Everything Is Bullshit: The Greatest Scams on Earth Revealed (3 page)

However, Halloran’s business has been good to him: in the past,
on a good year, he’d purchase 1,000 to 1,500 pelts for manufacturing; this
year, he bought 3,000, and next year he forecasts a need for 5,000. He
attributes this entirely to an emerging demand for seal products in China:

“China has been a beacon of hope — they are just falling
in love with seal products. I see this first hand every time I visit (I just
returned last week). It is my mission to help save this industry and show it
for what it truly is: the items we are producing now are amazing —
fashion plus — and the Chinese are starting to see the same. It’s about
to explode; I know it and see it every visit.”

But China isn’t the honeypot Halloran makes it out to be. While
certain niche demands exist in Asia (seal penises are often purchased for
fertility purposes, for instance), deals to distribute seal meat and oil on a
larger scale have fallen through in recent years. Several Canadian politicians
have declared that seal furs are “on their last legs,” and that any gains
retailers may be experiencing now will be short-lived.

Halloran’s success is atypical in a market that for decades has
been in a sharp decline.

A Dying
Industry

Sealing
was once a lucrative, burgeoning industry; today, it is on its way out.

Ten years ago, sealing was an industry with $34 million in
annual sales; last year, that number was $1.5 million — $400,000 of which
was overhead for sealers (boats, permits, guns, etc.). Though thousands of
hunters are registered to hunt, only 390 actually participated, down from 6,000
a decade ago. In the past year, the number of sealing vessels has also
decreased from 540 to 98.

With the implementation of the Seal Protection Regulations in
1965, the Canadian government established the first-ever set of limitations on
the industry: set hunt dates, strict controls on killing methods, and the
requirement of sealers and ship owners to be licensed. Six years later, in
1971, the first “kill quota” was set at 150,000 seals — an effort to
monitor the industry. Over the years, the quota, or “total allowable catch,”
has gradually increased. By the end of the 1970s, it was set at 180,000; by
1990, it was 250,000; by the mid-2000s, it peaked at 350,000 seals.

To an outside observer, it would appear the industry has
experienced growth and is demanding higher allowances, but this simply isn’t
true. While the quotas have increased, the “total catch” (actual number of
seals killed) has dropped dramatically. In 2008, for example, 217,000 of
275,000 allowable seals were killed (79%); by 2013, only 17% of the quota was
reached.

Canada’s Department of Fisheries and Oceans cites an array of
reasons for the decline in annual catch, from a strong Canadian dollar
dampening export values to excessive ice cover, but the true source of the
industry’s decline can more likely be attributed to the decades-long
anti-sealing battle staged by animal rights groups.

The
Anti-Sealing Backlash

As
early as the 1950s, animal rights
groups
surveyed
Newfoundland seal fisheries and expressed concerns over the moral turpitude of
the killing methods. But it wasn’t until the mid-60s, when the
northwest-Atlantic seal population declined by 50 percent, that activists
launched into a full-fledged attack campaign.

Broadcast by the CBC in March of 1964, Les
Phoques
de la
Banquise
, or “The Great Seals of the Ice,”
chronicled the exploits of Canadian seal hunters; a scene showing a sealer
skinning an animal alive and leaving it to wriggle on the ice sparked
international outrage (the hunter later admitted he was paid by producers to
commit the act, but the incident nevertheless catalyzed the anti-sealing
movement). On the sole platform of “ending the commercial exploitation of
seals,” The International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW) established itself in
1969. The organization even hired Coca-Cola’s advertising firm to launch a
“Stop the Seal Hunt Campaign,” which was wildly successful in boosting
donations.

Protesters’ efforts paid off. With the signing of 1972’s Marine
Mammal Protection Act, all seal products were banned in the United States
(though it was a small market to begin with). In 1983, the European Union,
responsible for importing 75% of Canadian seal pelts, implemented a permanent
ban on “
whitecoat
” baby seal products. To add more
misery for Canadian sealers, Safeway stores across Britain discontinued all
Canadian fish products in protest. The ban tore apart the sealing community.

A major issue was the killing of “
whitecoat
”
seals. From birth to two weeks old, harp seals have fluffy, white fur (this
turns gray, brown, or spotted after two weeks). Traditionally, the majority of
seals killed by hunters were baby
whitecoats
. Animal
rights groups saw this practice as unsustainable and inhumane, and launched a
campaign that would appeal to the masses: incredibly cute, big-eyed baby seals
were juxtaposed with blood, guts, and murder. The Canadian government responded
to the uproar by banning the hunting of
whitecoats
in
1987.

In recent years, continued efforts by the IFAW, PETA, and The
Humane Society have resulted in much more serious implications for sealers.
Mexico banned all seal product imports in 2006; the European Union, which had
previously banned only
whitecoat
imports, outlawed
every seal import, regardless of age — a move that struck a permanent
blow to the seal market. The Russian Federation, Taiwan, and others have since
followed suit.

While the industry is nearly dead today, it still receives a
tremendous amount of attention and coverage; PETA recently launched a celebrity
seal campaign featuring the likes of Pamela Anderson and Perez Hilton, and
lists the cause as its “top priority.”

Inuits
and Cultural Exemption

It
is important to distinguish that most of the backlash against sealers is aimed
at the commercialization of the trade;
Inuits
—
the natives of Newfoundland who have subsisted on seals for hundreds of years
— are nearly exempt from regulation. Though they only represent 3% of the
seal trade, they have a separate hunt each
year which
is much less controlled.

For Inuit hunters, sealing isn’t just a source of income —
it’s a way of life, and a keystone of their culture: the seal is their
mainstay. Inuktitut vocabulary includes specific terms for “seal bone” and
“seal fat,” and legends are perpetuated within the culture of kinships and
relationships with seals. In the 1991 study, “Animal Rights, Human Rights,”
anthropologist George Wenzel spent two decades with Inuit sealers, and writes
of "the impact of the animal rights movement upon the culture and economy
of the Canadian Inuit." In his text, he argues that animal rights groups,
while “well-meaning people,” were full of misunderstanding and ignorance that
“inflicted destruction on the vulnerable Intuit minority.”

Due to such studies,
Inuits
have
historically been given more leeway in international sealing bans (Europe
included a clause in their 2006 seal product ban that allowed for Inuit natives
to continue exporting in small numbers, for instance). But anti-sealing
campaigns have purportedly had a negative impact on this community as well.
Paul
Irngaut
, a wildlife communications advisor with
Nunavut
Tunngavik
, speaks to the effects that a 1980s
demonstration had on his village:

“In a small community like Resolute, income from sealing dropped
from $54,000 in 1982 to $1,000 in 1983. Today, we still struggle. The income
gained from seal hunts enables hunters to be able to feed and support their
families, as well as other families...There once was a market for such goods,
which would also support families and their ability to afford goods needed for
hunting, and food to put on their table. Remember: Nunavut is a place where a
cabbage can cost $28!"

As Canada’s National Inuit leader, Terry
Audla
represents 60,000
Inuits
across the country. He says
that the Inuit culture’s traditional lifestyle requires the consumption of
“free-roaming, nutrient-dense animals.” Sealing, he argues, keeps his community
alive. In a manifesto published online,
Audla
adds
that “
Inuits
rely on the seal hunt for its shared
market dynamics and the opportunity to sell seal pelts at fair market value,”
and that activists have “negatively impacted [sealers], along with other
remote, coastal communities who have few other economic opportunities.”

In April of 2014, talk show host Ellen
Degeneres
proclaimed her support for the Humane Society and its aim to end seal hunting;
in response,
Inuits
took to Twitter to defend their
“right.” A sea of “
Sealfies
” emerged:
Inuits
and Canadian supporters alike posted photos of
themselves clad in seal boots and jackets, and even sprawled half-naked across
seal rugs. The campaign garnered national attention.

One 17-year-old Inuit,
Killaq
Enuaraq
-Strauss, took to YouTube to express her
disappointment with her favorite television personality:

"You're an inspiration as a woman but also as a human
being, but let me educate you a bit on seal hunting in the Canadian arctic. We
do not hunt seals ... for fashion. We hunt to survive. I own sealskin boots and
they are super cute, and I am proud to say that I own them, and I also eat seal
meat more times than I can count. But I can't apologize for that."

The Humane Society was quick to clarify that it didn’t oppose
the Inuit hunt — only the commercial hunt; PETA operates with the same
ideology. The organization’s spokeswoman, Danielle Katz, says her organization
is primarily interested in the commercial hunt, which accounts for “97% of the
seals that are killed,” and says the “Inuit sealers are under no threat” in the
seal market.

In the grand scheme of the industry, sealing isn’t lucrative for
anyone: sealers struggle to get by, the government wastes time and resources on
a dying trade, and groups like PETA and the Humane Society have spent millions
combatting one of the world’s smallest commercial fur markets.

The Cute
Bias

While
those involved in the seal trade maintain that it’s humane, sustainable, and
well-regulated
, animal rights activists and protesters call
the practice cold-blooded and barbaric. One question lingers: why so much
undying support for protecting seals in particular?

There is a compelling case to be made that sealing is
particularly demonized due to the fact that the animals are cute and fuzzy, a
fact animal rights groups have consistently relied on for campaigns. The
imagery used by PETA, The Humane Society, and other activist groups is striking
and consistent: big mammalian eyes, fuzzy snow-colored fur, blood against white
ice — cuteness (juxtaposed with violence) has been employed to garner
public interest, and it’s worked.

Harp Seals, an activist group working to end the Canadian seal
slaughter, conjures such language to mobilize people to join their cause. Seal
pups are “famous for their big black eyes and fluffy white fur,” they write,
“and are astounding in their innocence, individuality, gentle nature, and
beauty.” The language appeals to society’s predisposition for
pedomorphism
, or things that resemble human babies (big
eyes, fuzzy little heads, etc.); social psychologists have long argued that
these traits are what make cute creatures endearing.

Regardless of cuteness, the harp seal population in Canada is
currently estimated at 5.6 million — nearly triple what it was in the
1970s — and with nearly 20,000 species threatened by extinction, the
populous animal seems a strange target for so much attention. Renowned
ecologist Jacques Cousteau addresses this:

“The harp seal question is entirely emotional. We have to be
logical. We have to aim our activity first to the endangered species. Those who
are moved by the plight of the harp seal could also be moved by the plight of
the pig...We have to be logical. If we are sentimental about harp seals, which
are not endangered because they are partially protected, then we have to also
be emotional about pigs.”

Dr. M.
Sanjayan
, a noted
conservationist, believes that non-profits and animal protection agencies have
a deeply flawed selection methodology rooted almost solely in “preserving cute
and fuzzy animals” rather than the creatures that “actually keep our planet
humming.” He touches on this in an interview with
National Geographic
:

"What we decide to save really is very arbitrary—it's
much more often done for emotional or psychological or national reasons than
would ever be made with a model...people end up saving what they want to
save—it's as simple as that."