In Iceland, whales are killed to feed tourists. But in the
Faroe Islands, it is deeply rooted in their culture.
Two days ago, I was sitting on the beach where (primarily)
pilot whales are opportunistically harvested each year. It was beautiful and
there were school children laughing as they played in the sand, but I felt
heavy. Not because I’d been walking for four hours or even specifically because
of what had been carried out there for centuries.
Yes, it makes me incredibly sad to imagine myself being a
part of killing and eating something as complex and wonderful as a whale.
However, it is arguably a sustainable harvest, so from an ecological standpoint,
may be no worse than hunting kangaroos in Australia. But is it necessary?
Who am I to judge when I am just as guilty as any other
person for the ocean pollution that has caused the pilot whale meat to be so
high in concentrations of PCBs, DDT, and other toxins that the Faroese
government has declared the meat unsafe for regular consumption anyway?
Ironically, earlier that day, I’d found myself in a parking
lot standing beside a beat up Ford Focus with a Sea Shepherd logo on it. The
members of this organization actively oppose any and all whaling, even if it’s considered
sustainable. Although I share the same passion that drives their controversial
efforts, I am no whale warrior.
As I took it all in, I struggled to fight back tears as I tried
to imagine justifying my feelings to these people who may depend on whales as a
local resource for food or for their livelihood … and I wished things appeared black
and white.
Maybe my efforts to be diplomatic and open-minded make me
weak. Whatever it makes me, everyday, the world looks more and more grey.
Hopelessly indecisive, my eyes were drawn to a young boy
across the bluff playing in the tall grass with a puppy and I found an escape
in the simplicity of their joy.
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