“The Cove” – A Must See
I’m 6—sitting on a concrete bench in the gallery of an amphitheater. The paint on the benches, baked by the California sun and worn by millions of backsides is the palest blue—nearly gray. My 4 year-old sister’s gaze is fixed, her attention riveted—like mine.
In stunning contrast, the crystal blue pool looms below, filled with smiling, dancing creatures that soar into the air, catching and tossing balls to each other and jumping through hoops before plunging down again. They’re playing. I want to play, too. With every splash, a sprinkling cools our sun-flushed faces and we giggle and wish, with all our hearts, we could wrap our arms around the smooth bodies of these mystical creatures.
The year is 1968. We’re watching “Flipper” at Sea World.
Yesterday, I was filled with the same fierce longing—to hold the same creature. Only this pool wasn’t sparkling blue, it was red with blood—theirs.
As I watch, every surge the animal makes skyward from the depths of the lagoon brings with it a new flood of red into the cove. The animal flails, swimming for its life—literally—away from men with spears. He thrashes about and goes under. And he’s gone. There’s nothing I can do for him—nothing anyone can do for him.
Maybe it’s a her…
I think that’s where we go wrong. Somewhere along the way we stopped thinking of dolphins as animals—maybe with their flippers and smooth, limb-free bodies, we never did. But they have keen minds and a self-awareness that rivals our own. That much is clear as you watch them prance before mirrors.
Dolphins actually have a social structure, meaning they have families, and mother dolphins travel in pods together with their children. Males form groups of two or three and stay together for years, and several dolphin pods may swim together as a tribe.
The next scene reminds me of the biblical Nile turned to blood. The dolphins are being massacred by the hundreds… thousands… Their screeches fill me with horror as I imagine mothers and babies watching each other die… murdered. They are aware. And it makes me ashamed to be a human being.
Sad.
The moisture on my face this time is not the splash of cool pool water. But tears won’t take away the agony or fear these warm-blooded animals feel as they thrash about, fighting for their lives. And tears won’t save their babies, their mothers…
But we can.
For my part, I’ll never walk into Sea World again. I’ll never laugh as I watch dolphins perform. I’ll curb the desire to “swim with the dolphins.” If they want us, they know where to find us, and often do. And sometimes just in the knick of time … just before some hungry shark makes a meal of us.
It’s time to set them free.
If you haven’t seen “The Cove” yet, I highly recommend it. But don’t take your young kids. Make sure you have Kleenex handy. And don’t expect to walk out with a smile. But you might just walk out with something else… purpose.
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