Could a creature, snatched from its home, dream of return? Here, before Blackfish, we ponder this very question. Blackfish isn’t just an artwork. It’s a symbol of a tragic chapter in our local history, the capture of orcas from Puget Sound, including one named Tokitae, or Lolita. Blackfish serves as a constant reminder of Tokitae’s story.
The 1970 Penn Cove capture, a harrowing event, saw orcas rounded up and sold to aquariums. Tokitae, a young calf, was among them. She ended up at the Miami Seaquarium, renamed Lolita, and confined to a small tank. The cries of the captured orcas, the frantic attempts to escape, echoed across the cove. These cries are immortalized in the name Blackfish, a term used by local fishermen.
For decades, activists fought for Lolita’s release. The Lummi Nation, who consider orcas as spiritual relatives, joined the fight. They renamed her Sk’aliCh’elh-tenaut and invoked their ancestral connection to the Salish Sea. This partnership brought a new dimension to the fight. It wasn’t just about animal rights. It was about cultural heritage, a tribe’s fight to reclaim a lost family member.
The fight continues, but Blackfish stands here. It stands as a symbol of hope, a reminder of the ongoing struggle for Tokitae’s return, a symbol of the connection between the Lummi people and the orcas, their relatives below the waves. The story of Blackfish, like the cries of the captured orcas, continues to resonate. It calls for awareness and action, a plea for Tokitae’s return to her native waters.