Let us dance with killer whales: An oral historian’s journey through a misrepresented community

When I flew to the Pacific Northwest to attend a large gathering of animal activists known as Superpod8, I was very careful to change the background of my phone screen. It had a picture of me with my friend Lyndsey, a SeaWorld orca trainer. I’d taken that picture while doing fieldwork for my book about the human-animal relationship. Now, I was in the San Juan Islands to experience a very different side of the story. These people had flown from all around the world to give presentations about ending marine mammal captivity. 

Responsible activists can play an important role in keeping corporations accountable. They’ve uncovered and analyzed information about cetacean facilities through Freedom of Information (FoIA) requests. They also call attention to facilities that have animal welfare problems. But their advocacy often puts them at odds with people who work with animals in human care, like Lyndsey and other marine mammal trainers. As I was talking to people for my book, I had to navigate this conflict and, eventually, make an alignment decision. 

When interviewing people, I often explain that I’m an oral historian and not a journalist. Oral history is the study and preservation of individual stories in a community. I like it because I’m free to explore ideas and people that I find interesting, regardless of public opinion. It also feels less extractive; I work closely with my subjects during the writing process to tell the story they want. I’m free to form deep relationships with my subjects, as I did with Lyndsey Schemm. 

At SeaWorld Orlando, Lyndsey did waterwork with the whales. Waterwork is an acrobatic routine where whales and people perform together. Her best friend, Dawn Brancheau, taught her how to craft deep relationships with the whales for waterwork, and she even became a surrogate mother after Lyndsey’s mom passed away. Tragically, during a “Dine with Shamu” presentation in 2010, Dawn was killed by a whale. That incident inspired the movie Blackfish, which claimed that Dawn’s death was part of a deeper problem with marine mammal captivity. Although Blackfish had numerous inaccuracies, it significantly impacted SeaWorld’s partnerships and public image. 

Since then, activism against marine mammal captivity has become completely mainstream. When I tell people that I’m working on stories about whales and dolphins, they assume that I’m anti-SeaWorld. Because of this, Lyndsey was skeptical about my project at first. She believed that Dawn’s incident was extrapolated untruthfully by Blackfish and the activists. She made it very clear that it had harmed the people she cared about, and she didn’t want that to happen again. It was the same with all the other marine mammal trainers I first tried to interview. They didn’t want to be part of something that would hurt what mattered to them. 

As I conducted more research and interviews, I realized that there was indeed an irresponsible side to animal activism. At Superpod8, I heard speculations about whale empathy, their superhuman “language,” and stories passed from animal to animal. These speculations are often cited as reasons that whales and dolphins shouldn’t be in captivity. As someone who studies natural and artificial intelligence, I’ve found these ideas to sit in the uncomfortable grey area between creative expression and callous misinformation. While certain animal capacities are still debated, scientists generally agree that human language is unique. Animals don’t need spoken language to communicate rich information, but it means that humans are the only animals that tell stories. 

As I chatted with the attendants of Superpod8, I also heard incorrect claims about the use of food deprivation and punishment in marine mammal training. Nowadays, these and other misconceptions flood the comment section of any aquarium dolphin or whale video that goes viral, and many trainers report being harassed by online users. It is this fear I saw when I asked trainers for an interview. Because we are highly social animals, it’s frustrating when our stories aren’t understood by others. To get their stories, I had to learn how to listen, starting with Lyndsey. 

Even a decade later, Lyndsey was still working through her grief for Dawn. The incident had fragmented her identity. She agreed to multiple interviews, and that’s what we talked about. I followed her journey as she got rehired by SeaWorld to work with killer whales again; I witnessed her healing. As Lyndsey and I developed our friendship, I was reminded again why our human experience is so singular. It’s the stories we tell each other to heal. It’s our resilience in seizing painful pasts and reclaiming them. It’s our fragile sense of self. 

As I left Superpod8 on a seaplane, I thought of my journey as an oral historian. Although the animal activists had treated me very nicely, I knew that I’d settled on telling the stories of people like Lyndsey. Part of my choice came from my values as a scientist, but the final decision was personal. In the four years that I’ve known Lyndsey, I’ve become friends with many other trainers. In their stories, they’ve shown me how to dive into dark places with a sense of humor. They’ve shown me how to stand for my beliefs even if I stand alone. I’m choosing this side because it teaches me the most about humanity.

Maximilian Du is a PhD student in computer science at Stanford. He is interested in making robots that exhibit broadly intelligent behavior by creating algorithms that enable rapid adaptation, simulated curiosity, and mistake recovery. Max has worked with California sea lions and bottlenose dolphins at the U.S. Navy Marine Mammal Program, where he assisted with various research and animal care projects. In the process, he gained experience with animal behavior and training theory, which he hopes to apply to his work in robots. Max is writing a non-fiction book about the human-animal relationship. He has assisted in projects advocating for animal welfare, trainer representation, and the preservation of responsible marine mammal facilities.

Knight-Hennessy scholars represent a vast array of cultures, perspectives, and experiences. While we as an organization are committed to elevating their voices, the views expressed are those of the scholars, and not necessarily those of KHS.