Japanese and Western Zoos: Similar but Different—From the Perspectives of Wildlife Conservation and Animal Welfare

2017/06/01

Over the past three years or so, issues such as the dolphin hunt in Taiji and its connection to WAZA (World Association of Zoos and Aquariums), as well as the growing difficulty in acquiring animals for exhibition, have been covered by the media, leading to news features on zoos. While I see this as a positive trend, there is one thing that concerns me. The entire discussion revolves around human convenience, completely lacking a perspective from the animals' side. Specifically, it is missing two key viewpoints: the balance with dwindling wild populations and the welfare of the zoo animals themselves. It is impossible to discuss zoos without these.

In the West, the problems of wildlife decline and extinction, and the need for protection, were recognized as early as the 19th century. Zoos like the Bronx Zoo in New York, where my desk is located, were already being established with wildlife conservation as their founding mission. After World War II, as industrial society grew rapidly, pollution became a significant problem, and concerns arose about the Vietnam War's impact on the natural environment. Amid rising environmental awareness and the increasingly apparent decline of wildlife, criticism mounted that zoos were contributing to this decline as consumers of wild animals. For example, when capturing a gorilla from the wild, a young one is taken because adults are difficult to tame and acclimate. This means that the young gorilla's mother and the silverback (a mature male gorilla) trying to protect the group are often killed. Furthermore, many of these captured young die before leaving their country of origin or during transport. Calculations began to be made about how many sacrifices lie behind a single gorilla in a zoo.

This led to a shared understanding that zoos must not only establish a self-sustaining system by making continuous efforts to breed animals but also become institutions for saving endangered species. The great zoos of Europe and elsewhere, which had collected animals and plants from colonies during the age of imperialism and competed solely on the number of species, were forced to change direction. They had to reduce the number of species in order to increase the population size of each species and maintain breeding groups. In 1972, the first international conference on captive breeding of rare animals was held. For context, the first edition of Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" was published in 1962, the United States Environmental Protection Agency was established in 1970, and Japan's Environment Agency was established in 1971.

Therefore, I want people to first understand the fact that the idea of "just capturing animals from the wild or buying them from dealers when needed" had already become internationally unacceptable shortly after the Osaka Expo.

As scientific and organizational management for maintaining breeding groups advanced, it became clear that inbreeding causes a decline in reproductive and survival rates. Coinciding with advances in population genetics, basic guidelines were developed on how many unrelated individuals are needed initially to maintain a population while keeping genetic diversity at an appropriate level, how to pair them without bias for breeding, and to what population size they should grow over how many generations. Since reproductive lifespan, breeding frequency, gestation/incubation periods, and litter/clutch sizes differ by species, this management requires not only the accumulation of basic data but also, fundamentally, knowledge of the conditions for continuous breeding. Unlike domesticated animals, basic data is not readily available, so this task is not as simple as most people might think. For example, among African rhinos, black rhinos will breed even when kept as a single pair, but white rhinos will not breed unless they are kept in a large group in a spacious area that induces the male's enclosure behavior.

To execute such a plan, it is essential for multiple facilities to cooperate, exchange, and share animals. For this reason, the American Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) launched a program in the early 1980s called the Species Survival Plan, or SSP. What shocked me most when I first learned about this program was its 200-year target for sustaining the subject species. I was overwhelmed by the grandness of the idea that in 200 years, we would have an answer as to whether an environment would remain where these animals could survive in the wild. In reality, the population size, number of generations, and space required to sustain elephants versus mice for 200 years are completely different. The target has now been revised to 100 years or 10+ generations, depending on the species, with the standard of maintaining over 90 percent genetic diversity during that period.

Deciding which individuals to breed can no longer be done on an ad hoc basis. Coordinators are appointed for each species or closely related taxonomic group. They make recommendations as needed, such as moving an animal to another zoo to try breeding with a different individual, or requesting that a certain pair no longer produce offspring (it's a system of recommendations, not orders, due to the circumstances of individual institutions). When an animal is needed, it is customary to start by consulting the coordinator about whether there is a surplus individual that meets the requirements or a suitable breeding partner available somewhere. The same applies to international exchanges; even if talks begin between individual zoos, they confirm with the coordinators in both countries that there are no issues.

As a result of these efforts, the number of zoos housing species that were once rarely seen, like the snow leopard, has dramatically increased. For western gorillas, the last time a wild individual was likely brought into a zoo was in the 1960s, and now almost all zoo gorillas are zoo-born. In the early days, even in the West, there was often resistance to sending a popular animal from one's own facility to another. Today, however, I have a strong impression that the sense of ownership by individual institutions over individual animals has considerably faded. It is no exaggeration to say that zoo animals are now maintained and managed as a truly shared asset.

While my knowledge of animal welfare in general is limited, the growing emphasis on it in Western society seems to correspond with the rise of environmental consciousness from the 1960s to the 1970s. In the United States, criticism of research activities using great apes at the Yerkes National Primate Research Center began around this time. In the 1980s, a storm of criticism erupted over the living conditions of Willie B., a gorilla at the Atlanta Zoo, and Ivan, a gorilla kept in a shopping center in Tacoma, Washington. Both were magnificent male silverbacks, but they were housed alone in single indoor rooms—solitary confinement, in other words. As a result, the Atlanta Zoo completely renovated its gorilla exhibit so that the gorillas could live in a group on a grassy, vegetated outdoor yard. Ivan was also eventually taken in by the Atlanta Zoo after a stay at Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo. From this period, significant changes in gorilla management and corresponding facility reviews spread to zoos across the country.

Besides great apes, elephants and cetaceans were strongly affected. Both are highly intelligent and social animals. Regarding elephants, not only did the use of bullhooks for taming become a target of criticism, but the practice of housing solitary elephants—which naturally live in family groups, except for adult males—was increasingly condemned as a violation of their welfare. In regions where long indoor confinement during cold winters is necessary, the small size of facilities became an issue. Furthermore, since zoos themselves had established the major premise of maintaining their animal collections with captive-bred individuals, it became necessary to transition to a system capable of sustaining breeding groups and, at a minimum, to make housing multiple individuals the standard. Many zoos had avoided keeping bull elephants because they become aggressive and difficult to handle during their breeding season, requiring separate isolation facilities, but this was no longer an option. As a result, several exhibits of truly mammoth proportions have now been built in the West.

As for dolphins, the film "The Cove," which condemns the drive fishery for dolphins in Taiji, is well known in Japan. Behind its production, however, is the ideology of people who want to end not just the drive fishery but the exhibition of cetaceans altogether. In 2013, the film "Blackfish," which focused on orcas at SeaWorld in the US, was released in America. It not only dealt a significant blow to SeaWorld's business but also spread negative opinions about keeping and exhibiting orcas among government officials and politicians. This March, all seven board members of the Vancouver Park Board in Canada unanimously supported a motion to amend a bylaw to ban the import and exhibition of cetaceans by the aquarium. Circuses have long been under fire, and Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey finally decided to cease operations.

Even with cooperative breeding, it's not as if the system is set and all is well. For example, one unavoidable issue in the long-term maintenance of breeding groups is the problem of surplus animals. There was a time when the AZA debated whether to cull surplus animals, but the conclusion was that, in light of the zoo's function to foster a love for animals, the only option was to commit to lifelong care. When an animal absolutely must be transferred, the destination must be chosen carefully. This is because if an animal ends up in a disreputable facility after being passed around, arrows of criticism for "sending animals to such a terrible place" will fly, no matter how high the standards of care are raised at AZA-accredited institutions.

In this way, zoos and aquariums in the West (including Australia hereafter) have been continuously exposed to critical selective pressure from the general public, so their operational systems and facilities have continued to evolve in response. Exhibits have not only adapted to changes in husbandry methods but have also been designed to appear as natural and spacious as possible to appeal to the public's imagination, avoiding the negative impression of cages and bars wherever possible. Conservation efforts have pursued not just breeding and research within zoos, but also how to contribute to conservation activities in the animals' countries of origin (in-situ conservation). Surveys are repeatedly conducted to gather data on whether visiting a zoo improves environmental knowledge and awareness, and whether zoos are meaningful to society. In the West, where voices have even begun to question the social license—the very reason for the existence—of zoos, this can be described as an industry-wide management effort for survival.

In Japan, on the other hand, zoos and aquariums are accepted almost without criticism, so their evolution has stopped at the bare minimum compared to their Western counterparts.

Another reason for this stalled evolution is a fundamental difference in operational structure. It is likely that very few people in Japan have ever seriously considered the role of a zoo. Among zoo professionals, the four points currently considered the global standard for a zoo's role are recognized: recreation, education, research, and wildlife conservation. I have long called these mere "slogans." This is because this role is a concept born from the social environment of the West, as described so far, and Japanese zoos do not have the organizational structure to fulfill it. To begin with, since public zoos in Japan are operated within the framework of parks, it is difficult for them to take on multifaceted roles under a vertically integrated administrative system. It only became clear to me after living in America, but it is fair to say that Japanese and Western zoos are similar but different, except for the fact that they both exhibit wild animals. In the US, in particular, the system of public-private partnerships for projects of high public interest supports the country, so the business models themselves are quite different from those in Japan.

First, regarding people, the heads of Western zoos are typically biologists or veterinarians (though in recent years, some facilities have adopted a dual leadership model for animal management and other business operations). Moreover, many have long experience in zoos or related facilities and serve as directors for decades. In large facilities, animal management is handled by curators, usually with academic degrees, specializing in taxonomic groups such as mammals, birds, and herpetology. The education department typically has its own specialized curator, who not only provides programs for visitors within the zoo but also engages in multifaceted efforts, such as visiting local schools or organizing programs for teachers. Many in-zoo programs are fee-based, and it is not uncommon for them to grow into self-sustaining businesses. As for conservation, I have already written about it; many of the curators travel domestically and internationally for conservation activities in countries of origin and for various conferences.

What about Japan? Many people might assume that a zoo director must be an animal expert, but there are very few so-called zoologists in Japan. Since most zoos are public, personnel decisions follow administrative practices. As a result, positions change every few years. Efforts are likely made to appoint someone with zoo experience to the director's post, but when a suitable candidate is not available, it is not uncommon for someone with a degree from a faculty of agriculture or veterinary medicine who has worked at a forestry or agricultural experiment station to be appointed. Not all such individuals are unqualified, and there are several whom I respect, but when considering the long-term improvement of the business's quality and the ever-changing social environment, you can imagine that this approach has its limits. This applies not only to directors but also to department and section chiefs.

At the keeper level, some zoos in cities with over a million people still classify the work as manual labor. There is only one computer at the section chief's desk, and daily logs are still handwritten. With this setup, searching keeper data is nearly impossible, and scientific management is out of the question. To maintain and manage breeding groups over the long term, individual data management is essential. Services exist for sharing data worldwide on everything from medical care to housing facilities and management methods, but municipalities that properly budget for the use of such services are the exception to the rule.

As for education, few institutions have dedicated staff for it, and even when they do, they are often burdened with public relations and event planning duties. Institutions that conduct organized research are exceptional, and the current situation in Japan is that attending research meetings and study groups is typically done on one's own time and at one's own expense. As for the animals, while I wrote that they are a "shared asset" in the West, in many Japanese municipalities, they are treated as "equipment" on the books. That is why talk immediately turns to "purchasing" them.

In recent years, the application of the designated manager system has blurred the division of responsibilities between local governments and designated managers. The designated manager system is a comprehensive consignment system where the municipal government holds all decisive management authority. However, the number of municipal officials in charge of zoos is limited, and they rotate every few years, which may be reinforcing a reliance on precedent. When they say there is no budget and you propose a revenue-generating project, they say a public facility cannot charge more than its costs. In the end, the quality of the business is not evaluated on how well it fulfills the four roles, but solely on the number of visitors. Moreover, this is a self-serving argument that ignores things like the optimal number of visitors per day—in other words, it ignores visitor comfort.

With the economic slowdown and declining tax revenues, businesses like zoos in Japan have been pushed forward with constant belt-tightening. I apologize for using a pre-Lehman shock example, but the construction cost of the "Congo Gorilla Forest" at the Bronx Zoo was $43 million (1999), and the "Masoala Rainforest" at the Zurich Zoo cost 52 million Swiss francs (2003), which are roughly 4.3 billion yen and 5.2 billion yen, respectively. And each serves as a fundraising channel for conservation activities in the Congo Basin and Madagascar. Here again, we see the gap between the West and Japan.

Are zoos necessary? I believe that zoos are one of the last bastions to prevent urban dwellers from forgetting about wild creatures and nature, and they must be the final gateway from the city to natural experiences. If zoos were to disappear, I think wildlife and nature would become purely abstract concepts, causing people to forget that they are part of nature, and could ultimately lead to the loss of the will to conserve wildlife and the natural environment. To put it in extreme terms, just as people in hunter-gatherer societies cannot survive without capturing prey, the animals in zoos can be considered a necessary sacrifice for the inhabitants of a hyper-urban society to not forget the remaining nature and head toward extinction.

If we think this way, isn't it our responsibility to make every effort to ensure that zoo animals are as useful as possible for the conservation of wildlife and the natural environment, and that they can live as comfortably as possible in the zoo environment? In the case of Hanako the elephant at Inokashira Park Zoo, there was nothing that could be done by the time she received criticism from overseas, but was it permissible that she was brought to Japan at a young age and never lived with other elephants? Was there nothing that could have been done 20 or 30 years ago? Such an examination and reflection must be carried out. This is all the more true because there are still other elephants living alone in Japan. Regarding cetaceans, we need to consider whether it is acceptable to build new facilities that are not even equipped for breeding, and whether we can truly say we are providing the best possible care from the cetaceans' perspective. Although it is rarely reported in major Japanese media, it is important to recognize the fact that in the case of bottlenose dolphins in the US, exhibits have been maintained since the 1980s without introductions from the wild, with the exception of rescued individuals.

I am not saying that all zoos and aquariums in Japan are bad, and the staff on the ground are all diligently working for the animals in their care. There are indeed efforts and initiatives that should be highly praised by global standards. The problem is the lack of a system, a mechanism, and public interest to empower such initiatives and develop the business. The gaffe by Kozo Yamamoto, the Minister for Regional Revitalization, who called "cultural curators a cancer," and the factual errors in the related cases, inadvertently exposed the quality of Japan's politicians and cultural administration. Ultimately, my current thinking is that Japan needs a new system that allows for public-private partnerships to tackle non-profit projects of high public interest.

If you have the opportunity to visit a zoo or aquarium, I would be grateful if you would remember these things.