We are grieving alongside J35 Tahlequah
It has been an emotional week for those who follow the story of the Southern Residents. First we heard of a new female calf traveling with J35 Tahlequah that was designated J61. Then, from the Center for Whale Research working with colleagues in the field from NOAA, we heard of a second calf, designated J62, traveling with the J19s. But sadly, J61 was no longer present, and even more tragically, J35, who carried her deceased neonate daughter for 17 days in 2018, was again carrying the body of her deceased daughter.
We know killer whales are wired for all of the complicated emotions that come alongside close-knit group living. We can't know for sure what they are feeling internally but I think it's fair to call the nearest human analog to what Tahlequah is experiencing "grief". She is no stranger to loss, having lost her sister, nephew, daughter, and mother over the course of about two years, becoming the de facto leader of her remaining family: son, brother, sister, and niece.
I fully believe that just like humans, killer whales may grieve in different ways. We have seen other orca moms carry their lost calves for shorter periods of time, but Tahlequah's story, for the second time over, seems different. What I also believe in no uncertain terms is that what she is doing is in no way about us. I don't think she's "sending a message" or "showing us what we've done" or "trying to get our attention". I have observed killer whales in the wild for 25 years and except for the very briefest of moments, they seem to go about their lives with very little direct regard to our presence. Trying to make her grief about us is, to me, egocentric. It diminishes her grief, and our own.
For we absolutely do grieve alongside her. We know and love these whales as individuals and families and we want them to survive and thrive. We also see a reflection of ourselves in their complex social and emotional lives. In so many ways the life of a killer whale is foreign to us, yet we still recognize something of ourselves in them. We can relate to what Tahlequah is going through, and it's heart-wrenching.
This doesn't mean we shouldn't take this tragedy as a call to action. The Southern Residents have been on the endangered species list for nearly 20 years now and we have yet to see any evidence of population recovery. What we have done to try and help them thus far has clearly not been enough. In 2018, over 17 days, Tahlequah in some ways did more for the plight of the Southern Residents than we had collectively done for them up to that point. Not on purpose - again, what she did was not about us - but our reaction to her story received global attention. More people became aware of these endangered whales than ever before, and a flurry of concrete actions followed over the next years.
My hope is that we respond similarly again. Not just with headlines and sensationalism but with our nose to the grindstone to figure out ways to get these whales more fish, cleaner waters, and quieter seas.
But first, I think it's important we each allow ourselves the space to process everything we feel as we watch this story unfold for a second time. I would invite you to also try and hold space for the emotions that come with there being a J62, who is still alive. Heartbreak and joy - loving the Southern Residents is a lesson in holding onto both simultaneously, and we have no better example of how to do that than from the whales themselves.
Monika Wieland Shields
Director, Orca Behavior Institute
Photo: J35 Tahlequah breaching during my first encounter with her in 2019, the year after she carried her lost daughter for 17 days.
