The Tiger in the Freezer
- Kaia Africanis
- Jun 25
- 5 min read
Oregon, May 2025
The smell hit them first. Not the rotting kind you expect when something dies—but something sharper. Like dried blood, ammonia, sweat, and freezer burn all battling for dominance in the air.
When Oregon State Police raided West Coast Game Park Safari on May 15, they weren’t walking into a zoo. They were unsealing a tomb. More than 300 animals were seized. Many were malnourished. A tiger was found dead in a freezer. Meth. Rodent droppings in the food. $1.6 million in cash. A cache of guns. The whole place reeked of something far worse than mismanagement.
And yet—people brought their children there. Took selfies. Laughed.
It takes a special kind of willful blindness to pet a dying tiger and post it on Instagram.
I know. Because I was one of them.
I’ve worked in conservation for years. I should’ve known better.
Not in Oregon. In Thailand.
I even have a photo. Me and a tiger cub. But I’m not showing it here.
Because if we want this cycle to end, we don’t get to use exploitation—even our own—for clicks.
That’s the problem. These photos don’t educate—they seduce. They wrap abuse in awe and sell it as wonder disguised as reverence.
So no, you don’t get to see it.
That moment was mine to reckon with—not yours to gawk at.
Thailand, 2013: The Illusion of Reverence
The air was sweet. Jasmine, incense, burnt banana leaves. Sacred, not sinister. The scent lulled you. Hid what was happening.
I visited Tiger Temple because I wanted to believe in rescue. The monks told us not to wear red—“it agitates the tigers,” they said. I thought it was folklore.
Then they placed a cub in my lap.
He wasn’t sedated—yet. But the chain was already too heavy. His ears twitched at footsteps. His eyes scanned for something he couldn’t name. He was breaking.
I moved deeper into the compound. That’s when I saw the adults. Tigers sprawled in unnatural stillness, slack-jawed and drooling. Tranquilized into docility. Tourists posed beside them like they were props in a twisted safari Disneyland.
Monks adjusted chains in silence.
Not cruelty—detachment. The kind that comes from spiritualizing exploitation. Reverence, commodified. Dignity, gone.
These weren’t rescues. They were products.
And I was part of the problem.
A Global Pipeline of Pain
It’s easy to think these places are isolated horrors. They’re not. They’re nodes in a global trade of commodified wildlife.
I’ve worked in conservation across continents. I’ve seen the same pattern: animals stripped of autonomy, sold under euphemisms. “Sanctuaries” with photo booths. “Research labs” with kill chambers. “Zoos” with locked freezers and laundered funds.
The Thai temple was eventually exposed for selling tiger parts. But only after years of denial—and thousands of tourists, including me, who wanted to believe the illusion.
Back in Oregon: A Body Without a Name
The tiger in Bandon had no name. No grave. Just a twisted arc of frozen muscle in a commercial freezer, surrounded by guns and silence.
We don’t know his story.
But we know how he got there.
*Demand. Ignorance. Excuses.
Every ticket. Every share. Every tourist who wanted to “feel close to the wild” without risking anything real.
We don’t kill the wild outright. We sedate it. Leash it. Drain it of dignity until all that’s left is a prop and a profit margin.
And sometimes, when it stops performing, we shove it in a freezer and move on.
This Is Not a Foreign Problem
This happened in Oregon.
Not Thailand. Not Vietnam. Not “over there.”
It happened in the U.S. because the same mechanisms exist here: legal loopholes, underfunded enforcement, and public complicity.
The Tiger King era never ended—it just got quieter.
What Comes After Wonder
I’m not writing this to perform guilt. I was complicit. I smiled for the photo. I told myself it was fine. I didn’t ask until it was too late.
But once you know, you can’t unknow.
A tiger doesn’t need your touch to be loved.
It needs habitat. Space. Teeth. Freedom.
It needs to be wild—not branded, bottled, or displayed.
Because the saddest thing isn’t a dead tiger.
It’s a tiger too drugged to remember it’s alive.
Call the Bluff: How to Spot—and Stop—Fake Sanctuaries
You don’t need to be a biologist or a globe-trotting whistleblower to protect animals from exploitation. You just need to know the signs—and stop feeding the machine with your clicks, dollars, and good intentions.
🚫 What Not to Do (Unless You're Trying to Fund a Cage)
Don’t buy the ticket. Real sanctuaries don’t sell animal encounters like theme parks.
Don’t share the photo. That “cute” tiger selfie fuels an algorithm that keeps cages full.
Don’t pet wild animals. If it lets you cuddle it, it’s not being rescued—it’s being monetized.
✅ How to Spot a Real Sanctuary (vs. a Petting Zoo With Wi-Fi)
No Touching. No hugs, no selfies, no hand-feeding. This isn’t Build-a-Bear.
No Breeding. Cubs aren’t born for your feed. They’re bred for someone’s bank account.
No Buying or Trading. Sanctuaries don’t acquire animals like vintage furniture.
No Tricks. Animals don’t perform in sanctuaries. If they’re jumping through hoops, someone else is pulling the strings.
Full Transparency. Real sanctuaries publish financials, staff, and partnerships. If everything’s vague? That’s the point.
Lifetime Care. Residents stay for life. No offloading, no swaps, no behind-the-scenes dumping when they stop drawing crowds.
Real Conservation Ties. If their “mission” looks like a tourism brochure with tiger filters, congrats—you’ve found a branded wildlife fantasy, not a conservation effort.
🌍 Abroad? Here’s Your Field Guide to Dodging the Spiritual Grift
Check Accreditation. Look for GFAS, EAZA, or credible local NGOs—not just good vibes and a robe.
Google the Founder. If they’ve been busted for smuggling, grifting, or animal abuse—someone’s talked.
Avoid the Photo Op Trap. If it feels like an influencer dream package—VIP tiger time, elephant yoga—it’s exploitation with a spa soundtrack.
Watch for Spiritual Spin. Incense, chants, and “sacred” vibes won’t cleanse the harm.
Trust Your Gut. If it feels wrong, it is. You’re not crazy—they just have better lighting.
What You Can Do Right Now (Even If You’ll Never Meet a Tiger)
Everyday Choices
Local Action
Report suspected abuse to your state wildlife agency or ag department.
Back local bills that ban exotic pet ownership and public animal encounters.
Sign petitions to shut down hellholes like West Coast Game Park Safari—because no tiger belongs in a cage next to a snack bar.
The tiger in the freezer wasn’t a tragedy.
He was proof.
Don’t let them write the next chapter.
Let him be the last one.
Want the full picture? Read: Wildlife Trafficking and Organized Crime: How a Hidden Global Web Touches American Lives
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