KATE RIKERMANN
New
It's been nearly four decades since Lolita the killer whale was snatched from her family in the waters of Puget Sound. Now activists want to bring her home.
For more than a decade, Howard Garrett has worked tirelessly out of his home on Whidbey Island, Wash., to return an orca whale named Lolita to her native waters. In 1995--inspired by the campaign to release Keiko, the "Free Willy" whale--he teamed with local politicians, offering the Florida aquarium where Lolita works a million dollars to reunite her with the pod of whales she grew up with, off the coast of Washington state. In 1997, he spent two years in Miami--unpaid--working to garner public attention for Lolita's cause; after nearly four decades in captivity, she's served her time, Garrett believes. Every year since then, his organization, the nonprofit advocacy group Orca Network, has held a beachside commemoration of the day Lolita was plucked from her family in the icy waters of Puget Sound.
But 12 years is a long time for anyone to stay committed--even in the Pacific Northwest, where the orca is treated as an icon. "There have been times I've wanted to give up," Garrett says. "Everyone keeps telling us it's hopeless, and even when there's a surge of enthusiasm, eventually it dwindles."
In late November, however, Garrett got a call that, in spite of his usual doubts, stirred the fight inside him. Raul Julia-Levy, the Hollywood producer and son of actor Raul Julia, wanted to sign on to help free Lolita, and with him, promised to bring every last Hollywood contact he could persuade. He immediately put Garrett on the phone with the wife of Jean Claude Van Damme, and within days, had a list that included Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford and even 50 Cent. Now Levy says he's got a benefit concert in the works that will include R&B singer Truth Hurts, Snoop Dogg and 50 (who did not return NEWSWEEK requests for comment, though Levy says "the man loves animals like you have no idea"). Nearly a dozen local politicians have signed on, as well. "We have some of the most powerful Hollywood producers behind this campaign, and I have spoken with some of the most prominent scientists in this field," Levy says. "This beautiful animal does not deserve to die in a stinky little tank, and we are not going to take less than a full victory."
The problem, of course, is that not everyone feels the way Levy and his Hollywood buddies do. The debate over Lolita has at times divided the Puget Sound community, and many scientists have been hesitant to endorse Garrett's cause. The Miami Seaquarium, where Lolita has lived for the past 37 years, has long been unwilling to consider the idea of releasing her and is calling the latest campaign a "publicity grab" by uninformed activists. The park's general manager, Andrew Hertz (the son of the park's owner, Arthur Hertz), contends that Lolita is healthy and happy--performing two shows a day--and quips that "you can't make a 7,000 pound animal do what she doesn't want to do."
Hertz says Lolita receives daily checkups, and that--despite criticism of her living conditions in the past--she receives the "best care of any orca in the world." He points to a 2004 inspection report by the U.S. Department of Agriculture that says Lolita "appears to be healthy and well-adjusted to her environment" despite a pool that "appears small." (The USDA Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service states that the primary enclosure for a killer whale must have a minimum horizontal dimension of no less than 48 feet in either direction. Lolita's tank is about 35 feet on either side of its sizable middle island--which means it meets the specifications when the total space is tallied.) "Lolita is home," says Hertz. "This is where she lives, where she's with people who care for her and love her, and wouldn't ever do anything to hurt her."
That may be the case, but the story of her capture is an easy tear-jerker. On Aug. 8, 1970, at the age of about three, Lolita (then called Tokitae) and her extended family of more than 100 orcas--her pod--were gathered in Puget Sound when capture boats and aircraft began hurling explosives into the water to herd them into a small cove. The orcas had been through this before, and split into two groups: the females and their young stayed underwater and tried to escape to the north, while the rest acted as decoys and headed east. At first the distraction worked--until the first group had to come up for air. While the rest of her family watched, Lolita and six other babies were lifted onto rubber mats on flatbed trucks; they were sold to marine parks and aquariums across the country.
For more than a decade, Howard Garrett has worked tirelessly out of his home on Whidbey Island, Wash., to return an orca whale named Lolita to her native waters. In 1995--inspired by the campaign to release Keiko, the "Free Willy" whale--he teamed with local politicians, offering the Florida aquarium where Lolita works a million dollars to reunite her with the pod of whales she grew up with, off the coast of Washington state. In 1997, he spent two years in Miami--unpaid--working to garner public attention for Lolita's cause; after nearly four decades in captivity, she's served her time, Garrett believes. Every year since then, his organization, the nonprofit advocacy group Orca Network, has held a beachside commemoration of the day Lolita was plucked from her family in the icy waters of Puget Sound.
But 12 years is a long time for anyone to stay committed--even in the Pacific Northwest, where the orca is treated as an icon. "There have been times I've wanted to give up," Garrett says. "Everyone keeps telling us it's hopeless, and even when there's a surge of enthusiasm, eventually it dwindles."
In late November, however, Garrett got a call that, in spite of his usual doubts, stirred the fight inside him. Raul Julia-Levy, the Hollywood producer and son of actor Raul Julia, wanted to sign on to help free Lolita, and with him, promised to bring every last Hollywood contact he could persuade. He immediately put Garrett on the phone with the wife of Jean Claude Van Damme, and within days, had a list that included Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford and even 50 Cent. Now Levy says he's got a benefit concert in the works that will include R&B singer Truth Hurts, Snoop Dogg and 50 (who did not return NEWSWEEK requests for comment, though Levy says "the man loves animals like you have no idea"). Nearly a dozen local politicians have signed on, as well. "We have some of the most powerful Hollywood producers behind this campaign, and I have spoken with some of the most prominent scientists in this field," Levy says. "This beautiful animal does not deserve to die in a stinky little tank, and we are not going to take less than a full victory."
The problem, of course, is that not everyone feels the way Levy and his Hollywood buddies do. The debate over Lolita has at times divided the Puget Sound community, and many scientists have been hesitant to endorse Garrett's cause. The Miami Seaquarium, where Lolita has lived for the past 37 years, has long been unwilling to consider the idea of releasing her and is calling the latest campaign a "publicity grab" by uninformed activists. The park's general manager, Andrew Hertz (the son of the park's owner, Arthur Hertz), contends that Lolita is healthy and happy--performing two shows a day--and quips that "you can't make a 7,000 pound animal do what she doesn't want to do."
Hertz says Lolita receives daily checkups, and that--despite criticism of her living conditions in the past--she receives the "best care of any orca in the world." He points to a 2004 inspection report by the U.S. Department of Agriculture that says Lolita "appears to be healthy and well-adjusted to her environment" despite a pool that "appears small." (The USDA Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service states that the primary enclosure for a killer whale must have a minimum horizontal dimension of no less than 48 feet in either direction. Lolita's tank is about 35 feet on either side of its sizable middle island--which means it meets the specifications when the total space is tallied.) "Lolita is home," says Hertz. "This is where she lives, where she's with people who care for her and love her, and wouldn't ever do anything to hurt her."
That may be the case, but the story of her capture is an easy tear-jerker. On Aug. 8, 1970, at the age of about three, Lolita (then called Tokitae) and her extended family of more than 100 orcas--her pod--were gathered in Puget Sound when capture boats and aircraft began hurling explosives into the water to herd them into a small cove. The orcas had been through this before, and split into two groups: the females and their young stayed underwater and tried to escape to the north, while the rest acted as decoys and headed east. At first the distraction worked--until the first group had to come up for air. While the rest of her family watched, Lolita and six other babies were lifted onto rubber mats on flatbed trucks; they were sold to marine parks and aquariums across the country.
