In the war-torn Solomon Islands, as many as 200 bottlenose dolphins have been captured since April by a foreign syndicate of investors for trade to marine parks. Despite fierce international opposition and increasing reports of inhumane handling and environmentally damaging practices, the operation recently succeeded in exporting 28 of these dolphins to a marine park in Cancun, Mexico.

In the expansive media coverage of this environmental pillage, the following assertion appeared in an Associated Press story: "Most large water parks, including those in the United States, use only dolphins they breed in captivity." This throwaway sentence was clearly meant to distinguish the "good" marine parks (such as those in the United States) from the "bad" marine parks (such as the operations in Mexico and the South Pacific). The only problem? The assertion is patently false.

Between 40% and 50% of the dolphins held in U.S. marine parks were wild-caught, according to the Marine Mammal Inventory Report (MMIR), a government database. The proportion in some other countries is even higher, and nowhere is it likely to be less. True, wild-caught dolphins in the United States were, by and large, captured with methods more humane than those used in the Solomons. But make no mistake—no capture methods are truly humane.

The wild-caught dolphins in U.S. facilities were, just like those in the Solomons, swimming freely in the ocean one moment and then traumatically separated from their fellows the next. Once ensnared in a net and hauled on board a small boat, their lives were forever changed. These highly intelligent, socially complex creatures were snatched from all that was familiar, forced to eat dead fish (some dolphins, not scavengers by nature, never get the knack of this—and therefore die or are released), and slowly made to realize that from now on, humans rather than their own kind would be their primary companions.

Worse still, in the first five days of confinement, these newly captured dolphins faced a mortality risk six times higher than the normal risk faced by captive dolphins. As measured by mortality rates, it takes more than a month for captured dolphins to adjust to captivity—to resign themselves, if you will, to their new life within four walls, never to see the open ocean again.

For too long, marine parks in the developed world have drawn a clear line between themselves and the "others"—the amateur or shabby facilities in the developing world. It is the others who still capture dolphins from the wild; the others who profligately replace animals who die from poor care with yet more wild-caught animals. U.S. and European marine parks have insisted that they are nothing like these poor operations; they argue, in fact, that with their state-of-the-art enclosures and veterinary care, breeding programs, and high-quality food, dolphins live longer in their facilities than do dolphins in the wild. Again, the only problem with this is, it isn't true.

At best, captive dolphins in the United States live as long as wild dolphins. Two studies, one in 1995 and another in 1997, examined the mortality records of U.S. and some foreign facilities. From these records—which by law are provided by the facilities to the U.S. government and maintained in the MMIR— researchers found that captive mortality rates have improved over the years and now almost match those of a well-studied wild dolphin population in Florida. But they do not improve upon wild mortality rates, even though captive dolphins receive regular veterinary care and face no predators, no pollution, no food shortages, and no storms or boat collisions. What they do appear to face, every day, is stress—perhaps low-level, but literally inescapable.

Then there's the pesky fact that, despite an active breeding program, a substantial proportion of the dolphins in these first-rate facilities were nevertheless captured from the wild. They were caught either in U.S. waters (where the law permits captures under certain circumstances, although none have occurred since 1993) or in foreign waters (the dolphins are typically imported from overseas marine parks which have actually performed the dirty work). Captive births certainly happen, but many calves die and the U.S. marine park dolphin population is still not self-sustaining.

In short, U.S. and European marine parks may seem worlds apart, both geographically and philosophically, from the war-profiteering operation in the Solomons, but they all result in the same thing: the exploitation of wildlife. The high-end marine parks, in fact, serve as a lucrative example for these upstart entrepreneurs—each dolphin captured in the Solomons is now worth, after a little training, a minimum of $30,000 and quite possibly more. Dolphin captivity is big business, whether it's in the South Pacific or California.

This is a hard connection to make, I know. Gun-wielding insurgents and head-hunting vigilantes, razed villages and pummeled reporters—these seem a long, long way from San Diego or Orlando. But every dolphin show ticket sold in the United States feeds the greed that led to the disaster in the conveniently lawless Solomon Islands. The outsiders who exploit poor coastal communities around the globe want a piece of that glitzy, razzmatazz action they see in commercial advertisements. For captures are happening not just in the Solomons—although the numbers caught in this instance are unprecedented—they are happening off the coast of China, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, and Japan, to name a few hot-spots.

Wild dolphins are under siege in far too many places by capture operators out to make a buck. It is epidemic, and U.S. marine parks have done virtually nothing to stop it, despite the obvious influence they could bring to bear not just with governments, but also with potential capture operators—who are, after all, businessmen in the same industry.

There is no clear line separating a U.S. exhibit tank from a South Pacific sea pen. The cruel and indifferent exploitation of wild dolphins we have been witnessing in the Solomon Islands these past weeks is the direct consequence of the well-meaning visitor at a U.S. dolphin show buying his or her admission ticket. There is a clear line connecting the two. The only way to break the connection is to stop buying the tickets. Don't provide the incentive, however remote it may seem to you, for dolphin captures half a world away.

Don't visit marine parks.

Naomi A. Rose, Ph.D. is the marine mammal scientist for The Humane Society of the United States.

Read a letter from The HSUS about the Solomon Islands dolphin captures.

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