I’ll be able to fin without my fins the same day you can walk around freely without your arms and legs. Stupid humans. Shark fin soup. A bowl of watery, anemic-looking, bland-tasting soup topped-up with chicken stock to give it some much-needed flavour. What an insult.
It creates strength, you say? Well, slicing off my fins makes me incredibly weak. It’s to honour your dinner guests? Well what honour is there in writhing around spiraling towards the ocean floor to meet your death because your still-living and perfectly healthy body has just had its dorsal and pectoral fins hacked-off? It’s to celebrate marriage and enhance virility? Strange you should say that, especially when my numbers are dwindling towards extinction.
I could maybe find it in my heart to forgive you if you de-finned only hundreds of us. Or even thousands. But you perform this barbaric ritual on my kind over 100 million times a year. All for bowls of shark fin soup. How many of us sharks with fins do you actually think there are?