Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  Initially disoriented by the heightened state of anxiety, Keiko largely ignored the first attempts at recall. However, shortly after his breakthrough and during continuous and repeated recalls, Keiko finally found his way clear of the ice. He did not escape the chance encounter unscathed. In fact, the skin on Keiko’s back spanning from the top of his rostrum to just forward of his dorsal was devastated. Bloody patches revealed areas where his outer dermal layers were completely flensed or stripped by his frightened and desperate beating against the thicker, jagged ice layer.

  Keiko, a sprite twenty-seven years of age, looked as if a ragged ancient beast of an animal, his scars and wounds angrily covering the majority of his head and back. So cracked was the once mirror black surface of his skin that it appeared as if a pot left to burn on the stove, the contents dry and flaking from the bottom. Witness to such external damage was sickening, though little actual threat was posed by the physical injury itself. While wounds of this nature can become infected and abscessed, the clean waters of the Norwegian bay discouraged such complications. Even so, in the days following the episode the staff applied preventative cleansing to forestall the risk of infection.

  Considerably more foreboding was the impetus for the behavior. This delicate component, the invisible source of neurosis, was by and large overlooked; or as likely, regarded as a random accidental occurrence having no actuarial relation to Keiko’s concealed state of distress. At the heart of the coping behavior that painted Keiko’s back in red lurked an underlying frustration worn so deep that yet even more severe ailments were slowly taking irreversible hold, manifesting themselves within.

  Inward Appearances

  Pressing on, the mission guiding the release team did not deviate from the overbearing aim of freedom at all costs. In many ways, assurance of his eventual freedom became hardened by the tale of Keiko’s Atlantic crossing. Retold in growing legend, the fateful three weeks at sea became like folklore in the halls of HSUS. Surely he had proven his ability to adapt on his own, to survive. The idea became indisputable; an insistence. Far removed from the ambitions or aspirations of his human caretakers, Keiko languished. Though he would venture from the limited scope of their observations at night, he remained ever faithful in his return, forever wanting of their attentions.

  Under the guise of the protracted release plan, Keiko’s food was regarded as supplementary. A stubborn continuation of the earlier season among the walk formation, they either believed or hoped that their charge was actively foraging. Somewhere, somehow and beyond their sight, possibly in the night. They fantasized that he was finding nourishment of his own accord. They did not feed him much from their hand.

  Imposed by their design, the idea constituted the extent of sophistication in the revised release strategy. They theorized that hunger would motivate his interest in venturing out, finding his own nourishment or perhaps even engaging wild whales in pursuit of food. Upon this logical deduction they gambled everything. In stark contrast, Keiko remained in Taknes, unfaltering, never refusing the meager offerings of his overseers.

  His behavior belied their dangerous calculation. Wearing onward toward spring, when not otherwise directed under escort of boat or human affections, Keiko merely floated about Taknes Bay. At times, hours in the shadow of contact from his chosen family, he returned to the violent thrashing behavior witnessed early in his Icelandic indoctrination.

  To Keiko, the new world defied recognition. In a moment, he was bathed in playful love. In another moment he was left to his own devices, unpredictable spans of time between. He waited. Always he waited. Eventually they would again acknowledge his presence. In time, they would return. They always returned. He listened. He would meet them at the dock or hear the wanting sound of the small boat being boarded. Maybe he would follow the boat on an adventure. Maybe he would carry them on his back about the bay. He didn’t know what would come. He waited. Hunger kept him company. He was always hungry. Tired. Eternally tired.

  Summer 2003 bathed the bay in immaculate beauty. Mountains speckled with new growth and a returning vibrancy granted a warming backdrop from the hilltop view over Taknes. Brilliant green grass carpeted the span between the crew dwelling and the immense bay beyond. Life renewed lent an air of optimism to those that would accept it.

  Not all did.

  Heavier thoughts distanced an otherwise carefree beauty of the northern land. Keiko did not look well. Though he conceded to whatever was asked of him and reliably returned the affections of his trainers, he did very little else but rest, stilled at the surface. Day in and day out, he remained inert, scarcely casting a ripple across the glassy surface surrounding him. Keiko, his choice and his needs, were buried under the wreckage created at the convergence of agenda, negligence and ineptitude.

  Free

  November 2003. Metabolically Keiko’s body deteriorated. So long had he been minimally nourished, his once abundant stores were now hopelessly depleted. Lacking any other source of fuel, his system had turned on itself, extracting what little energy he had left from his own tissue. Remiss of the life-giving water contained in his fish, chronic dehydration had long ago set to purpose wreaking havoc on his vital organs. His old familiar enemy found a home in his lungs and flourished against a vastly weakened immune system. Outwardly, his great size and blanket of blubber subverted attention from the struggle within.

  Grasping at his second December in Norway, Keiko spent his time mostly alone in the still waters of the bay. On the human calendar it was Thursday, December 12, 2003; in many ways an idle Thursday. Only Dane and Tobba remained. They were wary.

  The two recognized a sharp decline in Keiko’s behavior. What before went undetected, hidden by size and the survival’s clever guise, became evident seemingly at once. Even in this late hour, his condition was not revealed on physical merit, but what they could observe was not the Keiko they had known. It was enough to stir them to action.

  Absent means of any other form of intervention, they stuffed what antibiotics they had on hand into the scant few fish that Keiko would take. But the ailment was too deeply rooted. Worse, Keiko’s system was beyond its ability to make use of the artificial support. They might as well have attempted to douse a forest fire with a garden hose. Ostensibly, the staff had done all they could. Evening set upon them. Tomorrow they would continue with more medication.

  During the night, Keiko’s strength to stay upright and near the surface drained from his body. No longer able to support himself at the surface, he dropped slowly to the darkening depths, finally coming to rest, his massive pecs gently propped on the sea floor. Absolute silence surrounded him. As the cold stark deadness of night turned toward the life of day, his life emptied from his body. Once a great and mighty animal, forceful of breath, his last feeble exhale came unanswered by the all-familiar inhale. At this, the end of his long sojourn to freedom, apart from both human or whale, Keiko died.

  “Keiko,” his given name, means “Lucky one.”

  Echoes

  December 14, 2003, Robin and I were traveling together to South Florida. As we often did in our makeshift mobile office we talked ad nauseam dissecting e-mails, planning responses and discussing the lofty goals of our business. In the four-hour drive we each became captive audience to the other’s every thought. We raised our voices in the sharing of ideas amid the drowning bass drum of the big diesel engine pushing us down the turnpike at seventy miles per hour.

  Lost in forming the next series of thoughts, I was scarcely aware that Robin picked up his PalmPilot and checked for new messages. He looked at it only briefly in the respite from conversation, then held the device in his wheel hand for a time, staring at the road ahead. The latency of his reaction and the drawn-out pause caught my attention. A heavy change in atmosphere within the broad cab of the F350 was palpable. Something’s wrong at home I thought. Without a word, without even looking in my direction, he handed me the Palm. The message was still there on the small screen. Once sentence. “Keiko died in
Norway.” The message had come from a longtime friend and colleague.

  Emotional investment in an animal is an extraordinary thing. When that relationship is forged in the course of supremely challenging circumstances, an entirely new level of bond can be experienced. If it’s true that learning that takes place during traumatic episodes becomes all-but hardwired into our psyche, then I have to believe that what we retain from experiences during our most devoted acts must wield a vastly higher order of permanence. I had never freed myself from Keiko’s plight. On occasion when the topic entered conversation among colleagues, I would spend several subsequent nights involuntarily grinding my teeth in my sleep.

  We, along with other members of the Icelandic team, were well aware of what faced Keiko in Taknes Bay. Every attempt HSUS and FWKF made to contain damaging facts from the public or even private domain was wasted effort. The community of marine mammal professionals is considerably small and fiercely loyal in the care of mutual subjects. Through informal communication within that circle we knew full well that Keiko was destined for a life in human care. By the actions taken over the last year in particular, we also knew that Keiko was hopelessly lost. The news did not come as a surprise, yet it shook us to our core just the same.

  Months earlier, dreading exactly the outcome which now glowed on Robin’s phone, we sent a formal proposal to the Norwegian government outlining the means by which Keiko could remain in the ocean for the rest of his natural life. He would receive the sustenance and human care he so clearly needed. But the plan had surely fallen on deaf ears. It did not succeed in gaining the right audience. Weighing heavily in the snubbing, we suspected that HSUS was so firmly rooted in the political scene in Norway that our attempts at intervention likely never saw the light of day.

  These thoughts did nothing but compound the silence that permeated the cab of Robin’s truck. For more than two and a half hours, neither of us spoke. For the longest time, I couldn’t look over at Robin, convinced it would crack my stoic hold over the turmoil I locked inside. We had put everything we had and everything we were into Keiko. Meticulously erecting and then dismantling and dissecting every step of the rehabilitation. We framed what had been Keiko’s best chance at freedom. Though we struggled at times, the foursome of Robin and I, Jeff and Jen were the right mix. Had we had prevailed through the discord, I can be so bold as to say that Keiko would still have been alive.

  Respiratory ailments had long plagued Keiko throughout his time in Iceland. To a person, every soul on the project knew this fact. Had he truly been on his own, he would have died a swift death. That he was pushed beyond all reason and rationale, slowly starved in half-measures, only prolonged his suffering. He died of a very preventable condition. Indeed, the outcome was cultivated through actions imposed by the responsible party ordaining “release at all costs.”

  Worse still, the practices of his caretakers, steeped in ignorance, amassed great confusion in Keiko. They urged him to be free, to seek out a home and family of his own all the while continually welcoming his presence in Taknes Bay. By their misdirection, they persistently injected the abusive turmoil over and over again. Blanketing him in affection and play, they salted the recipe of malnutrition with a neurosis; unseen but evident just the same. In a language and purity only afforded animals, Keiko made his decision. He never strayed from this resolve, demonstrating his choice of human companionship with resounding clarity time and time again.

  The choice was never his in the first place. This truth dominated our thoughts for the rest of that regrettable day and for many weeks and years to come. We had let ourselves believe that ignorance would be outweighed by compassion; that in the end, love of an animal would prevail even against man-made agendas. Literally and symbolically Keiko represented a vast array of personal, social and political ideals spanning both time and geography.

  In life, he was undoubtedly the most famous whale in history. In death, he became the most famous case of animal abuse the world could not yet fathom.

  Author’s Note

  Keiko’s story teaches us that public awareness and value framework for our oceans and its inhabitants can be imposing forces for good. But there is a vastly more meaningful lesson to be learned. When impassioned people wrap themselves so completely in imagination and emotion, but leave knowledge, experience and critical thinking out of the equation, the outcome is almost always plagued with misfortune. Keiko did not die a justified death, nor did he die at a natural age. He was killed.

  The attempt to free Keiko was not an exercise in conservation, it was a reaction born of empathy and derailed by ignorance and agenda. It was not science, it was conscience. This alone is not a tenant of responsible stewardship.

  If we truly accept our role of stewardship, if we recognize that every environment is subject to threat imposed by a century of industrial expansion, we begin to comprehend that a monumental undertaking is bearing down on our time.

  Release is an option. It is but one tool in a vast array of disciplines required in responsible wildlife management and species preservation. Zoological science is another tool, an increasingly vital one.

  Everything I have learned over three decades working in the marine mammal field teaches me there is no separation between zoological and wild as it relates to wildlife management. The two areas of expertise, though seemingly set in opposing plots, are interdependent. Knowledge from each benefits the other. In the modern world, one cannot exist without the other.

  Truly effective conservation is born of prosperity. As individuals, we know this to be true on a personal level. We do not pay heed to the needs of our immediate surroundings when we are unable to put food on our tables or keep roofs over our heads. Corporations are no different in this regard. Neither are NGOs.

  Likewise, it is well-run and prosperous zoological facilities that not only provide the best expertise and environments in the care of their animals, but also contribute greatly toward sustainable conservation work. They do so not only financially, but also through applied expertise, equipment and labor resources. As importantly, they provide a medium for personal contact and exposure to exotic species most of us would never lay eyes upon by other means. This truism is but one portion of the cornerstone in the modern mission of zoos and aquaria.

  As a society, we think symbolically. We find it difficult to explain complex topics such as Christianity, but most understand what is represented by the symbol of a cross. Likewise, individuals don’t easily grasp the importance of an amorphous undertaking, such as marine life conservation. But we understand the likeness of a dolphin or a killer whale. We know that we care about these animals. Collectively, involuntarily, these symbols motivate us to protect these creatures and the environments in which they exist. This we understand clearly, in fact, almost subconsciously.

  The ocean is the earth’s air filter, a massive sponge soaking up the worst of our offenses over a hundred years of industrialization. In the last five to ten years, we’ve only just begun to see the physical symptoms of persistent ocean contaminants on higher order marine predators. Cases of marine mammals dying in the wild are increasing seemingly daily. It is not a symptom exclusive to endangered species; rather, it is inclusive of all species that rely on the ocean as their home. We know we’re in for a fight if we want generations of our grandchildren to know an animal like a killer whale—wild or not.

  Zoological expertise is an asset that belongs to all of us. In the future of marine life conservation we will undoubtedly face many more trials. In that future we must rely on the considerable arsenal of knowledge and experience at our disposal if we are to preserve not only a single animal, but an entire species. If there is any hope of sustaining a species and its habitat, implementing effective preservation, it will be born of the absolute union between zoological and wild animal sciences, not their division, and most certainly not from the exclusion of zoological experience. In many ways, Keiko’s death was the price paid for refusing this important truth.


  Bibliography

  Baldwin, John D. and Janice I. Behavior Principles in Everyday Life. Prentice Hall, 2001.

  Bossart, G. D. “Marine Mammals as Sentinel Species for Oceans and Human Health.” Veterinary Pathology, 2011.

  Bossart, G. D., Cray, C., Solorzano, J. L. Decker, S. J., Cornell, L. H., and Altman, N. H. “Cutaneous papovaviral-like papillomatosis in a killer whale (Orcinus orca). Marine Mammal Sciences 12:274-281, 1996.

  Brill, R. L.; Friedl, W. A. Reintroduction to the Wild as an Option for Managing Navy Marine Mammals. San Diego: Naval Command, Control and Ocean Surveillance Centre/RDTandE Division, 1993.

  Ferrick, D.; Wells, R. “Effects of stress on the dolphin immune system.” University of California, Davis; Chicago Zoological Society, 1993

  Friday, R., Thomas, C., Pearson, J., Peacock, P., Walsh, M. “Appetite Fluctuations in Cetaceans Associated with Non-illness Factors.” IMATA, 1994

  Gales, N. and K. Waples. “The rehabilitation and release of bottle-nose dolphins from Atlantis Marine Park.” Western Australia. Aquatic Mammals, 1993.

  Hoelzel, A. R. and G. A. Dover. “Genetic differentiation between sympatric killer whale populations.” Heredity, 1991.

  Kazdin, A. E. Behavior Modification in Applied Settings (6th ed.). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2001. (Translated into Spanish and Chinese)

  McBain, J.; Smith, A.; Stott, J.; Geracia, J.; Krames, B.; Kohn, B.; Johnson, I.; Ridenour, R. “Summary Report of Evaluation Panel Convened to Assess the Health of Keiko.” 1998