Addressing the Whale in the Room – The Rise and Fall of Eco-Trump

Paul Watson in front of the Nisshin Maru whaling factory vessel (Credits: Sea Shepherd)

I remember when Sea Shepherd was just a ragtag crew with big ideas and even bigger determination. Back then, it wasn’t about who had the most followers or who could rant the loudest on social media. It was about action. Raw, risky, sometimes reckless, but real.

It’s been almost two decades since I stood on the deck of a Sea Shepherd vessel, my life now shaped more by the chaos of parenting than by waves and confrontation on the high seas. Yet, despite the distance, the recent turmoil around Paul Watson feels strangely personal. Once celebrated as an unwavering eco-warrior, Paul now finds himself isolated, cast out by the very organisation he founded.

It’s time to address the whale in the room.

Sea Shepherd’s story didn’t begin as a solo quest, no matter how often Paul likes to tell it that way. It was born, like many bold ideas, out of frustration and a small group of people who wanted to shake things up. Back in 1977, after parting ways with Greenpeace because they weren’t, in his eyes, going far enough, Paul co-founded what was first called Earth Force Society in Vancouver, Canada. He wasn’t alone. Names like Ron Precious, Starlet Lum, Al Johnson, and a few others were right there at the start, shaping what would eventually become the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society.

Even Robert Hunter, a Greenpeace legend, was involved in the early days, despite not being a co-founder, lending his voice and vision as Sea Shepherd began to find its footing.

Earth Force might not have had the same ring to it, but it laid the groundwork. The mission was clear from the start: protect wildlife, no matter what it takes. Direct action wasn’t just a tactic; it was the core belief. And while, in those early days, Paul’s leadership was unmistakable, he wasn’t the only one shaping the vision. It was a team effort, driven by people who believed in something bigger than themselves.

Yet Paul alone would later take center stage, crafting himself as the singular hero in a narrative full of heroes.

The Golden Years of Direct Action

Before social media, before the drama, before the brand became bigger than the mission — Sea Shepherd was pure fire. Direct action wasn’t just a slogan, it was a lifeline. We didn’t just talk about saving whales, we chased whalers. We didn’t petition governments — we outmanoeuvred them. It was a dangerous dance on the high seas, and it worked. Every poacher intercepted, every net hauled in, meant lives saved of whales, dolphins, sharks. That’s what drove us.

In the 1980s, Sea Shepherd made headlines by sinking whaling ships — not with explosives, but by slipping into harbours under cover of night and scuttling vessels that were illegally killing whales. The Sierra, a notorious pirate whaler, was one of the first. That act alone stopped it from ever killing again. Two more whalers, the Isba I and Isba II, met the same fate in a Portuguese harbour. It was bold, illegal, and effective.

By the 1990s, Sea Shepherd was still pushing boundaries. In 1992, the campaign against Cuban and Spanish drift netters in the North Atlantic saw nets hauled out of the water and destroyed — saving untold numbers of marine creatures from drowning in what were called “walls of death”. The MV Cleveland Amory, another Sea Shepherd vessel, patrolled the seas, chasing down drift netting operations that other organisations only condemned from afar.

And it wasn’t just whalers and drift nets. In 1999, Sea Shepherd confronted a fleet of Costa Rican shark finners off the coast of Guatemala, documenting illegal operations and working with local authorities to bring them down. The battle against the shark fin trade, one of the most brutal and wasteful industries, became a cornerstone of the organisation’s efforts.

By the early 2000s, the Farley Mowat had become the heart of the fleet. Sea Shepherd took its fight to the Galápagos, partnering with Ecuadorian officials to enforce protections in the marine reserve. While other NGOs filed reports, we were seizing ships, arresting poachers, and giving the sharks of the Galápagos a fighting chance.

But it was the Southern Ocean campaigns that truly defined Sea Shepherd’s reputation. Every year, Japanese whalers sailed south under the banner of “scientific research” to kill whales in Antarctic waters. Governments looked the other way. Environmental groups issued press releases. Sea Shepherd? We fuelled up, braved the storms, and went after them.

At first, it was just the Farley Mowat facing down the whaling fleet. Outnumbered, outgunned, but undeterred. Then, in 2005, a second ship joined the fight: the Robert Hunter, later renamed to that legendary name, the Steve Irwin. That moment marked a turning point - one that would soon thrust Sea Shepherd into the global spotlight.

Whaling factory vessel hauling in dead Minke whales (Credits: Australia Customs and Border Protection Service)

Enter Whale Wars – From Obscurity to Fame

In 2008, Whale Wars premiered on Animal Planet. For the first time, the world could see what we saw: the chaos, the danger, the stakes. The show didn’t sugarcoat it. You saw ships crashing, crew members injured, and tense standoffs in freezing waters. But you also saw results, with hundreds of whales saved each season. Japan would set a quota, and Sea Shepherd would slash it in half by blocking harpoons, chasing the factory ship, and forcing the whalers to retreat.

Of course, like any reality show, Whale Wars wasn’t without its scripted beats and heightened drama. Some of it made for good television more than good context, a fact which many crew quietly chuckled about behind the scenes. But the underlying impact was real and the world was finally paying attention.

The effect? Explosive growth. Sea Shepherd transformed from a fringe activist group to a global powerhouse. Donations poured in. Supporters lined up to crew the ships. And the fleet expanded, adding the Bob Barker, the Brigitte Bardot and the Sam Simon.

At one point, four ships were in the Southern Ocean at the same time, crisscrossing the ice in a coordinated assault on the whalers. No one — not Japan, not the IWC, not the governments of the world — could ignore it anymore. Sea Shepherd had become a force of nature.

And Paul? Paul was the face of it all. Media appearances, interviews, standing ovations at conferences. He wasn’t just a captain — he was a celebrity. Whale Wars made him a household name in the activist world, and beyond. And with every camera pointed his way, the ego grew. The mission blurred. Was it about the whales, or about Watson?

Boosted by an Interpol Red Notice requested by Japan in 2012, Paul was suddenly a fugitive hero in the eyes of supporters. But even then, he seemed to understand the gravity of what he’d created. This was when he famously said:

"I’m not Sea Shepherd. Sea Shepherd evolved from an organisation in the US to a global movement in 45 different countries...You can take down an individual, you can take down an organisation, but you can’t destroy a movement." (source)

Back then, Paul was ready to frame himself as a symbol, willing to step back if needed because the cause mattered more. An arrest, exile… none of it could stop Sea Shepherd, because it was never about one man.

Funny how those words are conspicuously absent now. But I’m getting ahead of myself here…

Cracks in the Hull – When the Spotlight Burns

Fame, as it turns out, is a hell of a drug. For Paul, Whale Wars wasn’t just about saving whales anymore. No, it was about being the saviour. And if you’ve ever been part of Sea Shepherd in those days, you’ll understand what I mean when I say the ego grew with every headline.

Paul Watson on the M/Y Steve Irwin (Credits: Sea Shepherd)

But let’s not just talk about public image. let’s talk about what was happening behind the scenes.

There’s an uncomfortable truth that long-time crew whispered about, even back then. Paul’s reputation with women wasn’t exactly... pristine. One former crew member recalled hearing him say “I don’t care about changing relationships, as long as one rolls into the next.” This wasn’t just hearsay, but fairly common knowledge. He was charismatic, sure. But for some, that charm didn’t come without strings.

And then there was his online habit. No, not just the usual bombastic or self-congratulatory posts. I’m talking about full-blown leaks of sensitive campaign info, private discussions thrown into the public for no apparent reason other than to soak up likes, or to be able to let people “in on a secret”. Internally, we joked about it as “WatsonLeaks,” a nod to WikiLeaks, but less about truth and more about attention.

Then, there’s the vegan hypocrisy. Sea Shepherd has long prided itself on being a fully vegan organisation, from the food on the ships to the messaging in the media. But Paul? Despite the image, it’s an open secret he’s not vegan. Crew on the Steve Irwin often complained about the smell of bacon from his private cabin, which featured a small kitchen. Personal assistants have spoken out about what they’ve seen, and it sure wasn’t plant-based. But like many things, it was swept under the rug because, well, he was “the Captain.”

The Birth of Sea Shepherd Global

By the early 2010s, legal pressure started to mount. In 2012, Sea Shepherd Conservation Society (SSCS), the US group, was hit with an injunction from the US courts, barring them from interfering with Japanese whaling. It was a blow. Both legally, financially, and strategically. But the mission had to continue. Enter Sea Shepherd Australia, which took the helm of the Southern Ocean campaigns for a while, but even that wasn’t a long-term solution.

So, in 2013, Sea Shepherd Global was formed in the Netherlands. It was meant to be a fresh start, a way to operate internationally, beyond the US legal restrictions, to continue the fight without being hamstrung by one country’s courts and to keep protecting marine life in places where no one else could or would…

The original board? It didn’t include Paul…

• Alex Cornelissen (CEO)

• Peter Hammarstedt

• Geert Vons

• Jeff Hansen

• Lamya Essemlali
  

Paul likes to paint himself as the heart of Sea Shepherd, but Global was a collective effort. In fact, Paul didn’t even join the board of Sea Shepherd Global until 2018. A full five years after it was founded.

And it wasn’t long before oddly familiar issues resurfaced.

The Beginning of the End

In 2022, Sea Shepherd Conservation Society (the US-based Sea Shepherd group) was investigating Paul for possible misuse of donor funds. Meaning, essentially, that he might have been using his organisational privileges to purchase personal effects. Mind you, during this period, he was already making almost $250.000 annually in salaries, and likely additional funds from book sales. But rather than face the outcome of the investigation, Paul quit the board of SSCS and left the organisation, staying with Sea Shepherd Global, where he seemed to think he still had safe harbour.

At the time, there had already been some cold air between the organisations due to a trademark dispute, which was eventually resolved by a contractual agreement. Reportedly, this agreement stated that the organisations, directors, staff, and volunteers should not disparage the other — not really a big ask, considering how counterproductive that kind of public mudslinging would be for everyone involved.

But Paul Watson couldn’t stop himself. He ranted. He posted. He accused. Despite the agreement, his attacks on SSCS continued. And after yet another warning from the Sea Shepherd Global board, Paul Watson was dismissed from the board of directors. He just couldn’t help himself. The grudge came first, even if it meant putting the mission second.

The Fallout – From Founder to Facebook Warrior

Paul Watson didn’t take his removal from Sea Shepherd Global quietly. At first, he tried to keep a grip; posting carefully, still praising the campaigns, still supporting the crew, as if the only problem was the board of directors. Maybe he thought he could spin it back in his favour.

But that didn’t last.

Soon, the tone shifted. The board weren’t just the enemy.. Now, everyone was. Crew he once called heroes? Traitors. Campaigns he’d backed and praised for years? Suddenly “colonialist,” “supporting corrupt governments in Africa.” It was like watching someone torch their own house, then blame the neighbors for not stopping them.

And it wasn’t just words. He moved fast to create the Captain Paul Watson Foundation, bringing along three Sea Shepherd chapters — France, UK, and Brazil. It wasn’t about continuity, though. It was about revenge. He wanted to show the world he still had it, that he didn’t need Sea Shepherd. But here’s the problem — you can’t just slap your name on something and expect it to work like the old days.

He rushed to get ships. It felt less about conservation and more about optics. “Look at me, I’ve still got a fleet!” Never mind what those ships were doing (or not doing).

The Campaigns That Weren’t

Now, several years later, it’s still hard to say exactly what’s been accomplished with these newly acquired ships. One has made a few attempts — sailing to Iceland, patrolling around the Faroe Islands to stop the infamous “grindadráp”, better known as “The Grind”, and launching a campaign against the bycatch of dolphins in French trawl nets in the Bay of Biscay. Each of these efforts came with the promise of the kind of direct action Paul so often claimed Sea Shepherd had abandoned. But despite the bold announcements, no real actions ever materialized. Just words, and the anticipation of something more.

The one mission we did see a ship complete? Sailing from the UK to the US. Not to confront a threat, but to pick up Paul and bring him back to Europe. That was it. When people pointed this out, a flurry of excuses followed, but none of them really stuck. The real reason seemed obvious enough. It wasn’t about the oceans, it was about him.

And all that fuel, all that effort by volunteer crews, for what? Tens of thousands of liters of diesel fuel burned, a transatlantic voyage made — not for a campaign, but for a personal errand. For a group that claims to fight for the environment or, at very least, the whales, how do you justify that kind of cost? Not just to the planet, but to the donors who believed they were supporting action for the oceans, not just footing the bill for one man’s travel. There wasn’t even a pretense of conservation here. Just a ship, crossing the ocean, to serve one man’s needs.

And then there’s the deception. Not only have there been no real campaigns, but at times, they’ve faked them outright. In the summer of 2023, Captain MacLean of the Captain Paul Watson Foundation posted a photo on Facebook showing himself, Paul himself, and two supporters posing in front of an Icelandic flag. The caption read “#icelandadventure,” with the location tagged as Reykjavík. In the comments, Paul added, “In and out and they never knew. lol.”

That same day, another post appeared: a photo of Captain MacLean and Paul giving the finger to a Faroese flag, with the caption, “The day Paul Watson and I snuck into Tórshavn.”, and putting a bow on it with a classy “#FarkU.”

Facebook post by Capt. MacLean showing Paul and himself pretending to be in the Faroe Islands

But none of it was true. Both photos were taken in Killybegs Harbour, County Donegal, Ireland, with the flags located in the harbour.

No mission. No stealth entry. Just a lie — crafted to make volunteers and supporters believe something bold had happened. To make people believe they were still in the game. And judging by the reaction, it worked. People cheered. Some donated. But nothing had happened. It was smoke and mirrors, nothing more.

If the posts are still up, you can go see it for yourself. If not, well… that tells its own story too.

More recently, Paul’s organisation described another, more recent, transatlantic crossing as a monumental challenge, claiming their 2,800-nautical mile voyage “pushed the ship and her engine to the limit.” But let’s put that into perspective. This is a 70-metre steel ship with dual engines, fresh off a rest period in the Caribbean. The first motorized Atlantic crossing happened in 1819, and today, thousands of vessels, from cargo ships to fiberglass sailboats, make the journey every year without issue.

And under Paul’s own leadership, Sea Shepherd itself sent composite boats like the Ady Gil and Brigitte Bardot into the brutal Southern Ocean in pursuit of whaling fleets. That was real risk. That was pushing limits. So to now frame a routine Atlantic crossing as something extraordinary for that big of a vessel feels more like spin than substance.

I’m not saying this to downplay the danger of the sea. Ocean crossings are never trivial. But when your newly acquired flagship can’t make a standard crossing without suffering engine failure (seemingly for the third time in three years by the way) the question isn’t how hard the ocean is. It’s why this ship was chosen in the first place. And the answer seems obvious: it wasn’t about seaworthiness or long-term strategy. It was about getting a ship quickly. Something big, bold, and fleet-worthy on paper, to prove a point. Not because it was the right ship, or even in good condition, but because having a flagship again mattered more than making sure it could actually carry the mission.

And if you needed any more evidence of where the priorities lay, you didn’t have to look far. In the earliest days of the Captain Paul Watson Foundation’s new campaigns, the focus wasn’t on wildlife, poaching, or conservation. It was on branding. Early videos were promoted with lines like “as seen on TV” and “coming soon to television.” Even the website leaned more on pirate theatrics than marine protection, with slogans like “We be pirates” front and centre, and barely a mention of the animals supposedly being saved. Before a single campaign had taken shape, the spotlight was already the goal.

Now, in the wake of that troubled crossing, we’re seeing yet another fundraising push — an urgent call for help to repair the same engine that’s already failed multiple times. That’s not just unfortunate. It’s a pattern. And when that pattern gets wrapped in drama and presented as valor, it stops being about conservation and starts looking a whole lot like a grift.

And look, I say this as someone who’s followed these campaigns for decades. If the Captain Paul Watson Foundation is truly saying that a 70-metre, steel, dual-engine ship couldn’t handle a routine Atlantic crossing without serious damage… maybe think twice before signing up. Because if that’s really the case, then either the ship is in extremely poor condition, and the crossing itself was reckless. Or the leadership behind it simply isn’t ready for the kind of work they claim to be doing, or wanting to do.

And that’s what makes the next part so hard to take seriously.

Because if the organisation struggled that much with an Atlantic crossing, how exactly are they planning to operate in the Southern Ocean, easily one of the most dangerous, remote, and unforgiving regions on the planet?

And yet, one of their other vessels is supposedly tasked with exactly that. It’s been stationed, or rather, parked, in what the organisation dramatically describes as “guarding the gateway to the Southern Ocean.” It’s a catchy line, but what it really amounts to is the ship sitting in port, waiting for a fleet that may never come. According to the Paul Watson Foundation, they’re standing by for the return of the Japanese whaling fleet and their newly built monster of a factory ship, the Kangei Maru.

But even if the Japanese did return, the Kangei Maru is a brand-new, multi-million dollar factory whaling vessel, likely designed with past confrontations in mind. Do we really think Japan would build a ship like that and not ensure it could outrun a 25-year-old fishing support vessel? It’s not a strategy. At this point, it’s barely theater.

There’s another problem: the Japanese haven’t even announced any plans to return.

And more than that, it’s not clear they can return. The infamous “RESEARCH” painted on the sides of their whaling vessels wasn’t just a gimmick — it was a legal loophole. As a member of the International Whaling Commission (IWC) at the time, Japan exploited this clause to conduct so-called scientific whaling in the Southern Ocean. But after the International Court of Justice ruled those operations illegal, Japan withdrew from the IWC in 2019, effectively ending their Antarctic whaling program. Without that IWC membership, the legal cover to return to the Southern Ocean doesn’t exist.

Japan conducting their “research” whaling. (Credits: Glenn Lockitch / Sea Shepherd)

It’s hard to believe Paul Watson and his team wouldn’t know this. In fact, Paul himself claimed on Facebook to have proof that Japan would return. He even suggested that he posessed some insider knowledge to this effect. But when asked to share that proof, by multiple people, myself included, the response was silence. The comments? Ignored or deleted. The proof? Never shown.

Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. But what is true, is that the threat of Japanese whalers returning is a powerful fundraising narrative, especially for a relatively new organisation struggling to keep multiple vessels afloat. When you’re short on action, keeping the memory of high-seas confrontations alive can be just as valuable. Or at least, that’s how it looked to me. Like a carefully spun story, playing to long-time supporters from the days of Whale Wars, eager to see another dramatic showdown.

And now, we hear Paul lamenting that there’s no money for campaigns — that he’s missing all of “his” previous support. But if that’s the case, why rush to buy so many ships? Why build a fleet before having the funds to run it?

And here’s the part that sticks with me, because it was Paul himself who taught me that the real budgetary killer isn’t the upfront cost of a vessel. It’s the recurring costs that sink you: the maintenance, the fuel, the compensation for crew, port fees, repairs… the list goes on. He used to say that buying a ship is the easy part and keeping it running is something completely different. The annual costs of any vessel can be a huge chunk of the purchase price, and the bills don’t stop coming. Paul knew that better than anyone. And yet, here we are.

From Fighting Whalers to Fighting Sea Shepherd

These days, Paul seems less focused on the oceans, and more obsessed with those he believes betrayed him. He’s no longer chasing whaling ships — he’s chasing Sea Shepherd Global, one post at a time. What used to be a movement has turned, for him, into a vendetta.

Instead of rallying people to protect marine life, he now spends his time writing childish poems and petty commentaries aimed at those he once called allies. It’s hard to see how that helps the ocean… But then again, that no longer seems to be the point. All the while, he lives comfortably on a houseboat, or yacht, depending on who’s describing it, far from the storms, both literal and organisational. The revolution, it turns out, has a waterfront view.

Since his removal from Sea Shepherd Global, Paul’s been throwing out different stories about why it happened, like he’s testing to see which one will stick. First, it was because Sea Shepherd Global had folded to pressure to remove him. Then, it was because he asked too many questions. Then, because he was too old. After that, he was just too controversial, he claimed — the organisation couldn’t handle his reputation anymore. And when that didn’t gain traction, he shifted again: it was a power grab — Alex and Peter wanted to take over. The truth? Maybe it’s simpler: Sea Shepherd needed stability, and Paul was needlessly rocking the boat. Not in the bold, “making waves” kind of way, but in the way that risks capsizing the whole mission.

And speaking of twisting reality, Paul has been quick to accuse Sea Shepherd Global of abandoning direct action, saying that all they do now is go on expeditions to take photos, not confront threats. But here’s the irony: it was Paul who always said, “The most powerful weapon in the world, as far as I’m concerned, is the camera.”

And it’s not like documentary campaigns are something new. Sea Shepherd has long used documentation to expose crimes against marine life and apply pressure on those responsible, with Paul right there at the helm for many of them. These weren’t about chasing ships, but about shining a light on what others wanted hidden. They brought the world’s attention to illegal drift netting, dolphin slaughter, and shark finning… And they worked. Those images didn’t just shock people; they mobilised them, raised awareness, and helped drive real change.

Back then, the camera was his favourite tool. Now that it’s not pointed at him, suddenly it’s not good enough.

Paul now talks as if Sea Shepherd has abandoned direct action — but what does he think boarding illegal fishing vessels, confiscating gear, and helping coastal nations arrest poachers is? That’s not just direct, it’s effective. And it’s the very model he pioneered.

Back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, Paul led Sea Shepherd into partnerships with governments, offering ships and crew to enforce marine laws where local authorities lacked the resources. In the Galápagos, Sea Shepherd worked hand-in-hand with Ecuadorian officials, helping to patrol the marine reserve, seize illegal fishing vessels, and protect endangered sharks from finning. They even helped launch a wildlife-sniffer dog programme at airports, aimed at detecting wildlife smugglers trying to illegally move wildlife out of the biodiverse archipelago.

In Guatemala, Paul personally negotiated to support the government in stopping illegal longliners, providing Sea Shepherd ships as platforms to help enforce national laws. Sea Shepherd’s crew worked side by side with Guatemalan authorities to push back against poachers, long before it became more common for NGOs to take on that kind of role.

These weren’t just stunts either — they were real direct action, grounded in cooperation, and they worked. And the law enforcement support model didn’t die with Paul’s departure. It grew. It’s what Sea Shepherd Global seemingly continues to do — only now, without him at the helm. That’s the real difference.

But instead of acknowledging that, Paul moved the goalposts.

When reality doesn’t fit his narrative, he shifts it. One minute, all Sea Shepherd Global is doing is just a bunch of “photo expeditions.” The next, he’s claiming they’re in bed with industrial fishing, pointing fingers at supposed connections with companies like Austral Fisheries without a shred of proof.

One of Paul’s favourite accusations is that Austral Fisheries has active ties to Japanese whaling and, by extension, that Sea Shepherd Global does too. It’s a convenient narrative, but let’s look at what’s actually true.

Yes, Maruha Nichiro, a Japanese company, is a major shareholder in Austral fisheries. Yes, Maruha Nichiro’s predecessors were involved in whaling as far back as the 1930s. And yes, they were one of three shareholders in Kyodo Senpaku, the company behind Japan’s so-called “scientific” whaling fleet. But what Paul leaves out is that Maruha Nichiro divested from Kyodo Senpaku around 2006, nearly two decades ago, and two years before Whale Wars ever aired.

There’s no evidence of any current involvement in whaling. None. But Paul keeps invoking it. Because the Japanese whaling fleet wasn’t just any enemy — it was his favourite one. The one that made him famous. The one that drew in the crowds and the cash. And even now, years after that fight ended, it still works. That’s the power of a familiar villain.

Of course, if you follow Paul’s posts, you’ll have seen the usual constellation of insinuations against Sea Shepherd — old business connections, past donations, ship ownership trails. They’re presented like breadcrumbs leading to some grand conspiracy. And sure, they’re worth looking into. If there’s something there, I’ll dig into it — maybe in another piece. But ask yourself: if there really were a smoking gun, wouldn’t we have seen it by now? Given Paul’s track record, it’s hard not to assume it’s just more noise dressed up as scandal.

The thing is that this isn’t about truth. It’s about narrative. And in Paul’s world, any chance to discredit the organisation that let him go, is one worth taking even if it means twisting old facts, reanimating long-dead connections, or inventing links that don’t exist.

Because if you can’t win the argument, throw mud. And if the mud sticks — even better.

This constant need to control the narrative, to centre himself as the voice of the movement, flies in the face of what he used to preach.

Let’s not forget, at the height of Sea Shepherd’s Whale Wars success, Paul proudly said,
“Sea Shepherd is not about me, it is a movement. Sea Shepherd will continue with or without me because the ocean must survive, and that is our mission.”
I guess that only holds true until Paul’s no longer at the helm.

Now, it’s about his accomplishments, his ships, his image. Never mind the thousands of crew who made those campaigns possible. Never mind the idea that this was supposed to be bigger than any one person. Funny how the movement stopped being "bigger than him" the moment he wasn’t leading it.

From Revolution to Evolution: How Sea Shepherd Adapted to Save More

This isn’t the 1980s anymore. The days of operating in a legal grey zone, pushing boundaries with bold high-seas confrontations, have given way to a world with tighter scrutiny, and bigger risks. Sea Shepherd didn’t stop taking action, but it had to adapt. Reckless moves weren’t just risky for crews, but they now threatened the entire organisation. One misstep, and the whole mission could collapse under lawsuits, government bans, or worse.

So Sea Shepherd evolved.

Campaigns became smarter, more strategic, and yes — more legal. The direct action didn’t stop; it adapted. Instead of chasing whalers in the Southern Ocean alone, Sea Shepherd went after the statistically bigger killers — the industrial fishing fleets that kill hundreds of thousands of whales, dolphins, and other marine life every year.

Look at Chasing the Thunder — the longest maritime pursuit in history, hunting down a notorious illegal fishing vessel across three oceans. Or the campaigns targeting illegal fishing in Africa, where Sea Shepherd partnered with governments to enforce marine laws, seize illegal ships, and protect vast areas of ocean that no one else could defend. These campaigns weren’t just more lawful — they were much more effective.

The F/V Thunder sinking off the coast of West Africa following Sea Shepherd’s 110 day pursuit (Credits: Sea Shepherd)

And here’s the thing: Paul supported this shift. He didn’t call it selling out back then. In fact, in 2022, he laid it all out in a commentary — one that never saw the light of day, but found its way to me through a former Sea Shepherd staffer:

“Sea Shepherd has transitioned into a new role, one of cooperation with governments to assist with enforcement of conservation laws within the territorial waters of sovereign nations.”

Not exactly the kind of line you'd expect from someone now accusing Sea Shepherd of going soft.

He even acknowledged the need to let go of some of the high-profile standoffs that didn’t deliver results:

“We must prioritize our operations and disengage from some of our more controversial confrontational campaigns, especially from campaigns that have not demonstrated notable effectiveness.”

Funny how those words never seem to make it into his Facebook posts these days.

I still have the whole thing — that commentary. Unreleased, as far as I can tell. If anyone’s curious to read it in full, let me know. I might just post it here on this blog.
(EDIT: The full post is now available here)

What really gets me, though, is that Paul wasn’t just on board with all of this — he was pushing for it.

He called for unity under Sea Shepherd Global itself:
“Towards this end all Sea Shepherd entities should work cooperatively under the umbrella of Sea Shepherd Global.”

The mission didn’t change. The methods evolved. Paul knew it then — but it’s a truth he seems to have conveniently forgotten now.

The Cost of Ego – What’s Really at Stake?

Paul’s fallout isn’t just about him. It’s about what happens when a movement built on unity starts to fracture. When the mission takes a back seat to personal vendettas, everyone pays — and the oceans, most of all.

While Paul’s been loud — post after post, accusation after accusation — Sea Shepherd didn’t respond publicly. They stayed quiet and, from all appearances, kept on with their campaigns and their usual work. They announced his dismissal from the board. They objected publicly when he was arrested in Greenland in 2024. Beyond that? Silence. No public battles. No back-and-forth.

Well, almost. Reportedly, there were a few copyright takedowns issued by Sea Shepherd, aimed at preventing their footage from being used by the very organisation attacking them. Hardly surprising. And yes, there have been lawsuits. Paul and Lamya sued in the Netherlands to try to get back on the board — the court declined. Sea Shepherd Global also filed legal action against Sea Shepherd France over their continued use of the trademarked name and logo, with the case of a preliminary injunction for Sea Shepherd France to continue to use the name and logo being decided in favour of Sea Shepherd France, while the main court case still looms.

And earlier, Sea Shepherd France — already leaning heavily toward Paul’s side by then — ran a major fundraiser after the split, heavily featuring footage from Sea Shepherd Global’s African campaigns — raising over €2 million. It’s not part of the lawsuit, as far as I know, but it does show why protecting the name and identity of the organisation became a priority.

Still, I’ll admit — at times, I wished Sea Shepherd Global had said something. A statement. A clarification. Just a little light to cut through the noise. But as time went on, I found myself appreciating the silence. There was something about not feeding the fracture, about just getting on with the work, that felt right. Maybe not always satisfying, but necessary.

But even when one side stays silent, the damage still ripples.

Donors grow uncertain. Supporters feel torn. Volunteers — the lifeblood of any action — are left wondering what they signed up for. I’ve talked to people who just wanted to save marine life, not get caught in the crossfire of old grudges. They joined to fight poachers, not fight over Facebook. This isn’t why we sailed, why we risked it all out there.

Ego derails even the strongest causes if it’s left unchecked. It distracts, divides, and destroys from within.

And while the oceans still need defending, energy wasted on division is energy lost. And that’s a cost we, or the ocean, can’t afford.

The Bigger Picture – Where Sea Shepherd Stands Today

It’s easy to get caught up in the drama. The personalities, the posts, the noise. But while all of that’s been playing out, the oceans haven’t stopped needing defenders. And Sea Shepherd Global? They’ve kept at it.

While Paul’s been online, they’ve been at sea.

Sea Shepherd crew member next to krill trawler in the Southern Ocean (Credits: Sea Shepherd)

The campaigns aren’t about chasing whalers in the Southern Ocean anymore, because they don’t have to be. Japan abandoned its Antarctic whaling programme in 2018, and with that, Sea Shepherd’s longest fight in those waters came to a close. But the focus didn’t disappear. Instead, it shifted. Illegal fishing off Africa’s coast. Ghost nets drifting, killing silently. Attempting desperately to save the last few critically endangered Vaquita porpoises in Mexico’s Gulf of California. And they’ve returned to Antarctica — not for whaling fleets this time, but to stop industrial krill fishing. Because stopping the whalers will have meant little if the whales are now left to starve.

It’s not as flashy, sure, but it’s effective. Exposing destructive operations. Boarding vessels. Confiscating illegal gear. Supporting local enforcement.

And in the Mediterranean, efforts have focused on removing abandoned fishing gear and protecting vulnerable species like octopus from seemingly ever-growing industrial demand.

It’s different work than before, but it’s no less urgent.

Does that mean everything’s perfect? No. No organisation is. But from where I’m sitting, Sea Shepherd hasn’t lost its way — it’s found a way forward. Stronger. Smarter. More focused.

And maybe that’s exactly what the oceans need.

Because they don’t care about who’s shouting the loudest. They just need someone to show up.

The Ocean Doesn’t Care for Egos

Waves Breaking (Credits: Thomas Fuhrmann)

This wasn’t easy to write. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy to read. And I know some die-hard Paul supporters will come out swinging. That’s why I’m staying anonymous. Like a certain US president, many of Paul’s followers often care more about narrative than truth. If you challenge it, you’re the enemy.

But I’ve been around too long, seen too much, to keep my mouth shut.

This isn’t the Paul Watson I once stood behind. Not the one who brought us together to fight for the ocean.

Let me be clear — I’m not here to discredit everything Paul’s done. His contributions to marine conservation are real. He inspired thousands of us. He took the fight to places no one else would. He’s a legend — but one that already feels oddly historical, despite still being very much alive. Somewhere along the way, as the spotlight shifted, so did his priorities.

If Paul truly cared about the oceans, he’d stop trying to tear down those still out there risking everything to protect them. Instead, he’s locked in a grudge match — more focused on likes than lives.

And in true Paul fashion, I’m sure he’ll respond. He’ll comb through this, paragraph by paragraph, carefully crafting his rebuttal, defending every action like he’s done hundreds of times over the years. That’s fine. It’s easy to come up with explanations after the fact.

But this isn’t just about one man’s posts, or one man’s pride. It’s about what happens to a movement when ego takes the wheel.

And before I go any further, I want to speak directly to the volunteers, crew, and staff, past and present, of the organisations I’ve talked about here. This isn’t an attack on you. It’s not a dismissal of your work, your time, your sacrifices. I know what it means to give yourself to something bigger. This is about leadership. It’s about Paul Watson. And the damage that ego, when left unchecked, can do to something we all believe in.

Because if you’ve read this far, you’ve probably started to notice the pattern. The bending of truth, the shifting stories, the constant pull to be front and centre… It’s hard not to be reminded of that certain US president. Always the hero, or the victim, never just part of the crew. It’s the classic trap of a cult of personality, where loyalty is measured not by shared purpose, but by devotion to one person. That’s why I called this what I did. It’s not just a fall from grace. It’s the rise and fall of Eco Trump.

And while he’s busy posting, others will still be out there — saving the oceans, saving lives, without the need for constant applause.

Maybe one day, Paul will find peace with that.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I know this was a long one, but it’s been a long time coming. This blog has been over a year in the making, and I didn’t write it lightly. I spent months dusting off old contact lists, reaching out to former crew members, reading through every single post Paul has made (believe me, that was a task). I spoke to people who were there, who experienced it all first-hand, including a few from within the Captain Paul Watson Foundation, past and present, who were willing to speak. I’d thank them all here, but out of respect and fear of reprisals, I won’t. You know who you are. Thank you.

And to be absolutely clear, this isn’t about picking a side. I’m not asking you to support one organisation over another, or to hate Paul Watson. I’m not even asking you to agree with everything I’ve written here.

What I am asking is that we step back from the noise, from the drama, from the cult of personality that’s grown around one man. Because as long as the focus stays there — on grudges, on Facebook posts, on who said what — it’s not on the ocean. And that’s the real tragedy.

Paul may say he’s only speaking up because of lawsuits, that he’s just defending himself. But it’s hard not to see those lawsuits as a response, not a cause, after months of public attacks, provocations, and undermining. The cycle feeds itself. And while it spins, real work suffers.

So, Paul, if you’re truly the ocean warrior you claim to be, then act like it. Step away from Facebook, stop fueling the drama, and refocus on what matters. Not chasing headlines, new tv shows or settling scores, but effectively confronting the real threats. The poachers, the whalers, the industries destroying our seas. You built a legacy fighting for the ocean. If you still care about that mission, it’s time to return to it.

If you’ve got thoughts, I’d love to hear them. Especially if you’ve worked with the Captain Paul Watson Foundation or Sea Shepherd, in the past or present, and have something you feel needs to be heard. You’re welcome to write to me directly, below or email me here. Any communication will be treated with complete anonymity and care. This isn’t about fueling drama — it’s about keeping the truth close to the mission. And if there’s enough interest, I might continue this as a series. There’s still much more to unpack, but I promise that any future ones will be a tad shorter.

If this piece resonated — or challenged you — I hope you’ll stick around. Subscribe, share it, or just follow quietly. I’ll keep writing, as long as it helps keep the focus where it belongs.

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Both Sea Shepherd and the Captain Paul Watson Foundation were contacted for comment prior to publication. Sea Shepherd declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation. The Captain Paul Watson Foundation did not respond to a request for comment.

All photos included were sourced from publicly available press materials or previously cleared for media use.