An announcement from the Conservation Officer Service brings long-awaited news that two people have been charged in relation to the killing of Tex.
Tex, the 4-year-old grizzly who swam to Texada Island this spring, was shot and killed on July 14, just days before a collaborative relocation plan with First Nations and BC officials could be set in motion.
The charge of ‘failing to promptly report the wounding or killing of a grizzly bear contrary to Section 75(2) of the BC Wildlife Act’ may feel rather lenient to those who recognized Tex’s right to life and safe passage.
When you stop to think about it, the image of a young grizzly bear swimming across the Salish Sea to a small island in search of freedom and survival is a rather humbling one. Try as we might, the attempt to manage or control wild animals that are genetically predisposed to roam vast territories is often a losing game. But it would be prudent for us as a species to pause and reflect on who really loses out in the end.
As the wilderness shrinks and managed spaces expand, non-human life is being backed into a corner and is fighting for survival. Grizzlies are drawn into closer proximity with humans, where they face increasing danger from traffic collisions, poaching, and conflict. This is, of course, a human issue, not a wildlife one.
Animals are not encroaching on ‘our’ lands, and the stark reality is that they have very few places left to go. Our settler view of ownership and acquisition has distorted and fragmented landscapes across the entire globe, yet it is the ecosystems that existed in harmony before our arrival that suffer the most. Wildlife needs wilderness.
So, where do we go from here?
For the most part, when people care about something, it is tied to their identity, and they will fight to protect it. Faced with an immediate and visible threat, communities rally to survive, overcome, and rebuild. From natural disasters to attacks on human life, we see people working together to find a way through the horrors and protect their group. It’s when these events become commonplace that a numbness takes over; we call this ‘normalcy bias’. Suddenly, wildfires, school shootings, degraded ecosystems and the collapse of democracy no longer illicit the appropriate shock that instigates action. We become collectively numb.
In the case of Tex, three First Nations and the BC provincial government collaborated, with overwhelming public support, to create a plan that might save a single grizzly bear. Why? Because Tex had quickly become part of Texada Island’s identity, embraced by the community who would advocate for his survival. Because Indigenous leadership grounded the effort in cultural conservation and spiritual significance. And because this grizzly was seen as more than a resource or problem animal to be managed. He was given a name.
Before the 2017 provincial ban on trophy hunting, an average of 300 grizzlies were killed each year in British Columbia. Today, recorded causes of mortality include vehicle collisions, poaching, conflict kills, and what are sometimes categorized as “hunting accidents,” making it difficult to determine an accurate number of annual deaths. In Alberta, grizzlies are being hunted under the ‘wildlife responder program,’ a government initiative that allows licensed hunters to track and kill so-called ‘problem bears.’ What qualifies as a problem remains vague, raising concerns among scientists and conservationists for both public safety and the welfare of grizzly populations. Against this backdrop of routine losses and questionable wildlife management policy, the question arises: why did this particular bear capture so much attention?
Texada is a tiny island, and it’s likely its size that created the opportunity for Tex’s survival. Anyone who’s ever called a close-knit or rural community home will know that everything is under a microscope, and by contrast, even small events feel relatively huge. A grizzly bear swimming to Texada and taking up residence is no small thing. It suddenly had ‘shock’ factor, allowing the numbness to give way to attention. Couple that with the embrace of Tex into the collective identity of the Texada community, and you have a beautiful recipe for protection, advocacy and action.
So, are community and identity the secret sauce to saving our asses from collapsing ecosystems and the destruction of Canada’s wilderness? Personally, I believe so. When people rally together, we can achieve the unimaginable, and that’s exactly what we need right now.
We need unified voices calling for the protection of Canada’s ecosystems on which our survival depends, for the safeguarding of wild spaces and wild animals, and the reform of policies that put wildlife and communities at risk… These are just a few ideas off the top of my head of course.
Randene Neill, B.C.’s minister of water, land and resource management, commented in an official statement on the death of Tex, “I’m saddened … this isn’t how we wanted this to end”.
We must not forget that there is a real-life person behind a ministerial title. It is not in our best interest to pit these individuals as adversaries, but instead, to reach out respectfully with story, connection, and introduction to community that cares. We must tell our representatives what matters to us and encourage them to support decisions that align with the needs of the ecosystems we depend on.
Using our voice is the greatest power we have. Reaching out to decision-makers and sharing our stories creates meaning, it carries weight, and it can be the difference between policy that advances the collapse of our ecosystems or supports their survival.
I spent years believing that an internalized opinion on conservation and environmental issues was enough. I did not vote, I did not advocate, I did not write to my MLA/MP. I did not understand. I was scared, and I was uninformed. If this feels familiar, give yourself some grace. Shame and guilt are not effective long-term motivators. Kindness and compassion, however, are.
One day, something shifted. I put on my big girl pants and made the decision to use my voice for the things I believe in. I’m still scared, but it turns out that I sleep better when I’m participating in some small way. Like most things, the only way out of this is through, and we have to do it together.
In the immortal words of Dr. Jane Goodall, “You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
In a society that celebrates individualism, it is vital to look to nature for guidance. Nothing in nature thrives alone. Collaboration and reciprocity are what keep ecosystems resilient.
Humans are no different. Care and community are in our nature, despite what we are often told. We must embrace these networks of support like our collective survival depends on it, and contribute to community as much as we can.
Every small act of participation matters. Even the tiniest of changes, when made consistently, make a real, tangible difference. We’ve all witnessed a win or loss by a margin. Every person’s contribution adds up. It’s all about shifting the balance in the right direction, and you never know just how close you really are to the tipping point. Sometimes, all it takes is one more person to speak up.
Maybe that one person is you.
As our resident Communications and Outreach Director, Sam brings a diverse range of experience and skills. From nature-based therapy and education, to brand strategy and research, her passion for science, creativity and storytelling has allowed Sam to work internationally on both grassroots projects and global campaigns. As a lover of wildlife and wild spaces, Sam has dedicated the past five years to working with conservation non-profits and education organizations across rural BC to inspire advocacy for the Canadian wild.
