman
Melville’s
magnum
opus
Moby-‐Dick;
or,
The
Whale
was
published
in
the

United
States
in
1851.
At
the
time
of
publication,
few
of
Melville’s
prospective
readers

had
any
knowledge
of
whales
at
all
beyond
their
commercial
value
as
a
source
of
fuel

and
other
products.
Even
fewer
readers
had
ever
seen
a
whale,
or
at
least
a
live
one.

As

a
result,
Melville’s
seafaring
account
of
whale
encounters
and
his
detailed
taxonomic

descriptions
of
the
various
species
of
whale
made
the
book
a
primary
source
of

information
on
the
animals.
Although
modern
science
has
corrected
some
of
Melville’s

more
fanciful
observations,
Moby-‐Dick
should
still
be
viewed
as
whales’
first
entry
into

the
mainstream
public
consciousness
and
their
highest
cultural
relevance
since
Jonah.

The
novel
was
slow
to
catch
on
in
literary
circles;
Moby-‐Dick
wasn’t
considered

the
classic,
defining
book
that
modern
scholars
recognize
it
as
until
the
20
th

century.
But

enthusiasm
for
whales
had
entered
popular
culture
via
Melville’s
work
and
one
forward-‐
thinking
individual
was
determined
to
capitalize
on
this
interest.
P.T.
Barnum,
the

businessman,
politician,
author,
philanthropist,
and
impresario
curator
of
Barnum’s

American
Museum
in
New
York
City,
dreamed
of
bringing
whales
–especially
white
ones

–
to
his
customers.
Never
mind
that
no
one
had
even
attempted
to
keep
a
whale
captive

2

before.
Barnum
was
hardly
the
type
of
man
to
be
intimidated
by
the
logistics.
In
1861,

he
began
construction
on
a
whale
tank
in
the
basement
of
the
American
Museum.

Barnum
exhibited
countless
varieties
of
live
animals
at
the
museum
(such
as

Grizzly
Adams’
famous
bears),
but
the
whales
presented
a
unique
challenge.
The
cement

tank,
described
as
58
feet
long
by
25
feet
wide
by
7
feet
deep
by
The
New
York
Tribune,

was
the
largest
of
its
kind.
New
gaslights
were
hung
above
the
tank
in
preparation
for
its

tenants.
The
collecting
expedition
to
the
mouth
of
the
St.
Lawrence
River
in
Quebec

involved
a
chartered
sloop
and
two
dozen
contracted
fishermen.
These
expenses,

combined
with
the
subsequent
rail
transportation
of
the
animals,
ended
up
costing

Barnum
over
$9,000.
He
described
the
difficulty
of
the
capture
in
his
1884
book

Struggles
and
triumphs:
or,
Fifty
years'
recollections
of
P.T.
Barnum:

The
plan
decided
upon
was
to
plant
in
the
river
a
“kraal,”
composed
of

stakes
driven
down
in
the
form
of
a
V,
leaving
the
broad
end
open
for
the

whales
to
enter.
This
was
done
in
a
shallow
place,
with
the
point
of
the

kraal
towards
shore;
and
if
by
chance
one
or
more
whales
should
enter
the

trap
at
high
water,
my
fishermen
were
to
occupy
the
entrance
with
their

boats,
and
keep
up
a
tremendous
splashing
and
noise
till
the
tide
receded,

when
the
frightened
whales
would
find
themselves
nearly
“high
and
dry,”

or
with
too
little
water
to
enable
them
to
swim,
and
their
capture
would

be
next
thing
in
order.
This
was
to
be
effected
by
securing
a
slip-‐noose
of

stout
rope
over
their
tails,
and
towing
them
to
the
sea-‐weed
lined
boxes
in

which
they
were
to
be
transported
to
New
York.

The
expedition
proved
fruitful.
Barnum
returned
to
New
York
with
two
20-‐foot

beluga
whales
and
the
press
trumpeting
his
success
well
in
advance.
Melville’s
titular

character
was,
of
course,
a
much
larger
sperm
whale,
but
this
didn’t
seem
to
bother
the

thousands
of
visitors
that
turned
out
for
the
whales’
debut.
They
were
white,
foreign,

3

and
certainly
mysterious.
And,
like
all
things
Barnum,
properly
promoted.
An
1861

advertisement
in
The
New
York
Tribune
read:

After
months
of
unwearied
labor,
and
spending

NEARLY
TEN
THOUSAND
DOLLARS

NEARLY
TEN
THOUSAND
DOLLARS

NEARLY
TEN
THOUSAND
DOLLARS

in
capturing
and
transporting
them
from
that
part
of
the
Gulf

of
St.
Lawrence
nearest
Labrador,
the
Manager
is
enabled
to

offer
his
visitors

TWO
LIVING
WHALES,

TWO
LIVING
WHALES,

TWO
LIVING
WHALES,

TWO
LIVING
WHALES,

a
male
and
a
female.
Everybody
has
heard
of
WHALES

IN
NURSERY
TALES
and
“SAILOR’S
YARNS,”

IN
NURSERY
TALES
and
“SAILOR’S
YARNS,”

everybody
has
read
of
WHALES
in
story,
song,
and
history,
and
everybody

WANTS
TO
SEE
A
WHALE,

WANTS
TO
SEE
A
WHALE,

WANTS
TO
SEE
A
WHALE,

WANTS
TO
SEE
A
WHALE.

4

Barnum
clearly
recognized
the
value
of
his
belugas,
but
also
how
fragile
the

creatures
were.
Scientific
knowledge
of
whales
was
practically
non-‐existent
and
Barnum

knew
that
the
inevitable
trial-‐and-‐error
would
all
but
guarantee
their
deaths.
He
made

numerous
husbandry
gaffes.
For
example,
the
tank
was
filled
with
fresh
water
instead
of

the
salt
water
the
whales
required.
He
offered
them
seaweed
to
eat
even
though

belugas
subsist
exclusively
on
fish
and
squid.
To
his
credit,
Barnum
was
not
shy
about

his
mistakes,
even
making
public
statements
promoting
the
potential
for
catastrophe.

“As
it
is
very
doubtful
whether
these
wonderful
creatures
can
be
kept
alive
more
than
a

few
days,
the
public
will
see
the
importance
of
seizing
the
first
moment
to
see
them,”

he
told
the
New
York
Herald.
This
was
good
advice,
as
the
first
pair
of
whales
died
within

a
week.

Undeterred
by
the
loss
and
no
doubt
encouraged
by
the
volume
of
visitors,

Barnum
would
repeat
his
great
whale
experiment
three
more
times,
with
each
pair

living
months
and
years
longer
than
their
predecessors
due
to
improvements
in
their

care.
Barnum
constructed
a
special
pipeline
to
bring
in
fresh
seawater
from
New
York

Harbor
to
the
tank
and
procured
suitable
meals
from
local
fishmarkets.
He
built
a
new

observation
tank
of
French
glass
and
slate,
moving
the
whales
to
the
second
floor
of
the

building.

As
the
whales
lived
longer
and
longer,
their
celebrity
grew.
Louis
Agassiz,
the

brilliant
taxonomic
biologist
and
Harvard
professor,
made
a
personal
visit
to
the

museum
to
see
the
whales
and
“certify
their
authenticity.”
The
death
of
one
prompted

this
loving
obituary
from
the
New
York
Herald
in
1862:

5

“The
deceased
was
about
sixty
years
of
age.
It
bore
an
excellent
character.
Its

patience
and
sweet
disposition
under
the
most
trying
circumstances
will
long

be
remembered.
The
remains,
weighing
not
less
than
twenty-‐six
hundred

pounds,
will
be
suitably
disposed
of.
While
the
public
mourns
it
may
also

console
itself
with
the
reflection
that
there
are
plenty
more
where
it
came

from,
and
that
the
energy
of
Barnum
is
not
to
be
abated
by
any
of
the
common

disasters
of
life,
and
may
hopefully
anticipate
a
speedy
announcement
of
an

entirely
new
whale.
Vale!
Vale!”

Barnum’s
last
whale
perished
in
a
cataclysmic
fire
at
the
museum
in
1865,
after
a
life
of

more
than
two
years
in
captivity,
and
Barnum
did
not
return
to
the
world
of

whalekeeping.

It
is
worth
considering
the
sheer
magnitude
of
Barnum’s
undertaking
and
how

his
achievement
shaped
modern
efforts
at
keeping
cetaceans
(as
whales
and
dolphins

are
collectively
known)
in
captivity
–
a
practice
that
even
today
is
still
in
its
experimental

stages.
Concrete
and
glass
tanks,
piped-‐in
sea
water,
and
high
mortality
rates
remain

constants
in
the
zoos,
aquariums,
and
marine
parks
that
exhibit
cetaceans
today.
Even

the
cowboy-‐ish
capture
of
the
wild
whales
was
a
common
practice
until
the
late
20
th

century
and
can
still
be
observed
with
certain
species.
Given
that
Barnum
established

these
practices
without
the
aid
of
modern
technology
makes
the
feat
all
the
more

impressive.

But
the
mission
of
keeping
captive
cetaceans
has
evolved,
in
part
because
of
the

exponentially
larger
body
of
knowledge
we
now
possess
–
knowledge
that
could
only
be

obtained
through
trial-‐and-‐error
methods
like
Barnum’s.
In
1861,
zoological
exhibitions

were
austere
places.
Simple,
confining
cages
were
crammed
together
and
filled
with

animals
collected
from
the
wild.
Little
consideration
was
given
to
mimicking
natural

6

environments
and
many
poorly-‐understood
species
did
not
fare
well
in
captivity,
only
to

be
replaced
by
more
wild-‐caught
individuals.
Zoological
concepts
such
as
animal

intelligence
and
extinction
were
overlooked
by
period
science,
preventing
the

development
of
any
sort
of
best
practices
for
keepers.

Fortunately,
this
situation
has
improved
for
many
species
and
continues
to
do

so.
Cetaceans,
however,
remain
a
work
in
progress.
Significant
advancements
have
been

made
in
fields
such
as
captive
breeding
and
medical
care,
yet
cetacean
captivity
lags

behind
other
animal
groups
due
to
obstacles
posed
by
whales’
size,
intelligence,
and

general
complexity.
In
spite
of
this,
the
sheer
volume
of
human
visitors
received
by

cetaceans
demonstrates
that
they
are
among
the
world’s
most
popular
animals.
Due
to

their
relative
scarcity
and
remote
habitat,
captivity
remains
the
only
way
many
people

can
experience
and
learn
about
these
unique
creatures.

In
addition
to
the
beluga
whales
popularized
by
Barnum,
bottlenose
dolphins,

harbor
porpoises,
finless
porpoises,
orcas,
spotted
dolphins,
‘false’
killer
whales,

common
dolphins,
Commerson’s
dolphins,
rough-‐toothed
dolphins,
pilot
whales,

Amazon
river
dolphins,
Risso’s
dolphins,
and
spinner
dolphins
can
all
be
seen
in

captivity.
Other
species
have
been
kept
at
aquariums
and
marine
parks
for
brief
periods

for
purposes
of
study
or
rehabilitation.

Many
complicated
issues
have
arisen
in
the
modern
discussion
of
cetacean

captivity.
The
toll,
both
physical
and
psychological,
on
the
individual
animals
in
captivity

has
proven
that
the
methods
are
imperfect.
Nations
such
as
Australia,
the
United

7

Kingdom,
Hungary,
Chile,
and
Costa
Rica
have
placed
outright
bans
on
exhibiting

cetaceans,
citing
animal
welfare.
In
the
United
States,
similar
fundamental
concerns

have
been
raised
and
zoos,
aquariums,
and
marine
parks
have
been
forced
to

reevaluate
their
practices
and
long-‐term
planning
as
the
result
of
legislation
or
public

opinion.

However,
understanding
these
concerns
requires
a
thorough
grasp
not
only
of

the
potential
for
suffering
on
behalf
of
individual
animals
but
also
recognizing
the
good

will
and
educational
benefits
for
mankind
and
for
all
cetacean
species.
It’s
a
complicated

matter,
and
each
animal
since
the
original
pair
of
belugas
has
provided
a
case
study
for

evaluation
and
further
analysis.
At
the
very
least,
people
are
talking,
and
that’s
all
P.T.

Barnum
ever
wanted.

8

II.
Bubbles/Corky

“A
man
must
test
his
mettle/In
the
crooked
ol'
world/Starving
in
the
belly
of
a
whale”

-‐ Tom
Waits

Imagine
being
born
at
a
key
point
in
the
history
of
the
human
species
–

something
like
the
start
of
the
Industrial
Revolution
or
the
commercialization
of
the

internet.
As
a
result
of
this
timing,
you
are
able
to
observe
every
development,
every

experiment,
every
bit
of
progress
that
leads
to
the
contemporary
period
and
the
state
of

things
today.
Since
you
got
in
on
the
ground
floor,
your
life
has
been
impacted
by
all
of

these
changes
and
alleged
improvements.
In
some
instances,
you
may
have
been
the

test
case
for
these
initiatives.

Human
history
is
too
expansive,
relative
to
the
human
lifespan,
for
historians
to

use
any
one
individual’s
life
as
a
lens
through
which
to
consider
an
entire
period.
The

history
of
captive
cetaceans,
on
the
other
hand,
is
relatively
brief.
Using
the
1954

opening
of
Marineland
of
the
Pacific
and
the
1965
capture
of
the
orca
Namu
as

reference
points
for
the
start
of
the
modern
era
of
marine
parks
and
consistent

exhibition
of
cetaceans,
there
are
a
few
living
individual
animals
who
can
be
considered

witnesses
to
virtually
the
entire
history
of
cetacean
captivity.
Two
animals,
both
of

whom
are
kept
at
SeaWorld
San
Diego
stand
out:
Bubbles,
a
pilot
whale
captured
in

1957,
and
Corky
(II),
an
orca
captured
in
1969.
Only
a
few
bottlenose
dolphins,
some
of

9

which
are
kept
out
of
the
public
eye
by
the
U.S.
Navy,
rival
these
animals
in
age
or
years

spent
in
captivity.

Longevity
is,
generally
speaking,
unusual
among
captive
cetaceans
and
is
thus

prized
and
celebrated
when
achieved.
While
the
oldest
known
wild
orcas
are
believed
to

be
in
their
70s,
only
two
of
the
197
captive
orcas
in
history
have
lived
into
their
40s.
The

average
lifespans
for
wild
and
captive
populations
of
other
species
occupy
similarly

distant
ends
of
the
spectrum.
The
increased
mortality
rate
(of
the
197
orcas
ever
kept
in

captivity,
155
have
died)
among
captive
animals
is
largely
due
to
the
fact
that
cetacean

captivity
is
still
experimental,
a
work
in
progress.
When
considered
from
the

perspectives
of
Bubbles
and
Corky,
this
work
in
progress
is
an
incredible
living
record.

Bubbles
and
Corky
also
represent
a
still-‐expanding
body
of
knowledge
that
can
be
used

to
improve
and
extend
the
lives
of
future
captive
cetaceans.

The
pilot
whale
Bubbles
was
captured
near
Catalina
Island
in
1957
by
collectors

for
Marineland
of
the
Pacific,
a
now-‐defunct
marine
park
in
Los
Angeles
County
that
is

credited
with
establishing
the
marine
genre
of
theme
parks
as
well
as
the
modern
idea

of
‘dolphin
shows.’
While
Bubbles
was
not
the
first
pilot
whale
held
at
Marineland,
she

is
certainly
the
most
agreeable.

Besides
entertaining
park
visitors
in
the
pilot
whale
and
dolphin
show
that
was

the
crown
jewel
of
pre-‐orca
Marineland,
Bubbles
attracted
the
attention
of
scientists.

She
was
the
type
specimen
described
in
David
H.
Brown’s
“Behavior
of
a
Captive
Pacific

Pilot
Whale”
which
was
published
in
the
1960
edition
of
the
Journal
of
Mammalogy,
the

10

peer-‐reviewed
publication
of
the
American
Society
of
Mammalogists.
Brown
describes

the
capture
of
Bubbles
and
identifies
her
as
the
first
pilot
whale
captured
for
display

(rather
than
rescued
from
a
stranding).

The
captured
animal
proved
to
be
a
female,
and
measured
exactly
12

feet
from
the
tip
of
her
snout
to
the
median
notch
of
the
tail
flukes.

On
her
arrival
at
Marineland
the
whale
was
lowered
into
a
holding

tank
30
feet
in
diameter
and
6
feet
deep.
As
soon
as
released,
she

attempted
to
sound,
and
in
so
doing
struck
her
snout
on
the
floor
of

the
tank.
This
was
the
whale’s
last
effort
to
submerge
while
held
in

this
enclosure.

Brown’s
article,
in
addition
to
describing
the
bygone
practice
of
catching
whales

in
American
waters,
alludes
to
the
inadequacy
of
the
original
enclosures
at
Marineland.

Newsreel
footage
of
Bubbles
and
one
of
her
trainers
(taken
in
1958)
shows
her
in
a

small,
circular
tank
akin
to
a
backyard
swimming
pool.
Marineland
officials,
believing

that
cramped
conditions
had
negative
effects
on
previous
captive
pilot
whales,
began

construction
on
a
much
larger
and
deeper
pool
that
would
be
part
of
the
stadium

complex
where
Marineland’s
pilot
whales
and
dolphins
would
perform.
Today,
the

USDA’s
Animal
and
Plant
Health
Inspection
Service
as
well
as
the
Alliance
of
Marine

Mammal
Parks
and
Aquariums
(of
which
SeaWorld
is
a
member)
have
established

guidelines
for
the
minimum
space
allotment
suitable
for
cetaceans.
While
it
will
likely

never
be
possible
to
replicate
the
open
ocean
environment
frequented
by
wild
pilot

whales,
significant
strides
have
been
made
in
Bubbles’
lifetime
with
regard
to
the
best

practices
of
cetacean
housing.

11

Bubbles’
amiability
made
her
a
popular
animal
with
trainers.
One
of
her

contemporaries,
a
male
pilot
whale
named
Bimbo,
became
so
unpredictable
and

aggressive
that
Marineland
had
little
choice
but
to
release
him
back
into
the
wild
(one
of

very
few
successful
releases)
after
staff
veterinarians
diagnosed
him
with
manic

depressive
psychosis
in
1967
–
a
considerable
leap
in
scientific
understanding
of
animal

brain
function.
Bubbles,
on
the
other
hand,
was
remarkably
docile,
even
sharing
screen

time
with
Lloyd
Bridges
during
a
1958
episode
of
Sea
Hunt.
Her
gentle
reputation

followed
her
to
SeaWorld
San
Diego,
where
she
has
lived
since
1987
and
earned
the

nickname
of
“SeaWorld’s
Grande
Dame.”

Bill
Winhall
is
now
an
assistant
curator
at
SeaWorld
San
Diego
and
was
one
of

Bubbles’
early
trainers
at
Marineland.
Winhall
believes
Bubbles
played
a
key
role
in

determining
the
course
of
captive
cetaceans
through
the
20
th

century.

“So
much
of
what
we
do
at
SeaWorld
today
was
learned
in
those
early
days,”

Winhall
said.

Dr.
Tom
Reidarson,
a
senior
veterinarian
at
SeaWorld,
agrees
that
Bubbles
has

had
an
impact
on
millions
of
people
who
likely
otherwise
would
never
see
a
pilot
whale

–
including
himself.

“As
a
child,
I
visited
Bubbles
at
Marineland
and
she
was
my
favorite
animal.
I

can’t
tell
you
how
excited
I
was
to
become
her
veterinarian
when
I
joined
SeaWorld
in

1991,”
Reidarson
said.

12

Bubbles
is
joined
in
her
ambassadorship
and
tenure
by
Corky,
another
former

resident
of
Marineland
of
the
Pacific.
Captured
in
Pender
Harbor,
Washington
in
1969,

Corky
is
one
of
the
last
orcas
caught
in
American
waters,
as
a
1972
congressional
ban

ended
the
practice.
She
was
intended
as
a
mate
to
Orky,
a
male
captured
a
few
years

earlier,
and
birthed
six
calves,
none
of
whom
survived
more
than
two
months.
However,

the
pair’s
ability
to
conceive
was
unique
and,
at
the
time
of
the
1987
purchase
of

Marineland
by
SeaWorld’s
parent
company,
the
insurance
policy
taken
out
on
Orky
and

Corky
was
the
largest
ever
for
an
animal:
over
$1
million.
Many
parts
of
Corky’s
life
–

her
secretive
transfer
from
Los
Angeles
to
San
Diego
in
particular
–
are
symbols
of
the

rise
of
the
marine
park
as
big
business.

By
1987,
SeaWorld
had
surpassed
Marineland
as
the
dominant
franchise
in

marine
parks.
As
SeaWorld
surged
under
the
ownership
of
publisher
Harcourt
Brace

Jovanovich,
the
parks’
management
recognized
the
chance
to
acquire
Marineland’s
live

stock
as
an
opportunity
to
boost
their
own
populations’
gene
pools
–
particularly
in
the

orca
department.
Capturing
orcas
in
North
American
waters
was
forbidden,
Icelandic

captures
were
prohibitively
costly
and
controversial,
and
captive
breeding
was
an

unproven
method
that
did
nothing
to
advance
genetic
diversity.
At
the
time,
the
only

realistic
option
was
to
find
orcas
already
in
captivity
and
find
a
way
to
bring
them
into

the
fold.

The
deal
to
purchase
Marineland
of
the
Pacific
was
purposely
obscured.
The
sale

was
not
immediately
publicized
to
Marineland
employees,
who
became
suspicious
only

13

after
it
was
reported
that
Winston,
the
only
proven
breeding
male
orca
in
captivity

besides
Orky,
had
died
at
SeaWorld
Orlando.
Previous
overtures
from
SeaWorld
to

purchase
Orky
and
Corky
for
up
to
a
million
dollars
apiece
had
been
rebuffed
by

Marineland,
but
Winston’s
death
made
the
situation
more
urgent
for
SeaWorld’s
top

zoological
staff.
On
December
30,
1987,
HBJ
agreed
to
pay
$23.4
million
for
the
entire

park
and
informed
Marineland
staff
that
the
park
would
remain
open
and
that
Orky
and

Corky
would
remain
there.
The
two
orcas
were
transferred
to
SeaWorld
San
Diego
on

January
19,
1988
at
midnight.
HBJ
placed
all
employees
under
gag
order,
with

termination
the
threatened
punishment
for
talking
to
reporters
about
the
transfer.

Marineland
of
the
Pacific
was
a
major
tourist
attraction
that
generated
tens
of

thousands
of
dollars
annually
in
taxes
alone
for
the
Rancho
Palos
Verdes
community.

The
Rancho
Palos
Verdes
government
attempted
to
confront
HBJ
about
the
sudden

change
of
plans
and
tried
to
enforce
regulations
that
would
require
HBJ
to
tear
down

and
redevelop
the
Marineland
property.
HBJ
cited
the
need
to
house
Orky
and
Corky
in

larger,
more
modern
facilities
that
Marineland
couldn’t
offer
and
would
need
a
50%

increase
in
attendance
to
construct;
it
wasn’t
economically
feasible
or
humane
to
keep

orcas
in
both
locations.
HBJ
closed
the
park
February
11,
1988
and
sold
the
property
the

next
month
to
avoid
negotiating
with
the
city
or
county
governments.
Orky
sired
two

surviving
calves
and
died
in
1988
after
20
years
in
captivity.

Corky,
however,
remains
alive
and
well
as
the
oldest
orca
in
captivity
at

approximately
45
years
of
age.
While
she
has
not
inspired
corporate
raiders
or
landmark

14

insurance
policies
of
late,
she
continues
to
be
one
of
SeaWorld’s
most
valuable

specimens.
Due
to
her
stable
demeanor
and
spotless
record,
Corky
is
the
go-‐to
animal

for
new
orca
trainers
starting
to
work
with
the
whales.
She
has
never
had
a
calf
live

longer
than
two
months,
but
has
been
pressed
into
surrogate
service
by
trainers
after

other
females
died
while
still
tending
young
calves.

Long-‐lived
animals
like
Corky
and
Bubbles
could
be
considered
success
stories
in

the
world
of
cetacean
captivity.
While
such
examples
are
a
minority
of
the
population,

whalekeeping
is
still
in
its
relative
infancy
as
both
a
practice
and
an
industry.
Corky
and

Bubbles
have
witnessed
every
improvement
of
the
modern
era
and
are
living
resources

in
the
ongoing
process
of
prolonging
and
improving
the
lives
of
all
captive
cetaceans.

15

III.
Tilikum

“The
ribs
and
terrors
in
the
whale
arched
over
me
a
dismal
gloom”

-‐ Father
Mapple,
Moby-‐Dick;
or,
The
Whale
(Herman
Melville)

On
February
24,
2010,
Dawn
Brancheau,
a
40-‐year-‐old
veteran
orca
trainer
at

SeaWorld
Orlando
was
pulled
into
the
water
and
killed
by
the
bull
orca
Tilikum
following

the
show
“Dine
With
Shamu.”
Dine
With
Shamu,
a
popular
attraction
at
SeaWorld,

features
guests
eating
a
banquet-‐style
meal
poolside
while
the
orcas
and
their
trainers

interact.

Following
the
conclusion
of
the
meal,
Brancheau
lay
on
the
slideout
deck
–
a

slightly
submerged
platform
-‐
perpendicular
to
Tilikum,
whom
she
had
had
been
hosing

down
and
running
through
training
exercises.
This
position
was
in
direct
disobedience
of

the
policies
in
Tilikum’s
care
handbook.
Tilikum
grabbed
Brancheau,
pulled
her

underwater,
and
began
swimming
quickly
through
the
pool.
According
to
official

SeaWorld
reports,
Tilikum
seized
her
ponytail,
though
at
least
one
eyewitness
report

and
the
Occupational
Safety
and
Health
Administration
(OSHA)
case
claims
Tilikum

seized
her
arm.
Brancheau’s
colleagues
engaged
in
emergency
procedures
to
no
avail.

By
the
time
Tilikum
was
corralled
into
the
medical
pool
and
lifted
from
the
water,

Brancheau
had
died
of
what
the
county
coroner
would
term
“a
combination
of

traumatic
injury
and
drowning.”

16

The
attack
touched
off
investigations
by
county
police,
OSHA,
and
SeaWorld

officials,
which
resulted
in
drastic
and
fundamental
changes
to
SeaWorld
practices,
chief

among
them
the
suspension
of
getting
into
the
water
with
the
whales.
Pending
the

conclusion
of
the
OSHA
hearing,
this
suspension
could
become
a
permanent
ban
and

force
SeaWorld
to
completely
alter
their
business
model.
In
addition,
the
investigations

have
fueled
ongoing
speculation
into
how
Tilikum’s
history
and
experiences
in
various

captive
settings
may
have
influenced
the
attack
that
killed
Dawn
Brancheau.

Tilikum
is
something
of
a
journeyman
among
performing
whales.
His
imposing

size
provides
considerable
spectacle,
but
his
real
value
to
exhibitors
is
his
virility.
He
has

sired
13
calves,
making
him
the
most
productive
stud
in
the
history
of
captive
orcas.

Captured
off
the
coast
of
Berufjörður,
Iceland
in
1983,
Tilikum
is
believed
to
be
30
years

old.
At
6
tons
and
23
feet
long,
he
also
bears
the
distinction
of
being
the
largest
animal

in
captivity
and
his
unusually
large
pectoral
fins
and
slightly
curled
tail
flukes
make
him

readily
identifiable
among
the
other
Orlando
whales.

For
what
could
be
considered
his
formative
years,
Tilikum
lived
at
Sealand
of
the

Pacific
in
Victoria,
British
Columbia.
The
year
1983
fell
squarely
in
the
dark
ages
of

whalekeeping;
no
best
practices
existed
and
few
people
had
any
idea
how
to
properly

maintain
a
captive
whale.
Per
Sealand
training
protocol,
Tilikum
endured
food

deprivation
in
an
effort
to
encourage
his
obedience.
The
owner
of
Sealand
feared
that

animal-‐rights
activists
would
cut
the
net
that
separated
the
whales
from
open
water
and

so,
every
night,
he
and
his
two
tankmates
were
removed
from
their
sea
pen
and

17

squeezed
into
a
28’
x
28’
x
20’
pool,
where
Tilikum
suffered
bullying
and
injuries
from

the
close
confines
that
left
him
with
permanent
scars.

Sealand
was
also
the
place
where
Tilikum
gained
his
initial
notoriety.
In
1991,

Keltie
Byrne,
a
Sealand
trainer,
slipped
and
fell
into
the
whales’
pool.
This
was
a
novel

experience
for
all
parties,
as
Sealand
strictly
forbade
trainers
from
entering
the
water

with
the
whales.
Byrne’s
coworkers
would
later
describe
the
three
whales
as
“playing

with
her
body”
when
they
began
holding
her
underwater,
resulting
in
her
death.
Tilikum

was
sold
to
SeaWorld
Orlando
a
month
later
at
age
11.

Deemed
too
old,
too
large,
and
potentially
too
dangerous
by
SeaWorld
animal

care
management
to
be
acclimated
to
performing
with
trainers
in
the
water,
a
hallmark

of
SeaWorld
shows,
Tilikum
was
still
considered
a
prize
animal
for
his
value
as
a
breeder

(he
did
often
appear
in
shows
that
did
involve
water
work).
At
SeaWorld,
Tilikum

enjoyed
larger
confines
than
those
at
Sealand,
positive
reinforcement
instead
of
food

deprivation,
and
more
sociable
tankmates.
His
outward
demeanor
was
never
labeled

particularly
threatening
by
trainers;
SeaWorld
Orlando
lead
trainer
Jenny
Mairot
called

him
“the
most
congenial,
easy-‐going,
predictable
whale”
she’d
ever
worked
with
in
her

2011
testimony
during
the
OSHA
investigation.
Regardless,
Tilikum’s
individual
animal

care
manual
is,
at
25
pages,
one
of
the
most
lengthy
and
specific
volumes
in
the

SeaWorld
library.
Of
the
40
trainers
employed
at
SeaWorld
Orlando
in
2010,
only
about

a
dozen
had
clearance
to
interact
with
Tilikum.

18

In
1999,
Tilikum
was
involved
in
a
second
human
fatality.
A
man
named
Daniel

Dukes
hid
in
the
park
after
closing
and
sneaked
into
the
orca
compound,
where
his
body

was
found
draped
over
Tilikum’s
back.
Dukes’
autopsy
confirmed
that
he
died
of
a

combination
of
hypothermia
and
drowning,
though
his
body
bore
puncture
wounds
that

matched
Tilikum’s
teeth.
While
the
interaction
between
Tilikum
and
Dukes
will
never
be

known,
this
incident
only
furthered
suspicions
that
Tilikum
was
capable
of
deliberately

harming
a
person.

Given
Tilikum’s
complicated
relationship
with
humans,
animal
behavior
experts

have
raised
the
question:
could
Tilikum’s
attack
on
Dawn
Brancheau
qualify
as
a

psychotic
episode?
And
what
would
trigger
him
to
act
out
in
this
way?
And
would
it

happen
again?

“If
Tilikum's
case
had
passed
the
desk
of
a
psychiatrist
of
other
mental
health

specialist,
it
would
reveal
that
he
conforms
to
a
diagnosis
of
post-‐traumatic
stress

disorder,”
wrote
Gay
Bradshaw,
psychologist
and
author
of
Elephants
on
the
Edge:
What

Animals
Teach
Us
about
Humanity.

In
an
open
letter
to
SeaWorld,
Bradshaw
cited
Tilikum’s
violent
separation
from

his
family,
unnatural
physical
confinement,
and
participation
in
artificial
insemination

procedures
as
compounding
factors
that
could
have
caused
Tilikum
to
become
mentally

unstable.

Whales’
brains
are
certainly
complex
enough
to
develop
psychoses;
their

intelligence
and
capacity
for
what
could
be
construed
as
emotional
intelligence
are
well-‐
19

documented.
Cetaceans
number
among
the
few
mammals
with
spindle
cells
–
large

neurons
that
allow
for
rapid
communication
across
different
areas
of
the
brain
and
are

associated
with
many
cognitive
abilities
in
humans.
Orcas
in
captivity
and
in
the
wild

have
also
demonstrated
considerable
communication
abilities,
memory,
self-‐awareness,

and
problem-‐solving
skills.

On
the
day
of
the
attack,
Tilikum
had
been
behaving
erratically.
According
to

SeaWorld
reports
released
during
the
investigation,
he
had
refused
to
participate
in
the

preceding
show
that
day
and
even
disobeyed
commands
to
enter
the
main
pool
with

two
female
orcas
that
were
known
to
bully
and
harass
him
(he
endured
a
similar
living

situation
at
his
previous
enclosure
at
Sealand).
SeaWorld
employees
present
during
this

time
believe
the
two
females
may
have
been
emitting
hostile
vocalizations
that
would

have
distressed
Tilikum.

Details
about
the
attack
itself
also
indicate
that
Tilikum
was
acting
deliberately

and
had
some
awareness
of
the
probable
outcome
of
his
aggression.
After
seizing

Brancheau,
the
whale
did
not
release
her
or
toss
her
body
as
has
been
typical
of
other

acts
of
aggression
against
humans
by
captive
orcas.
Instead,
he
immediately
dove
below

the
surface
and
began
swimming
quickly,
ignoring
the
commands
and
diversions
from

Brancheau’s
frantic
colleagues.
Even
when
cornered
and
lifted
from
the
water
in
the

medical
pool,
Tilikum
refused
to
release
Brancheau’s
body
and
had
to
have
to
his
jaws

pried
apart
in
order
to
free
her.
By
then,
he
had
bitten
down
so
forcefully
as
to
sever
her

arm
and
spinal
cord.
This
type
of
bite
is
unlike
typical
orca
hunting
behavior
and
thus

20

could
be
construed
as
an
act
of
rage.

During
the
2011
OSHA
hearing,
SeaWorld
presented
eyewitness
testimony
from

their
employees
and
expert
testimony
by
animal
care
professionals
from
other

institutions
supporting
their
case
that
Tilikum
was
not,
by
nature,
aggressive.
This
is

despite
the
fact
that
the
park’s
animal
care
manual
for
Tilikum
makes
mention
of
his

“aggressive
tendencies”
–
including
the
observation
that
he
quickly
became
frustrated

during
training
exercises
and
had,
in
the
past,
lunged
at
trainers.

In
order
to
determine
whether
Tilikum,
or
any
orca,
has
the
capacity
to

consciously
kill
out
of
anger,
animal
behaviorists
first
would
have
to
establish
cognitive

abilities
in
the
whales,
including
not
just
intelligence,
but
an
emotional
spectrum,
the

cognition
and
decision-‐making
abilities
to
express
emotion,
and
the
foresight
to

understand
their
choice
to
express.
Thomas
White,
a
philosophy
professor
at
Loyola

Marymount
University
who
has
studied
intelligence
and
the
brain,
believes
that
the

cetacean
mind
does
have
these
characteristics.

“They
are
alive,
aware
of
their
environment,
have
emotions,
have
distinct

personalities,
exhibit
self
control,
and
treat
others
with
respect
or
ethical

consideration,”
said
White.
Respect
and
ethical
consideration
aside
(the
debate
on

animal
morality
is
even
murkier
than
that
on
animal
intelligence),
White’s
idea
of
self

control
is
evident
in
Tilikum.
He
patiently
picked
his
moment
with
Brancheau
and
then

exercised
maximum
violence
in
his
method.
In
other
words,
Tilikum’s
actions
represent

a
conscious
decision
that
extends
beyond
the
‘hard-‐wired’
component
of
an
animal

21

brain.
The
abnormality
of
his
behavior,
which
was
no
doubt
influenced
by
a
traumatic

past,
indicates
that
Tilikum
is
indeed
suffering
from
psychosis.

The
implications
of
keeping
a
potentially
psychotic
animal
like
Tilikum
in
captivity

are
profound.
Logistics
of
containment
alone
are
mind-‐boggling.
The
cost
and
extent
of

the
facilities
required
to
safely
and
humanely
maintain
and
handle
a
known
psychopath

have
already
proved
burdensome
to
SeaWorld
Orlando
and,
pending
the
final
decision

of
the
2012
OSHA
hearing,
could
become
more
so.
Certainly,
the
possibility
exists
that

other
and
future
captive
cetaceans
will
show
signs
of
mental
instability.
But
simply

separating
the
whales
from
their
keepers
isn’t
a
feasible
option.

Human
contact
is
essential
for
the
medical
care
of
captive
orcas.
Tilikum,
like

many
of
his
peers,
has
a
mouth
full
of
broken
and
drilled-‐out
teeth
as
a
result
of
a

lifetime
in
captivity.
As
a
result
of
stress
or
boredom,
captive
orcas
routinely
grind,
snap,

and
break
their
teeth
on
the
steel
gates
and
concrete
walls
separating
their
pools.
This

condition
requires
regular
cleaning
by
his
trainers
and
is
just
one
part
of
his
routine

physical
exams
designed
by
the
park’s
animal
care
experts
to
ensure
that
medical
issues

are
identified
and
treated
as
early
as
possible.
Further,
seven
of
Tilikum’s
offspring
are

the
result
of
artificial
insemination
–
a
procedure
even
more
intimate
than
teeth

cleaning
and
one
that
is
tremendously
valuable
to
SeaWorld’s
animal
collection
and

requires
significant
human
contact.

Tilikum’s
story
should
be
interpreted
as
a
cautionary
tale.
His
debilitated
mental

state
and
the
suffering
he
has
endured
therein
are
tragedies,
though
sadly
inevitable

22

ones.
Tilikum’s
virility
has
helped
ensure
that
parks
no
longer
have
a
reason
to
capture

wild
orcas.
His
mere
presence
has
provided
immeasurable
inspiration
to
park
visitors

who
might
otherwise
never
see
an
orca
or
understand
why
we
need
to
protect
wild

populations.
Similarly,
Tilikum
and
his
calves
generate
millions
in
revenue
that

contributes
to
SeaWorld’s
internationally
lauded
conservation
initiatives.
With
the

signature
attraction
of
trainers
swimming
with
whales
in
legal
jeopardy,
SeaWorld’s

instinct
to
guard
the
bottom
line
is
stronger
than
ever.

There
have
been
obvious
advances
in
the
wellbeing
of
captive
whales
since

Tilikum’s
capture.
However,
the
current
situation
for
these
animals
invites
psychotic
acts

and
must
be
improved.
Future
orca
keepers
need
to
be
mindful
of
the
threat
of

psychoses
in
their
charges.
In
order
to
continue
the
valuable
practice
of
exhibiting
these

animals,
their
mental
health
must
become
a
top
priority
and
a
staple
of
animal
care
best

practices
at
SeaWorld
and
all
institutions
that
exhibit
orcas.

23

IV.
JJ

“We
owe
it
to
our
children
to
be
better
stewards
of
the
environment.
The
alternative?
-‐
a

world
without
whales.
It's
too
terrible
to
imagine.”

- Pierce
Brosnan

In
1971,
a
team
from
SeaWorld
San
Diego
traveled
to
Scammon’s
Lagoon,
a
gray

whale
calving
ground
near
Baja
California,
in
order
to
capture
a
viable
gray
whale
calf

for
captive
observation.
They
had
attempted
this
feat
once
before,
unsuccessfully,
in

1965.

The
team
was
able
to
lasso
the
tail
of
an
18-‐foot
calf,
approximately
two
months

old,
and
tow
it
onto
a
gurney
that
could
be
lifted
on
deck.
In
a
heartbreaking
display
of

devotion,
the
calf’s
mother
repeatedly
attacked
the
capture
ship
while
the
calf
pitifully

cried
out
for
help.
Eventually,
the
calf
was
secured,
christened
GG
(an
abbreviation
of

Gray
Girl),
and
placed
in
a
50-‐foot
tank
where
she
had
to
be
force-‐fed
after
a
two-‐week

hunger
strike.

In
retrospect,
this
episode
seems
barbaric.
GG
must
have
thought
so
too,
judging

from
her
initial
stubbornness
toward
food
and
aggression
toward
her
keepers.
However,

she
came
around
quickly
thanks
to
the
ministrations
of
her
head
keeper,
Bud
Donahoo.

Donahoo
observed
that
GG
rushed
to
him
when
she
saw
him
using
a
hose
and
soon

discovered
that
she
enjoyed
being
sprayed
down
and
petted.
Eventually,
GG
was

performing
simple
commands
similar,
leading
Donahoo
to
write
in
his
keeper’s
log
“I

24

believe
that
this
animal
can
be
communicated
with
by
sound.”
In
1971,
whales’

enormous
auditory
capabilities
were
poorly
understood,
making
this
observation
all
the

more
remarkable
and
the
fact
that
SeaWorld
biologists
ignored
it
all
the
more

boneheaded.

GG
began
sucking
fish
and
squid
off
the
floor
of
her
tank,
a
behavior
similar
to

wild
gray
whales’
feeding
behavior.
Her
growth
was
meticulously
documented:
length,

weight,
respiration,
heart
rate,
blood
samples,
appetites,
and
fecal
samples
were
all

logged.
Soon,
it
became
apparent
that
GG
was
becoming
too
large
to
remain
in

captivity,
so
she
was
fitted
with
a
radio
transmitter,
brought
to
the
gray
whale
migration

route
off
the
California
coast,
and
released.
She
emitted
1300
echolocation
clicks
in
4

minutes,
a
noise
she
never
used
in
captivity,
and
swam
away.
GG
was
sighted
many

times
throughout
the
1970s,
including
once
with
a
calf
of
her
own.

While
GG
may
have
been
an
unwilling
participant
in
this
experiment,
her
legacy

would
come
into
play
in
1997
when
a
gray
whale
calf
only
a
few
days
old
was
found

dehydrated,
abandoned,
and
nearly
comatose
off
the
coast
of
Marina
del
Rey,

California.
The
calf
was
taken
to
SeaWorld
San
Diego
and
GG’s
records
were
cracked

open
to
determine
the
best
course
of
food,
fluids,
and
antibiotics
to
give
the
calf.
Dr.
Jim

McBain,
SeaWorld’s
corporate
director
of
veterinary
medicine,
assessed
the
situation

grimly:
“The
prognosis
for
a
full
recovery
was
no
better
than
poor.”

But
McBain
and
the
other
veterinarians
weren’t
flying
blind.
Instead
of
having
to

waste
time
experimenting
with
different
treatments,
their
experience
with
GG
could
be

25

adapted
for
the
calf,
who
had
come
to
be
called
JJ
(in
honor
of
Judi
Jones,
director
of

operations
of
Friends
of
the
Sea
Lion
Marine
Mammal
Center
in
Laguna
Beach).

Fourteen
months
after
he
was
found,
JJ
was
released
into
the
ocean
in
perfect
health.

GG’s
talkative
nature
had
become
more
fully
understood
by
this
time,
so
calls
of

California
gray
whales
were
played
to
JJ,
in
the
hope
that
he
would
be
able
to
recognize

the
sounds
and
understand
how
to
communicate
with
his
wild
peers
upon
re-‐release.

These
efforts
must
have
been
at
least
partially
successful,
as
JJ
was
later
sighted
in
the

company
of
a
pod
of
gray
whales.

The
cases
of
GG
and
JJ
are
emblematic
of
the
most
important
mission
of

cetacean
captivity.
Beyond
simply
generating
public
awareness
and
concern
as

ambassadors
of
their
species,
captive
cetaceans
are
vital
to
providing
scientific
data

regarding
their
anatomy,
physiology,
and
habits.
This
information
can
then
in
turn
be

used
to
benefit
a
host
of
animals
in
need.
SeaWorld’s
rehabilitation
efforts
have
treated

and
successfully
re-‐released
literally
thousands
of
animals
(last
year,
SeaWorld
Orlando

celebrated
the
release
of
their
thousandth
sea
turtle),
including
seventeen
different

species
of
cetacean.
Data
collected
from
the
captive
individuals
at
marine
parks
and

aquariums
is
an
invaluable
resource
in
these
efforts.

Until
the
mid-‐20
th

century,
this
sort
of
data
was
acquired
only
by
studying

carcasses
from
commercial
whaling
operations.
Humans
functioned
as
cetaceans’
only

real
predator
until
public
opinion
and
fossil
fuel
use
curtailed
American
whaling
(a
few

nations
retain
active
whaling
fleets).
The
government
followed
suit
in
1972
with
the

26

Marine
Mammal
Protection
Act,
which
essentially
prohibited
contact
with
wild

cetaceans
and
halted
all
live
captures
in
American
waters.

In
addition
to
the
scientific
contributions
they
have
provided,
captive
cetaceans

are
also
the
main
source
of
the
financial
support
for
rehabilitative
work
of
all
species

handled
by
the
parks.
The
exhibition
of
cetaceans
is
a
major
revenue
source;
SeaWorld

executives
estimate
that
orcas
generate
70%
of
gate
receipts.
The
facilities
and

personnel
required
for
large-‐scale
wildlife
rehabilitation
are
discouragingly
expensive,

which
makes
the
continued
existence
of
programs
like
the
one
at
SeaWorld
essential
in

order
to
respond
to
disaster
situations.
Following
the
Deepwater
Horizon
explosion
in

April
2010,
SeaWorld
Orlando
personnel
were
able
to
treat
and
release
nearly
200
sea

birds
and
nearly
100
sea
turtles
stranded
around
the
Gulf
of
Mexico.

For
other
vulnerable
species,
such
as
manatees,
SeaWorld
is
one
of
only
a
few

organizations
with
the
financial
resources
necessary
to
establish
a
permanent
functional

system
to
rescue
and
release
orphaned
and
injured
animals.
In
the
case
of
particularly

large
animals,
such
as
the
5,000-‐pound
Bryde’s
whale
found
stranded
at
Clearwater,

Florida
in
1989,
SeaWorld
is
the
only
organization
with
the
physical
capacity
to

accommodate
them.

Many
proponents
of
cetacean
captivity
also
point
to
the
idea
of
public
access

and
public
awareness
of
cetaceans
generating
interest
in
conserving
wild
populations
of

these
animals.
Dr.
Gwen
Goodmanlowe,
a
professor
of
marine
biology
at
CSU-‐Long

Beach
and
self-‐described
opponent
of
captivity,
admits
that
increased
public
interest

27

could
be
a
side
effect
of
keeping
cetaceans.

“There’s
some
merit
to
that
argument.
I
don’t
agree
with
the
practice,
but

people
who
have
seen
the
whales
at
SeaWorld
do
seem
more
interested
in
whales
as
a

whole,”
Goodmanlowe
said.

Goodmanlowe
also
said
that
alternatives
to
captivity
aren’t
a
perfect
solution,

either,
and
that
human-‐cetacean
relations
might
remain
strained
for
a
long
time
to

come.
“One
alternative
could
be
ecotourism,
whale
watches
and
things
like
that.
But

there’s
problems
with
the
impact
on
those
animals
too.
I
don’t
see
how
keeping
whales

in
captivity
will
ever
come
to
an
end.
The
best
we
can
do
is
make
it
better
for
the

animals
there
now.”

While
the
lives
of
individual
captive
cetaceans
are,
ultimately,
compromised
to

some
degree,
their
impact
is
much
greater
than
the
experience
of
each
lone
animal.

Quality-‐of-‐life
issues
must
continue
to
be
addressed
and
improved
for
these
animals,

but
knee-‐jerk
reactions
demanding
the
end
of
cetacean
captivity
and
failing
to
consider

the
entire
equation
do
more
harm
than
good.
Given
the
improvements
in
cetacean
care

since
the
1960s,
the
educational,
scientific,
and
rehabilitative
benefits
of
cetacean

captivity
are
key
justifications
for
the
continued
practice
of
cetacean
captivity.

Abstract (if available)

Abstract The human relationship with cetaceans has been tenuously respectful at best and devastatingly destructive at worst. Starting with Barnum’s American Museum in New York City, human entrepreneurs and naturalists have attempted, with varying degrees of success, to keep cetaceans alive in captivity for study and public viewing. As the knowledge base grew, questions arose over whether captivity is appropriate for large, highly intelligent marine mammals and, if so, what ethical treatment of the creatures entails. ❧ The conversation on this subject has become a matter for public discourse

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