In 1982, the International Whaling Commission (IWC) voted to impose a moratorium on commercial whaling. The majority decision was not justified on the grounds of scientific evidence but rather on the grounds of "uncertainty" regarding the state of various whale stocks.

Japan at first refused to accept this decision, as was its right under the IWC's charter, arguing that one species in particular, the Southern Hemisphere minke whale, was too numerous to merit inclusion in the ban. But in July 1986, following threats of trade sanctions from the US, Japan acquiesced and announced it would suspend all Antarctic whaling operations from May 1987.

At the time the last commercial fleet returned from the Antarctic, I was working as a journalist in the building that houses Japan's second-largest newspaper, the Asahi Shimbun. The ground floor of this influential daily is always bedecked with exhibits of artwork, often for no other reason than their aesthetic value, but on occasion embodying also a political statement. This season's exhibit seemed to be making such a statement - and one I didn't like.

A professional photographer had joined the whalers on what might be their last voyage, and had captured through his lens emotive images of these men at work. Presumably in the belief that an era had drawn to a close, the Asahi Shimbun chose to exhibit the photographer's work. The mood of the exhibit as I interpreted it (I never bothered to check if it was intentional) was one of lamentation mixed with sympathy for those who had just lost their livelihoods.

Like most people, I am self-centred to the degree that any high ideals I might have for society rarely if ever translate into action. At the time of the exhibit, I had managed to get through 31 years of life without once participating in a demonstration, writing to a politician, or donating more than a few coins to charity - and only that if someone rattled a collection box under my nose.

As I passed through the building that morning, I realised an opportunity for action was staring me in the face. Try as I might, I could think of no excuse for dodging my responsibilities; I would not have to exert myself in the slightest, rearrange my schedule, or expend any money or time. I steeled myself. I grabbed a pen and paper and scrawled "Stop the Bloody Whaling" (I had no idea that the specific whaling to which I referred, i.e. that shown in the exhibit, had already stopped). I made a dozen or so copies on the office photocopier (no expense there) and plastered my inspired contribution to the debate all over the lobby.

It was then that my finest hour crumbled into just another of life's cruel illusions. A Canadian colleague had been watching me and now approached with a look of unconcealed disdain.

"Do you know what kind of whale Japan wants to catch?" she asked.
"Anything they can find," I replied glibly.
"And what do they do with them when they've caught them?"
I muttered something about pet food and cosmetics.
"And why do you think whaling should stop?"
"Because they're nearly extinct."
"You don't know anything about whales or whaling so stop meddling," she snapped, and started tearing down my posters.

Feeling like a pet dog who's just been thumped without knowing the reason why, I shambled off to reflect. Like most lazy, self-centred, but basically well-meaning people, I had always wanted to do something worthy - anything. Now I had tried only to be castigated for my efforts.

I could have gone back into my shell and abandoned worthy causes forever, but I decided instead to find out where I had gone wrong and be better prepared next time. Being prepared, I now realised with painful clarity, meant possessing knowledge.

One might think that to a journalist checking the facts would come as second nature. When working, I have always followed that as a golden rule, but then most of my work had been on economics, trade and other boring stuff. It was strange to realise that I was more ignorant about something that concerned me than I was about matters that merely paid the bills.

In the years since my chastisement, I have made it my business to find out all the facts regarding the whaling issue, when possible at first hand. The experience has been a revelation: not only do I now see whaling in a very different light, I have also discovered that virtually everything we hear about the environment warrants a high degree of scepticism. Most stories have two sides, but in the case of environmental issues this seems to be a universal truth.

Uncovering the true nature of the whaling issue has been made easier by the fact that the story did not end with Japan's acceptance of the moratorium. In 1987, the government announced it would help fund research on minke whales in the Antarctic which would involve the catching of a limited number of animals as samples. The issuing of permits for this kind of research by member governments is provided for under IWC regulations and does not contravene the moratorium on commercial whaling. Neither was Japan setting a precedent; even the champion of the anti-whaling movement, America, has caught whales under scientific permit.

Despite its legality, however, the Japanese research program has drawn widespread criticism. This is understandable given its raison d'etre. It is not

designed purely to advance our knowledge of whale populations. Rather, it is hoped that scientific information will result which will persuade the IWC to lift the blanket moratorium. In other words, it is not motivated by an interest in pure science; it is a means to an end.

For two reasons, the controversy surrounding the issuing of scientific permits has been an enormous help to people trying to understand the whaling issue. Firstly, it has kept the debate alive. And Secondly, it has served to clarify distinctions between the various forces opposed to whaling. The dividing lines can now be drawn between genuine whale-lovers and impostors who profit from controversy.

During the 1970s, when considerably less was known about the state of whale populations than today, it was easy for all opponents of whaling to stand behind the same banner, "Save the Whale". It was almost impossible to distinguish altruistic from selfish motives, and no one cared. There was just cause to be concerned over the state of some whale stocks, and there were also plenty of funds to be raised by those who made their living this way.

With the passing of the moratorium, however, and Japan's subsequent compliance, many activists left the arena. Victory to them had meant ensuring the survival of whale species, not the survival of every last whale. And even now, as commercial quotas are once again being discussed, they have not returned to the fray. Why not? Because scientific opinion is now unanimous - and that includes scientists in the pay of anti-whaling organisations - that a carefully controlled harvest would pose no threat to the viability of the Southern Hemisphere minke whale.

Other activists, meanwhile, left the arena to tend to more pressing issues. Saving the whale was the environmental campaign of the 1970s, but by the mid-1980s, it had been well and truly usurped by the fight for the rainforests.

Those who remain to carry on the fight are thus extremely easy to identify. Firstly, there are the die-hard whale-lovers, people who believe with religious fervour that whales are comparable to man in terms of intelligence and sensibility. For these people, the fight will not end until an international agreement is drawn up that places a ban on all whaling for all time. Who are they? For the most part they are members of the general public who believe what they want to believe, and contribute in good faith to anti-whaling organisations. They are also found among low-level campaigners for those organisations.

Then there are the people who get rich out of protesting. Many of these worked for large environmental organisations during the 1970s, saw the business potential of saving whales (and seals), and have gone into business for themselves to "save" whatever "huggable donation magnet (1)" they can find. With the demise of commercial whaling, other causes came along to fill the gap; driftnetting, for example, had the magic fund-raising ingredient of enabling one to decorate flyers with pictures of "smiling" dolphins. But nothing could match the draw of whales, and the more cynical of the opportunistic fund-raisers continue to give thanks privately that scientific whaling has kept the issue on the table. The one-time golden goose of fund-raising, though emaciated, is still alive.

But the nature of free competition being what it is, environmental groups have been reluctant to share the diminished "whale pie", and have engaged in the practice of grabbing as much as they can. The organisation which has grabbed the most - i.e. which is identified by the public, rightly or wrongly, as the organisation for saving whales - is Greenpeace. It has achieved this distinction simply by making the most noise and by blowing its own trumpet, but sadly has shown little interest in telling the truth.

Scientific evidence is now strong - some say overwhelming - that the population of the Southern Hemisphere minke whale (latest estimate: 760,000) is large enough to sustain a carefully regulated catch. Greenpeace and its clones have therefore changed tack in recent years, moving towards an animal rights position. In essence this position states that whaling should be banned on the ground it is inhumane.

But as throughout the last two decades of protest, a multi-pronged attack is the order of the day. In this way campaigners hope to win the sympathies of the broadest possible spectrum of people, for while one person may object to whaling for one reason, the next person's objection might be based on something completely different. One person may be motivated to contribute funds by the issue of humane killing, another because he fears whales will become extinct, and yet another because he harbours a grudge against Japan.

When it comes to Japan's research program, the attack has been essentially two-pronged: to cast doubt on the value of the science, and to cast doubt on the motive. More specifically, these aspersions can be defined as follows:

SCIENCE

a) The results yielded by the research are irrelevant to the stock management procedures which the IWC's scientific Committee have been developing in recent years. Therefore the research is unnecessary.

and/or

b) The research is ill-conceived and sloppily conducted, and the papers which result have a poor reputation in the international scientific community.

MOTIVE

a) The real motive for catching 300-odd minke whales per year is not science but profit. The principle evidence presented in support of this theory is that the edible products derived from the samples are sold for human consumption in Japan.

or

b) Whether or not the sale of by-products from the research is profitable, the real objective is long-term: to keep a whaling fleet in place in anticipation of a resumption of commercial whaling. The principle evidence presented in support of this theory is that the ships used to conduct the research are former whaling vessels and their crews are former whalers.

The object of this brief report is to examine evidence that might be used to support the latter aspersions. It does not deal with arguments that Japan could be expected to use in its defense, as this would involve a close examination of the science and its aims. Any conclusions which can be drawn from this report are therefore of limited significance. The whaling issue does not hinge on whether the Japanese research is commercial whaling in disguise - this aspect is just part of a larger picture. Yet because it is a part of that picture about which few facts have ever been presented, it makes a valid study.

JUNE 1992

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