Nakai's Death and The Need For Seaside Sanctuaries.

Nakai’s death at Seaworld San Diego and Kohana’s death at Loro Parque mark the 4th and 5th passings of captive orcas in a nearly two-year period. This is greatly discouraging news for the orca-loving community and anyone concerned with marine mammal captivity. At the same time, a decade-long lawsuit involving MarineLand Canada has resulted in the scheduled release of a captive walrus and her offspring. While there are two sanctuaries for formerly-captive cetaceans under development in North America, the timeline of their development causes new worries about the health of potential candidates by the time the facilities are ready. In this article, we will discuss the state of the movement to relocate captive marine mammals to seaside sanctuaries, the hope for the lone orcas at Miami Seaquarium and MarineLand Canada, and my trip to SeaWorld San Diego.

There are two factors at play in the endeavor to provide a seaside sanctuary for captive cetaceans: the time it takes to develop an operational facility, and the lifespan of the captive orcas. In the wild, orcas have comparable lifespans to humans. They have a maximum lifespan estimated to be 60 to 70 years for males and 80 to 90 for females. Orcas at SeaWorld have a total lifespan average of 14 years. The data is complicated by the fact that they have progressively begun to live longer, into their 20s and 30s, as their so-called quality of care increases outside of the era of the 1960s and 1970s. Further complicating things are statistical outliers like Kiska, who is 45 years old, Corky, who is 55 years old, and Tokitae (Lolita), who is 56 years old. In short, we know that orcas in captivity are living on borrowed time, but it is difficult to assess how much time they have.

Nakai, the Orca born to Tilikum and Kasatka on September 1st 2001, died on Thursday, August 4th of this year (2022). While his death is an ineffable and infuriating tragedy, he was only 20 years old, it cannot be said to be unique or especially surprising. Just a little over a year ago on August 19th of 2021, a female Orca Amaya died at SeaWorld San Diego at only 6 years old. A mere 9 days before that, a female Orca Ula died on August 10th in Loro Parque in Spain at 2 years old. A few months before that a female Orca Skyla, Tilikum’s daughter, died in Loro Parque at 16 years old. The most recent death was that of Kohana in Loro Parque on September 14th when she was 20 years old. These orcas died at very young but disparate ages, so it is difficult to know which ones may still be alive and healthy enough for transportation when the facilities are ready.

The hope of some is that Kiska and Tokitae (her stage name is Lolita) would be among the first because they both live in tanks without other orcas. SeaWorld houses orcas in tanks together, which is enough of an ill-advised idea because they each come from different pods and so have different dialects. Even though they’re all orcas, the difference in their sonic dialects means that they don’t communicate well with one another. It is doubtless, however, that this is better than keeping a lone orca in a tank by itself. Kiska, in MarineLand Canada, is entirely alone with absolutely no tank mates (all five of her calves have died). Tokitae has Pacific White-Sided Dolphins in her tank with her, and while this is still cruel it is better than complete isolation. But Tokitae’s situation is distinguished by having the smallest tank in the world (smaller than the legal limit allows, but because of a technicality and lack of oversight it is allowed to stand). There is one major sea sanctuary under construction in Nova Scotia for a multitude of orcas and dolphins, and another under construction in the Salish Sea specifically for Tokitae. Readers may donate to either project by visiting their respective links.

I had the privilege of meeting Nakai, and in light of recent events I would like to discuss my visit to SeaWorld San Diego. I understand that, for many, giving money to a business like SeaWorld is contradictory to the hope that creatures like their captive orcas will one day be released. My goal in going was not to experience a day of pleasure, but to see for my own eyes what the environment was like. Given Nakai’s recent passing and the fact that I was able to meet and observe not only him but many other things about the park, I cannot say that I regret going. That being said, I know many readers will disagree with my decision. With this acknowledgment, I will tell you what I witnessed and what I learned.

Upon entering the park, it reminded me very much of Disneyland. There was happy music playing, park employees scanned guests’ tickets, and there were a variety of merchandise stores and restaurants. Along with my ticket I had procured a close encounter with the orcas, meaning I would be taken directly in front of them to interact with them before their daily performance. I went directly to the orca exhibit even before that scheduled interaction. I will admit that even though I could not support their captivity, I had expected to be thrilled by seeing them for the first time since my new-found love for them. I had expected a possibly emotional experience when I laid eyes on them. When I approached the glass viewing area, however, I found it not emotional but strange. The large orca, Shouka, was gliding around the tank. This struck me as strange. I had read a lot about them and seen many videos of orcas in the wild; they swam, breached, hunted, and played with boundless energy. They never glided, and watching Shouka glide in her tank didn’t feel like watching an orca. Nevermind, this is underwater viewing and the orcas don’t notice me. The close encounter will be better, more inspiring.

When it came time for the private tour, I was led up close to the tank with another duo of guests. In front of us were Shouka and Nakai. Shouka’s energy was playful. Having known her for a few minutes, I could tell she had the personality of a mischievous cat and the trainers confirmed as much. One thing still stood out to me though: I didn’t feel close to her. The glass separating us may as well have been a livestream of New Zealand orcas. They asked me if I wanted to get wet, and if so, how wet. One option was “tidal wave” wet and I chose that one. They sat me down beside the tank and had Shouka splash her tale to push the water over the glass walls. I had researched orcas for a year and a half up to this point and learned quite a bit. Nothing could have prepared me for the force and abundance of water that came my way. I was covered in so much, so quickly, and with such sheer power that I involuntarily stood up and moved away from the tank, absolutely drenched. It may sound silly, but I understood more about the strength of an orca in that moment than I understood in all the scholastic information I had gathered. With that understanding arose an evolution of my comprehension about the inhumanity of cetacean captivity. The orca that was gliding in her tank, that still had immense strength even though she was a shadow of her wild counterpart, must be indescribably uncomfortable in her concrete, metal, and artificial environment.

It is the cruel irony of SeaWorld’s lessons and place in history. The very company that instructed so many people about the beauty and gentility of these creatures delivered their message so convincingly that the public was convinced. They were in fact so convinced that they knew we had no right to keep orcas close to us in this way. If SeaWorld was an instructor that said, “orcas are wonderful creatures that have the capability to interact gently with humans,” then orcs-lovers were the students that replied, “you’re absolutely right, so why are you treating them this way?” Upon interacting with Nakai, I could tell he was much more reserved. I did not know, at the time, that he was Tilikum’s son. I sensed in his energy and eyepatch a familiarity with the notorious orca that I came to understand was a gentle-giant, but not wanting to make a statement that came off as a silly guess, I only asked here where he came from. She replied simply that he was born there in San Diego. Whether she was instructed not to mention Tilikum or was just uniformed I do not know, but such an omission is inexcusable either way. Knowing what I know now, I recognize that his personality was much like his father’s: an apparent laziness that is actually a stifling of his inner energy; an energy stifled by the uncompromising reality of his environment. Having met him only once, I will still miss him. He is one of only two orcas I met directly, and the only one I knew who has since passed.

Nakai’s passing, while strikingly sad, has only reinvigorated my goal to see as many orcas relocated to a seaside sanctuary as possible. Those of us who share this goal want it for any orca healthy enough for transportation, and it is my personal belief that any amount of time they may have outside of a tank would be better than them dying in a tank. I have a few skeptics remark that American law forbids it, citing Title IV Section 402 (a) of the Marine Mammal Protection act. I’m not sure how widespread this view is, but to be clear that section reads as follows,

“DETERMINATION FOR RELEASE. — The Secretary shall, in consultation with the Secretary of the Interior, the Marine Mammal Commission, and individuals with knowledge and experience in marine science, marine mammal science, marine mammal veterinary and husbandry practices, and marine conservation, including stranding network participants, develop objective criteria, after an opportunity for public review and comment, to provide guidance for determining at what point a rehabilitated marine mammal is releasable to the wild.”

In other words, there is a process for relocating captive animals into the wild. This process takes time and money, but SeaWorld Entertainment makes $1.5 billion annually, Miami Seaquarium makes $42.2 million annually, and MarineLand Canada (even though it is hemorrhaging money with a 12% reduction in employees) makes $15 million annually. These companies built their businesses off the backs of orcas and they have the funding needed to relocate them.

With Phil Demers’ successful decade-long lawsuit that resulted in a negotiated settlement for the relocation of two walruses owned by MarineLand Canada, I have renewed hope for getting this done for orcas. Tokitae, the orca at Miami Seaquarium who was kidnapped from her home waters of the Salish Sea off the coast of Washington state, is on my mind, without fail, every day. Her name is seared on my heart, and the movement to free her is strong. While a lot of progress has been made in her story, a recent video of her listing in her tank indicates that she is not much happier and her veterinary health reports indicate that she may not have a great deal of time left if she stays in captivity. Captivity wears on the mental health of all cetaceans and adds to their medical complications. But we choose faith over fear. She needs to be moved, and soon. And to Nakai I say, I am so sorry my dear friend, I am so very sorry. May you, immortal warrior of the sea, rest in peace.