by Martin Williams

Near Lotus Hills on the west shore of the Pearl River, there is a newly opened bear sanctuary. To see its residents, you might think their lives were among the cushiest of any of the world's captive bears. Cookie, Hong, Boris and the rest of the band have a large enclosure with grass and shrubs to roam around in. They have two pools where they can bob for apples. If they fall ill, a vet will treat them in a custom built facility.
            Seven of the bears move with a languid, rolling gait suggesting they are in the best of health. But Boris can manage only an awkward shuffle, legacy of a former, very different spell in captivity she shared with the others.
            The eight were all "farm" bears, kept in tiny, crudely built cages in a dingy room, and milked for their bile. Unable to grow properly in the confines of her cage, Boris's legs became deformed. The others also suffered physical and mental torment, though today they show few outward signs other than swaying from side to side when the world seems stressful again. The eight might have still been in the farm, or even dead, perhaps killed for banquets, had it not been for a campaign to rescue them and thousands of other bears from the misery of the bile farms.
           
Though bear farming in China only mushroomed during the past decade, the use of bear bile in traditional Chinese medicine dates back at least 1300 years. Uses include treating serious liver and eye complaints, curing asthma and cancer and easing the effects of burns and pain in general. Until recently, bile was only obtained from wild bears. But with populations falling (the country has lost more than 90 percent of its bears since the 1950s), China began developing bear farming.
            In mid-1992 there were reportedly 200 farms with about 4,000 bears. By 1994 hundreds of farms held nearly 10,000 bears, and plans called for some 40,000 farm bears in all. Bear farming proved a money spinner; one couple running a farm in southern Guangdong said they made more than 300,000 yuan (HK$402,000) in a year [1992]. With proponents arguing that they helped reduce pressure on wild bear populations, which were being poached for galls as far away as North and South American, the farms' future looked bright.
            But the farms soon came under fire for the conditions in which their inmates were held. Jill Robinson, then Asia representative of the International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW), visited two farms and found bears kept in cages so small they could not even turn round; they had surgically implanted tubes through which they were "milked". Shocked, she became instrumental in launching a wave of media articles condemning the farms. (Note that Jill has since founded the Animals Asia Foundation, which has assumed responsibility for the farm bears rescue.)
            Rather than just criticise, Robinson also began a dialogue with Chinese authorities. David Chu Yu-lin, a prominent Hong Kong businessman and politician, and a hunter until his children persuaded him against it, played a crucial role in this. Making use of his contacts as an advisor on Hong Kong affairs to China's State Council, he took the cause to high levels in the Chinese government, where the plight of the bears won sympathy.
            In November 1994, the China Wildlife Conservation Association, IFAW and two Hong Kong based groups - Earthcare and the Chinese Association of Medicine and Philosophy - signed an agreement to work together towards ending bear farming. Among the goals were a rapid closure of the worst farms, and the elimination of bear farming providing alternative medicines could be found.
            Alternatives already existed, though none was acceptable to all Chinese medical practitioners. These include the synthetic version of USDA, an acid that is relatively common in bear bile, which is used to dissolve gallstones without surgery; this is rated as too pure by the traditionalists, who prefer natural remedies. The Chinese Association of Medicine and Philosophy had produced a report detailing herbal alternatives to bear bile; but with differing groups of practitioners holding differing views on what works, and with none of the alternatives covering the full spectrum of ailments treated by bear bile, they too were not a panacea for farm bears. Research was needed.
            But while the research would take time, the first farm closures came within months of the agreement. Both farms Robinson had visited were shut down. The bears from one were rehoused in an enclosure for public viewing. The government allowed IFAW to take care of the other, nine bears. David Chu offered to donate land on which the fund could build a sanctuary for them. Shenzhen Safari Park agreed to hold the bears while the sanctuary was being planned and built.
            Robinson called on vet Gail Cochrane to operate on the bears. After removing the metal tubes, which had rusted inside the gallbladders, and assessing the bears' condition, Cochrane opted to put one down as he would never be healthy, and to monitor Boris, who was elderly, partly crippled, and might also have to be put down if she didn't improve.
            When they first arrived at the safari park, the bears were mostly neurotic, with one looking set to rip apart anyone who came near. But over the weeks and months, as Robinson and Chochrane arrived to spoil them with honey sandwiches, ice creams and jam, the bears calmed. Humans, they learned, do not only mean torment. They took to relishing showers from a hose sprayed into their cages, and to bashing bamboo stems and leaves to pieces. Even timid Boris warmed to the attention, emerging from the rear of her cage to pick at fruit that Cochrane placed high to encourage exercise.
            Shortly before the bears were scheduled to move to the sanctuary, IFAW gave China's State Administration for Traditional Chinese Medicine US$75,000 to support research into a single herbal alternative to bear bile. Like many others in the traditional Chinese medicine community, SATCM staff were unhappy at the blame being placed on Chinese medicine for wildlife woes including threats to the tiger and the rhino and the grimness of the bear farms. While arguing for legitimate uses of ingredients like bear bile to cure ailments, they were not reaping the financial rewards of the middlemen and the cowboy operators, nor were they behind the more outlandish bear bile products like shampoos and throat lozenges. To Dr He Huiyu, deputy director of SATCM's Department of Science, Technology and Education, the grant sounded the bell for the end of bear farming. He anticipated that the alternative would be ready in around four years.
            Chinese authorities were also at work on new, tighter regulations for bear farming; these should lead to the closure of more farms. With the number of farm bears now down to a little over 7600, and no new licenses to be issued, it appears that bear farming has passed its zenith.
            The eight bears were transferred to their sanctuary at the end of December. They were quickly at home in it; partly blind Donny showed a fondness for snatching apples from a pool. Elderly, infirm Boris even took to bossing about big, strong Cookie.
            Later this year, the sanctuary should open to visitors, especially schoolgroups. Instead of being treated as living factories, the bears will be like ambassadors, unconsciously helping promote wildlife conservation and compassion for animals.