The Grindadráp debate has proven that cruise-goers need to brace for local cultures

It was undoubtedly a grizzly view. With ribbons of blood-red marble pooling across the ocean surface, accompanied by the echoed slap of blade against flesh amid an anguished sense of defenceless atrocity, the hard-hearted spectacle likely felt akin to a hellish film production.

Except, this was not fictional savagery. Passengers of Ambassador Ambition didn’t have to imagine the offal-soaked chaos or the agonised wailing. The scene was presented, large as life, to the packed cruise ship as it sliced through Torshavn’s stained waters.

Witnesses spoke of unadulterated brutality as dozens of beached pilot whales were slaughtered in broad daylight. The outcome was similar to sacrificing the entirety of a petting zoo for a child’s birthday party. Passengers were shocked to their core. Some stood on deck, open-jawed at proceedings, while others apparently broke down into hysterics.

Ambassador’s bigwigs feverishly scrambled to publish an explanation and subsequent apology, sharing a statement on July 13 highlighting the misfortune that Ambition’s arrival “coincided with the culmination of a hunt.”

But should they really have felt the need to apologise so profoundly? After all, what passengers observed was not sheer bloodlust or irrational compulsion, but rather a staple of local traditions. And that raises further questions about tourism's respect for domestic cultures – even if they remain controversial.

Having teamed up with ORCA, Ambassador has to walk a fine line and avoid ethnocentrism, as the British-based cruise company speaks out against whale hunting; while also including the Faroe Islands in their itineraries.

It’s a complex, diplomatic and PR leviathan that the cruise line is successfully straddling. But now, as the age-old debate of tradition against tourism is raised again, it's important to look at the full picture.

Grindadráp: A vexed local tradition

To those brainwashed by modern culture’s unwillingness to acknowledge the existence of other countries, Tórshavn, on Streymoy Island, is the capital city of the Faroe Islands.

You’ll find the Danish self-governing archipelago located between Iceland and Norway. It’s a beautiful land that attracts a never-ending procession of tourists and cruise ships.

As a tight-knit community of islanders who unashamedly celebrate their rich heritage and folklore, the age-old Faroese practice of Grindadráp stops for no man. Whaling in the Faroe Islands – referred to as ‘grind’ – has taken place for more than 800 years and, as a longstanding tradition, multiple hunts take place every year.

As Ambassador’s passengers scrambled to witness the approaching destination, it coincided with the sixth hunt of 2023. No less than 78 long-finner pilot whales (a species of dolphin) suffered the climatic final throws of Grindadráp that day.

Having been driven towards land and hauled ashore before being suffocated by a 150-person strong crowd, the hunt is over quickly. Although, according to ORCA, an organisation dedicated to the protection of whales and dolphins, some of the pilot whales took longer than 30 seconds to die once the crowd descended with their blow-hole-bound lances.

Sounds barbaric on paper, but is it the sad reality of mankind’s need for sustenance? Grindadráp is hunting in its’ rawest form, yet there’s a clash of cultures that brings controversy. Although long-finned pilot whales are far from endangered, the subpolar dolphins remain protected under the Marine Mammal Protection Act.

It's a touchy subject, and the Faroese practice receives regular criticism from animal rights activists and those opposed to blood sports. Except, it’s not viewed by others as mindless killing or blood sport; but as man’s most basic right.

Local needs versus tourist ignorance
Those in charge have always claimed that Grindadráp provides food for local families and that the tradition is fully regulated by law.

“The average catch of around 800 whales a year is not considered to have a significant impact on the abundance of pilot whales, which are estimated at around 778,000,” the government has previously argued.

And who could honestly strip the Faroese people of a required food source and sleep soundly at night? As it turns out, plenty. The sort of tourists who screech about ‘incoherent butchery’ yet enjoy steak and fish, having retreated to the onboard buffet in search of meat that someone else has rounded up and slaughtered on their behalf.

Unless each traveller studies and recognises the local culture prior to visiting, there’s a real danger of hypocritical double standards.

For instance, practising carnivores have bemoaned about the insensitivity of the Faroe hunt. Such a stance is purely emotional and wildly judgemental. It could be seen as an irrational train of thought, in danger of then straying into ethnocentrism whereby “thinking one's own group's ways are superior to others" or "judging other groups as inferior to one's own" takes place.

The Faroese population certainly do not operate with an insensitive attitude towards animals. If that’s the label that perched ivory-tower residents slap upon them, then any meat eater is just as insensitive. By yelling about the unjust treatment of dolphins as meat, then surely breeding cattle or slaughtering pigs and chickens in our own abattoirs is also unnecessary?

It is not up to tourists or cruisegoers to decide what the Faroese do and what they can’t. Spouting such ignorance shows a complete lack of cultural understanding or circumstantial knowledge.

I very much doubt that outraged passengers martyred themselves that evening by avoiding meat and opting for the vegetarian option. Not that Ambassadors’ veggie selection isn’t delicious (trust me, it very much is).

There’s also economic ignorance at play here. Rather than import hugely expensive foreign foods, the Faroese utilise their local habitat with available resources. Unlike countries with large plains and fertile soil to raise livestock, the Faroe Islands don’t have usable space to employ. It’s a mountainous region that suffers debilitating storms. The arable harvest cannot feed the population alone.