extensive monitoring equipment, and especially,
the financial commitment to bring it all together for as long as it would take. (The
pen itself was a temporary housing site intended to acclimate Keiko to the varying
temperatures, sounds and currents of the natural seawater and open environment.) The
only thing the Keiko project team lacked was the experience to create and carry out
a reintroduction plan that placed an intense focus on Keiko’s learning history. Sleep
never came that night; my mind went on autopilot, already hard at work on the prospect.
Following a week of debate on the issues surrounding the infamous release, Robin and
I agreed that he should at least visit the project and find out more. By mid-February
1999, he accepted the invitation. The Free Willy/Keiko Foundation (FWKF) flew Robin
to Iceland to meet with project leads, evaluate Keiko and the people closest to the
reintroduction effort, and learn as much about the project and the people as seven
short days would allow.
Testing the Waters
Our primary concern at that time was deciphering the organization in charge. In other
words, who was “behind the curtain,” and what were the stated and unstated motives?
We needed to know that life and death decisions would be made with Keiko’s best interests
at heart, even if those decisions eventually conflicted with what the organization
had sold to the public. Like any undertaking that costsmoney, raising it requires a clear goal, marketing and a return on investment. This
project was funded by private wealth and children’s piggy banks from across America
and Europe.
We knew quite clearly what the public and private donors had been spoon-fed, which
was nothing short of a convoluted Hollywood version of life. We knew promises had
been made and reputations were on the line. What we didn’t know was how the people
at the helm would respond if Keiko didn’t make the cut. After all, the movie
Free Willy
convinced the world that releasing a whale was as easy as plopping it in the open
ocean.
Robin and I understood rather well who some of the more colorful characters were on
the project’s board of directors. These were the quintessential antagonistic animal-rights
activists that were famous for shockingly crass and ignorant statements, even outright
lies, about zoos, animals and individuals. By their actions or their words, these
were not rational people; nor did they advocate moderation or collaboration. Their
ilk were notorious for statements such as, “The life of an ant and that of my child
should be granted equal consideration,” and, “Phasing out the human race will solve
every problem on earth, social and environmental.”
These specific groups that had come to manage Keiko’s release represented the antithesis
of the zoological community. It was clear that association with this project would
constitute a defection from many respected relationships in our profession. Still,
we had vowed to cross these boundaries, not to employ the same tired and hostile political
strategies in dealing with them, nor allow such barriers to prevail at the expense
of an animal we had the opportunity to help. Throughout Robin’s first visit and our
distanced communication, we toiled with the makeup of the organizations behind the
project, but our exchange always gravitated toward a solution. Even if neither of
us would outright admit it yet, we both wanted to tackle the challenges facing this
project.
At the heart of the issue, Robin and I felt we were different. We thought, perhaps
foolishly and maybe idealistically, that we couldbe collaborative. To some degree we welcomed the challenge to educate and hopefully
bridge the gap in philosophies that had created the Keiko Release Project.
Above all else, our primary concern was that Keiko’s best interest would be the priority.
Assuming a focus on Keiko and his needs could be verified
Douglas E. Schoen, Melik Kaylan