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It Fought to Save the Whales. Can Greenpeace Save Itself?

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It Fought to Save the Whales. Can Greenpeace Save Itself?

Greenpeace is among the most well-known environmental organizations in the world, the result of more than 50 years of headline-grabbing protest tactics.

Its activists have confronted whaling ships on the high seas. They’ve hung banners from the Eiffel Tower. They’ve occupied oil rigs. A (fictional) activist even sailed with Greenpeace in an episode of “Seinfeld,” in hopes of capturing Elaine’s heart.

Now, Greenpeace’s very existence is under threat: A lawsuit seeks at least $300 million in damages. Greenpeace has said such a loss in court could force it to shut down its American offices. In the coming days, a jury is expected to render its verdict.

The lawsuit is over Greenpeace’s role in protests a decade ago against a pipeline near the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota. The pipeline’s owner, Energy Transfer, says Greenpeace enabled illegal attacks on the project and led a “vast, malicious publicity campaign” that cost the company money.

Greenpeace says that it played only a minor, peaceful role in the Indigenous-led protest, and that the lawsuit’s real aim is to limit free speech not just at the organization, but also across America, by raising the specter of expensive court fights.

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The suit comes at a time of immense challenges for the entire environmental movement. Climate change is making storms, floods and wildfires more frequent and more dangerous. The Trump administration has commenced a historic effort to overturn decades of environmental protections. Many of the movement’s most significant achievements over the past half-century are at risk.

And in recent years the potential costs of protest have already risen.

The International Center for Not-for-Profit Law has tracked a wave of bills proposed since 2017 that toughen penalties against protesters. Many became law in the wake of the demonstrations against the pipeline at the center of the Greenpeace case (the Dakota Access Pipeline) and also the Black Lives Matter movement, which rose to prominence after the murder of George Floyd in 2020 by a police officer in Minnesota. More recently, the Trump administration has moved to deport international students who protested the war in Gaza.

Sushma Raman, interim executive director of Greenpeace USA, has called the trial in North Dakota “a critical test of the future of the First Amendment.”

Energy Transfer, one of the biggest pipeline companies in the country, has said that the lawsuit is over illegal conduct, not free speech. “It is about them not following the law,” the company said in a statement.

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Founded in Vancouver in 1971, Greenpeace was hugely successful early on at what is now called “branding,” with its catchy name and daredevil stunts. But it has also faced major challenges: infighting, missteps, legal battles and questions about how to widen its base and remain relevant as it became an institution.

The larger environmental movement has grown, but also has struggled to gain attention in an increasingly fractured media landscape and as it has pivoted to the issue of climate change, which can be less tangible than previous targets of activism, like say opposing logging or oil-drilling in specific places.

“What they made their name on was the media spectacle, especially the ability to conduct a high-profile action that requires incredible tactical organization,” said Frank Zelko, a history professor at the University of Hawaii at Mānoa and the author of “Make It a Green Peace! The Rise of Countercultural Environmentalism.” That became “less efficacious” over time, he said, as competition for eyeballs grew and spectacular images, whether real or not, abound.

Greenpeace was founded as an offshoot of the Sierra Club based on the principles of ecology and anti-militarism. But pulling off daring stunts in pursuit of those principles, while also operating as a worldwide professional network, has always been a delicate balancing act.

After friction and fights for control of the organization in the late 1970s, Greenpeace International was established in the Netherlands as the head office, coordinating the activities of independent Greenpeace offices around the world, including Greenpeace USA.

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The activities of its American branch are at the center of the lawsuit. Greenpeace International says its role was limited to signing one open letter. Greenpeace International has also countersued Energy Transfer in the Netherlands, seeking to recoup its legal costs under European laws that essentially allow it to challenge the Energy Transfer lawsuit as a form of harassment.

In Greenpeace’s Washington office, the Energy Transfer case has contributed to turbulence in the group’s highest levels.

In early 2023, the organization celebrated the appointment of Ebony Twilley Martin as sole executive director, calling Ms. Twilley Martin the first Black woman to be the sole director of a legacy U.S. environmental nonprofit. But she left that role just 16 months later, a development that two people familiar with the matter said was in part over disagreements about whether to agree to a settlement with Energy Transfer.

Greenpeace was born out of a moment of fear and upheaval, amid the Vietnam War, the nuclear arms race, acid rain and smog blanketing cities. Rex Weyler, 77, an early member, chronicled the history in his 2004 book “Greenpeace: How a Group of Ecologists, Journalists and Visionaries Changed the World.”

In Vancouver, Mr. Weyler met Bob Hunter, a columnist for The Vancouver Sun, and Dorothy and Irving Stowe, older Quakers who had left the United States in protest over war taxes and weapons testing. They were meeting like-minded people who saw a need for an ecology movement that would employ nonviolent direct action, following the examples of Mohandas K. Gandhi in India and the civil rights movement in the United States.

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They would soon become an offshoot of a more traditional environmental group, the Sierra Club, after a disagreement over protest tactics.

Their first campaign was a mission to block U.S. nuclear weapons tests on Amchitka, a volcanic island in Alaska. An idea this group had floated within the Sierra Club — to sail a boat to stop the bomb — had been reported in The Vancouver Sun, though the head office of Sierra Club in San Francisco had not approved that plan.

“The Sierra Club was not amused when they saw this story, because they said, ‘You know, a lot of our members are just tree-huggers, and they don’t care about nuclear disarmament,’” said Robert Stowe, son of Dorothy and Irving and a behavior neurologist. “Had the Sierra Club agreed to do this, Greenpeace could probably never have been founded.”

The name Greenpeace came up during a planning meeting, when Irving Stowe said “peace” at the end of the gathering and another activist, Bill Darnell, replied offhandedly, “Make it a green peace.”

“Greenpeace” was emblazoned on the fishing boat they used. Irving Stowe organized a concert by Joni Mitchell, James Taylor and Phil Ochs to raise money for the trip.

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The boat set sail in September 1971. The Coast Guard intercepted it, and the vessel never reached Amchitka. But the stunt garnered considerable public attention, a core part of the group’s strategy in the years since.

Greenpeace’s next campaign is perhaps its most well known: saving the whales.

The idea came from Paul Spong, who had studied orca whales and argued that the highly intelligent creatures were being hunted to extinction. That led to a copiously documented, dramatic sailing expedition to confront Soviet whaling ships.

A worldwide moratorium on commercial whaling has been in place since 1986. Greenpeace and other groups who worked on the issue have claimed it as a major victory.

The group also tried to stop seal hunting in northern Canada, a controversial move that alienated a large number of residents, including in Indigenous communities. Greenpeace Canada apologized to the Inuit people for the impacts of the campaign in 2014, and the organization said it did not oppose small-scale subsistence hunting.

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The ship Rainbow Warrior, a crucial vessel in the anti-whaling campaign, was added to the fleet in 1978. That ship was protesting French nuclear testing in the Pacific in 1985 when it was bombed by agents for the French spy agency D.G.S.E., killing Fernando Pereira, a photographer, and igniting international outrage.

France later apologized and was ordered to pay $8 million in damages to Greenpeace, and reached a separate settlement with Mr. Pereira’s family.

A new Rainbow Warrior is now one of three Greenpeace vessels in operation. It is sailing this month in the Marshall Islands to “elevate calls for nuclear and climate justice,” the group said, and to support research on the effects of past nuclear weapons testing.

By the 1990s, Greenpeace’s attention-grabbing environmentalism was capturing the imagination of a new generation of people like Valentina Stackl, 39, who learned of its exploits as a girl in Europe. She worked with Greenpeace USA from 2019 to 2023.

“The idea of Greenpeace ships, and save the whales and hanging off a bridge or something like that was truly magical,” she said. “And on the best days Greenpeace really was like that. Of course, there’s also the slog of the day-to-day that is less sparkly.”

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One constant concern was fund-raising: Greenpeace USA is largely funded by individual donations, which can fluctuate. Tax filings show its revenue has been stable in recent years.

The group’s priorities shifted to climate and how to incorporate what is known as “environmental justice,” the fact that pollution and other environmental hazards often disproportionally affect poor and minority areas. The historically mostly white and male-dominated organization had to grapple with how to increasingly collaborate with a diverse range of other groups. And it had to reckon with historical tensions with Indigenous communities over its whaling and sealing campaigns, as well as other missteps.

One of those mistakes occurred in Peru in 2014, when there was an uproar over a Greenpeace action that damaged the Nazca lines, ancient man-made patterns etched in the desert. Activists from Greenpeace Germany entered the restricted area to place a protest message about renewable energy. The Peruvian cultural minister called it an act of “stupidity” that had “co-opted part of the identity of our heritage.”

The organization apologized, and the episode prompted Greenpeace USA to adopt a formal policy on interactions with Indigenous communities, according to Rolf Skar, the group’s campaigns director. In short, Greenpeace would not get involved in struggles led by Indigenous people unless specifically asked to do so.

That policy has come up in this month’s trial in North Dakota. Greenpeace argued that it had offered support in the Dakota Access Pipeline protest only after it was asked to do so by Indigenous leaders, and did not seek any major role in the demonstrations.

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On Monday in a courtroom in the small city of Mandan, N.D., jury members are expected to start hearing closing arguments, after which they will consider Greenpeace’s fate.

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Microplastics are everywhere — even in the labs studying them. That’s a problem for research

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Microplastics are everywhere — even in the labs studying them. That’s a problem for research

As the science of detecting microplastics matures, so too does consensus about their ubiquity. Everywhere researchers have looked to find them, there they’ve been: In human brains and lungs; in breast milk and semen; in alpine snow and deep-sea sediment; in corn plants and beer.

And that, say researchers, is the rub: Scientists are not just finding them in our livers, arteries and ovaries. They are also everywhere else: in research laboratories, pipettes, refrigerators, solvents, bottles, goggles and the very lab coats investigators are wearing to find them.

So how do we know if those particles seen under the lens of a microscope are inherent in the sample, or contamination from plastic fibers floating in the air? Or from tiny particles that sloughed off from the inside of a bottle of solvent?

Microplastics scientists are keenly aware of the problem and urgently studying it, because the credibility of the research is on the line.

Their research suddenly skyrocketed in importance with the federal government’s announcement Thursday that it will begin actively investigating the wayward, potentially toxic particles in people and drinking water.

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“We cannot regulate what we don’t understand,” Robert F. Kennedy Jr., secretary of Health and Human Services, said at a news conference.

Nicolas Leeper, head of vascular medicine at Stanford University, said he is “absolutely” concerned that “at least some part of what has been reported [in the scientific literature] may be spurious or artifactual.”

For instance, a 2024 headline-stealing study showed a relationship between microplastics found in the arterial plaque of patients undergoing heart surgery, and a higher risk of heart attack and stroke. Several medical researchers, including Leeper, questioned the findings. They argued the authors hadn’t accounted for the introduction of microplastics during surgery.

Like most scientists in this new relatively new field, Leeper didn’t set out to study tiny, broken bits of plastic. But that study caught his attention.

“I take care of people that have atherosclerosis,” he said in an interview. “We’ve known for a while that genetics only explains about half of our lifetime risk.”

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He now wonders if microplastics could be that X factor he’s been looking for, and is investigating the issue in his laboratory. But he’s aware the particles are everywhere.

“Think about it: Every time we work with a human bio specimen, we’re wearing plastic gloves and using plastic needles and plastic petri dishes,” he said.

Leeper is pretty sure microplastics can lead to ill health. He just wants his — and everyone’s — research to be beyond reproach.

“Given the potential public health impact of these ubiquitous … products, it is essential we know exactly what we are dealing with, how to quantify it, and how to be certain we aren’t chasing a signal that may be driven, in part, by contamination artifact,” he said.

It’s not a new concern. In fact, it’s a relatively old one.

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Claire Gwinnett, a forensic scientist at the University of Staffordshire, in England, said she’s been fretting about microplastic contamination in her research for decades.

She’s spent most of her career inspecting dead bodies for signs of foul play. Her work requires painstaking quality control. When examining a cadaver for DNA, fibers or other chemicals and materials that could help identify a murderer, or information about a struggle, she needs complete confidence that the evidence she gathered came from the body, or perpetrator, and not from her own body, clothing or equipment.

“My entire career has been based around these teeny, tiny particulates you can’t see with the naked eye, but that I’m trying to confidently convince the courts were present on that victim in that crime scene, and not due to procedural contamination,” Gwinnett said.

About 10 years ago, she read a headline saying that researchers had found microplastic contamination in samples of deep ocean sediment — more than two miles below the surface.

“And the question for me was: Is that real? Were they actually using methods that would confidently allow them to say they actually found these microplastics at these depths, and that it wasn’t procedural contamination?”

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She started working with environmental scientists at her university and then across the world to get them to start thinking like a forensic scientist: How can you reduce plastic in your lab or account for microplastics that are there? Are they using plastic when they could be using glass or metal? What are they wearing in the lab? Are they creating “blanks” — faux samples that go through the same preparation, in the same places, with the same researchers, using the same chemicals and materials — to account for microplastic background “noise”?

It was around this same time that Susanne Brander, director of scientific advancement efforts for the Pew Charitable Trust’s safer chemicals project, said she and other environmental scientists started asking similar questions, and establishing protocols to address contamination.

By the late 2010s, she and colleagues started replacing plastic with glass and metal, used HEPA filtration, and instituted special cleaning procedures for their equipment.

But, as often happens in science, knowledge in one research discipline doesn’t necessarily bleed into another.

There’s a silo effect, Brander said. So when people who study human health started asking questions about microplastics, they didn’t necessarily look to the water, fish and forensic folks for advice.

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She doesn’t fault them for not reading her papers; “it’s a different research space,” she said. But it meant some of the early work on microplastics and human health didn’t use the quality controls that forensic and environmental scientists had adopted.

“Some of us have even talked about bringing these two research fields together, she said. “Maybe we should reconvene and talk about how we’ve already kind of done this.”

The human work is drawing a lot more scrutiny than the earlier work ever did.

It’s one thing to find microplastics in plants, snow and other animals. When we see it in our brains, placentas, testicles and blood — that’s different.

And as the federal government jumps into the fray, looking not only for the particles but also the potential effects on human health, the risk to the multibillion-dollar chemical and fossil fuel companies that manufacture and distribute these products grows.

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So could scrutiny on the way we live: from food packaging, carpet manufacturing and water filtration, to medical supplies, car tires and clothing.

Plastic never goes away; it just breaks down into smaller and smaller pieces. According to the United Nations Environmental Programme, the world has produced more than 9.2 billion tons of plastic since 1950, with half of that amount produced in the last 13 years alone.

Matthew Campen, professor of pharmaceutical research at the University of New Mexico, has done some of the most well-known microplastic research on human tissue. He found it in placentas, livers, kidneys, lungs and brains.

He said the issue of contamination is real, but wonders if it’s over-hyped.

Campen was at the panel Thursday with Kennedy and Lee Zeldin, the administrator of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, as they announced their intention to make microplastics a research priority.

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Although his work has also been challenged, he said that’s to be expected: The whole field of microplastic research is new, and there will be kinks that get ironed out as it matures.

“We knew that cigarettes caused cancer in the 1930s and the surgeon general didn’t say anything about it until 1966,” he said. “Ultimately, I think we’re going to move pretty fast. We’re going to invest in science in the coming years, and over the next five years, we’ll have much more confidence as to how this is getting into our bodies and what it could be doing.”

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Next to Joshua Tree National Park, a mining company is staking its claim for rare earth minerals

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Next to Joshua Tree National Park, a mining company is staking its claim for rare earth minerals

An Australian company has launched a rare earths mining project just outside Joshua Tree National Park in critical desert tortoise habitat, an area the company’s director refers to as an “emerging heavy rare earth district.”

The company, Dateline Resources Ltd., says that historical sampling of the area in the Pinto Mountains south of Twentynine Palms found enrichment in elements key to powering electric vehicles, wind turbines and defense systems.

The United States depends heavily on China for its supply of these critical minerals, a major national security vulnerability the Trump administration has sought to address through a series of regulatory changes and financial incentives aimed at shoring up domestic production.

The desert tortoise, as seen in Music Valley in the Pinto Mountains, is listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act due to habitat loss and predation.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

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The project is in its early stages, and it’s unclear whether further testing will confirm the presence of rare earth elements across a broad enough area to warrant extracting them. The site is roughly 100 miles southwest of the nation’s only fully functional rare earths mine — Mountain Pass operated by MP Materials, in which the U.S. Department of Defense holds a 15% stake.

It’s also steps from Joshua Tree National Park, one of the nation’s most beloved desert getaways where about 3 million people visit annually. The 1,200-square-mile park and the public lands that surround it are home to sensitive plants and wildlife that environmentalists say would be harmed by a major mining project that could deplete water supplies, draw traffic and generate toxic waste.

“This is truly one of the most iconic landscapes in America,” said Chance Wilcox, California desert program manager for the National Parks Conservation Assn., as he stood atop a rocky slope within the project footprint on Friday.

Beside him, a wooden stake marked the corner of a mining claim. About 100 feet away, a metal post denoted the park’s boundary. In the valley below sat the fee booth for the east entrance.

If mining were to go ahead here, visitors would likely be able to see the activity while driving into the park, Wilcox pointed out. “It just emphasizes this company’s blatant disregard for our nation’s crown jewels,” he said.

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Dateline did not return messages seeking comment on the project. The company also operates the Colosseum Mine in the nearby Mojave National Preserve, which the Trump administration has touted as pivotal to its efforts to develop a homegrown critical minerals supply chain.

Dateline first announced the venture — the Music Valley heavy rare earths project — late last month, saying it had acquired 57 claims totaling 1,140 acres and had also invested $1 million in Fermi Critical Minerals Inc., an American company that holds uranium and rare-earths projects in multiple western states. Dateline later broadened the footprint by staking an additional 969 claims covering 19,380 acres, a subsequent release states.

Twentynine Palms Highway looking west runs through downtown.

Twentynine Palms Highway looking west runs through downtown on Friday in Twentynine Palms, Calif.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

The company now holds claims over a roughly 32-square-mile area, the vast majority within the Bureau of Land Management’s jurisdiction.

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U.S. Geological Survey geologists first identified rare earth mineralization in the Music Valley area in 1954, with sampling reporting enrichment in dysprosium, terbium, yttrium and ytterbium, Dateline Resources said in a press release. The company is now training modern exploration techniques on outcroppings of a 1.8-billion-year-old type of metamorphic rock called Pinto gneiss.

While rare earths will be the primary focus, exploration will also assess the potential for gold mining — the area is dotted with old, small-scale adits and shafts.

The project is located in what’s known as an area of critical environmental concern. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has deemed the sweeping landscape to be crucial to the survival of the Mojave desert tortoise, which is endangered in California thanks to a stew of threats including development, disease, raven predation and climate change.

The land abutting the Pinto Mountains Wilderness is also home to badgers, bighorn sheep and Mojave fringe-toed lizards. Massive yuccas and barrel cacti stud its steep slopes.

A chuckwalla lizard suns itself on a rock in the Pinto Mountains.

A chuckwalla lizard suns itself on a rock in the Pinto Mountains.

(Gary Coronado/For The Times)

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On Friday, desert iguanas and whiptails scampered across an access road, portions of which wind through the national park. A chuckwalla sunned itself on a boulder. Nearby, a desert tortoise had emerged from its burrow to munch on some grass — a rare sight that elicited a whoop of joy from Wilcox. “This is a really special place,” he said.

If the area proves to be a valuable source of heavy rare earth elements, it would be significant as the U.S. has none, said Daniel O’Connor, co-founder and chief executive of Rare Earth Exchanges, a website that covers the global rare earths market. Mountain Pass primarily produces light rare earth elements, which are typically more abundant.

“Our entire war machinery — missiles, radar, fighter jets — all need these heavy rare earths,” O’Connor said.

Still, he said, even if the U.S. were to start producing heavy rare earths, the country would likely remain reliant on China to process them — a complex, multi-stage undertaking that involves chemically separating the elements from ore. Companies controlled by the Chinese treasury currently separate and refine an estimated 90% of the world’s supply of rare earth elements, and about 90% of the specialized magnets they are used to create are also manufactured in China, he said.

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A mural illustrating miners in the Dirty Sock Camp is painted on a wall.

A mural illustrating miners in the Dirty Sock Camp is painted on a wall in downtown Twentynine Palms, Calif.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

O’Connor described the Music Valley project as early-stage and speculative, pointing to a mining tradition dating back to the Wild West in which prospectors tout samples that show heavy concentrations of minerals in a bid to loosen investors’ wallets. There’s no way to know how widespread or systematic those concentrations are without technical reports disclosing a project’s mineral contents and quality, he said. Dateline does not yet appear to have released any such report, which are industry standard, he said.

Rare earths mining typically involves pulling out ore with jackhammers or dynamite and grinding it down before chemically treating it — processes that consume a lot of energy, generate toxic waste and can unleash radiation that’s often present in the ore, he said.

“It’s hard to think of a worse place for a massive industrial project than sensitive desert tortoise habitat on the very edge of Joshua Tree National Park,” wrote Brendan Cummings, conservation director for the Center for Biological Diversity, in an email.

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A buildout of the claims could end public access to the area and permanently scar the landscape, drawing traffic and light pollution and harming springs and groundwater stores, he said. Given those potential impacts, he is skeptical that the developers could lawfully be granted the necessary federal, state, and local approvals to proceed.

Conservationists also point to Dateline’s history operating the Colosseum Mine as a source of concern, saying the company flouted National Park Service rules and damaged the surrounding landscape.

“They don’t respect public lands, national parks or the law, so there’s every reason to be deeply concerned about this proposal,” said Rep. Jared Huffman (D-San Rafael), the ranking member on the House natural resource committee who said the project “has red flags waving in every way.”

“We do need domestic and critical minerals sourced from friendly countries and responsible actors,” he added, “but it doesn’t mean we need them everywhere or at any cost.”

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Hollywood rallies around former L.A. Zoo elephants Billy and Tina as they reportedly suffer in Tulsa

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Hollywood rallies around former L.A. Zoo elephants Billy and Tina as they reportedly suffer in Tulsa

Nearly a year after the Los Angeles Zoo shipped off Billy and Tina to Oklahoma, animal rights activists have kept up the call to move the elephants to a sanctuary. Recently, actor Samuel L. Jackson joined their roster of supporters.

In the dead of night last May, the pair of Asian elephants were shuttled via shipping containers to the Tulsa Zoo, where their L.A. keepers said they’d join a herd large enough for the social animals’ well-being — something the L.A. Zoo could not provide.

But animal welfare groups say the pachyderms are not better off in their new home, citing concerns about their physical and mental health.

Tina, 59, is battling a uterine infection and Billy, 40, could face invasive sperm extractions, according to Courtney Scott, veteran elephant consultant with In Defense of Animals.

The pair were already showing “very chronic stress behavior” in L.A., Scott said, such as head bobbing, swaying and pacing. In Tulsa, “that seemed to intensify.”

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How do they know? A volunteer from the Elephant Guardians of Los Angeles visited twice and chronicled their condition with photos and videos, she said.

Scott’s group ranked the Tulsa Zoo among the 10 worst zoos for elephants last year, claiming it suffers from overcrowding and a breeding program with a checkered history.

Jackson, of “Pulp Fiction” and Marvel fame, said sanctuaries are willing to take in Tina and Billy. “Continued exploitation and denial of their freedom is making them worse, and time is running out!” Jackson said in a statement provided by In Defense of Animals.

Jackson is just the latest star to chime in. Cher, Lily Tomlin and the late Bob Barker have previously advocated for Billy, who arrived at the L.A. Zoo in 1989.

Billy roams his former habitat at the L.A. Zoo in April 2017.

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(Richard Vogel / Associated Press)

At the Tulsa Zoo, which did not respond to requests for comment, Billy and Tina are now part of a crew that includes five other Asian elephants. The zoo’s elephant complex spans 17 acres and includes a wooded preserve not open to public viewing as well as a 36,650-square-foot barn.

This month, the zoo announced Tina was suffering from an infection and abnormal buildup of fluid in her uterus. A statement describes it as a side effect of reproductive tract disease, which she had a history of before arriving at the zoo and is common in aging female elephants.

“There are very limited options beyond antibiotics and, unfortunately, antibiotics alone will not fully resolve the infection,” the zoo said. “That reality is difficult to share, but it’s important to be transparent that this condition has the potential to become life-threatening.”

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Tina isn’t showing signs of discomfort and remains “bright and engaged” and “greets her keepers,” according to the zoo.

Billy and Tina have lived together for more than 15 years and share a strong bond, according to the L.A. Zoo. They communicate by touching each other with their trunks, smelling each other and vocalizing.

Billy hails from a herd in Malaysia that was culled to clear land for palm and rubber plantations, according to the zoo. He arrived in L.A. at the age of 4 as part of an effort by the Malaysian government to relocate young elephants to zoos in the late 1980s.

In 2009, Tina landed at the San Diego Zoo for rehabilitation after being confiscated from a private owner. She was moved to the L.A. Zoo the following year.

For years, animal welfare advocates and some politicians tried to compel the L.A. Zoo to relocate the elephants to somewhere more spacious and which, according to them, would offer a better quality of life.

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The L.A. Zoo, however, has long defended the care provided to its elephants and did not cite health reasons for Billy’s and Tina’s relocation in 2025.

According to an online FAQ, that decision stemmed from the death of two older herd members — Jewel and Shaunzi — who were euthanized in 2023 and 2024, respectively, for age-related health reasons. Without them, the zoo no longer met Assn. of Zoos and Aquariums standards requiring accredited zoos to have at least three Asian elephants.

The zoo said it wasn’t possible to bring in more elephants, so it made the “difficult decision” to relocate Billy and Tina, according to a statement from last year.

“The care and well-being of the animals is always a top priority and decisions impacting the animals are made at discretion of the Zoo Director — an authority granted in the Los Angeles City Charter,” the statement said. “Activist agendas and protests are rightfully not a consideration in decisions that impact animal care.”

The zoo said it spoke to sanctuaries accredited by the Assn. of Zoos and Aquariums when weighing what to do with the elephants, but elephant experts from around the country recommended Tulsa Zoo as the best fit for the pair. Criteria included space, facilities, staff expertise and herd dynamics.

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Denise Verret, director of the L.A. Zoo, noted at an L.A. City Council budget hearing last year that the Toronto Zoo lost its accreditation in 2012 by sending its elephants to a sanctuary at the direction of the Toronto City Council.

L.A. City Councilmember Bob Blumenfield, a longtime advocate for the elephants, filed a motion seeking to pause their relocation until the City Council could review the possibility of sending them to a sanctuary. An L.A. resident filed a lawsuit over the zoo’s decision and sought to halt the elephants’ transfer. Neither effort was successful, but activists haven’t given up.

Sanctuaries in Georgia and Cambodia have agreed to take in Billy and Tina, according to Scott. Another, the Performing Animal Welfare Society in Northern California, has said it would accept Billy and, likely, Tina, she said.

“It would just be a matter of sitting down,” she said, “and figuring out the best one for the elephants.”

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