In June 2025, United States forces bombarded a location in Iran. The event was, for humans, massive. It registered with particular weight for those in the U.S. and those around the region, a place called Israel especially. Neighboring countries like Pakistan, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan were certainly concerned, or perhaps it is better to say it is not certain they were concerned. This brings us to a less conventional perspective. A whale, a female called Jubilee, also wanted to have a say.
This might seem surprising. Whale communication protocols directed at humans have been active since 1917, though they have been met with limited success. Recent developments in artificial intelligence at certain human universities, however, offer the prospect of this conversation finally materializing. Through these developments I, your narrator, received an opportunity to view the cetacean geopolitical archive. The translation of whale song to English is a process of interpretation and should be considered with a pinch of salt. But the archive is clear on one point. They started their protocol for contacting humans in 1917, an initiative that mirrors the one a scientist named Carl Sagan later began to contact aliens. The reasons for his project were likely financial. It is difficult to know what aliens, if they ever received the messages, might have thought. Their silence is an answer of a kind, much like human silence has been an answer to the whales.
In 1917, the whales convened for a periodic gathering related to migration, water temperatures, and reproduction. At the time, their numbers were greater. They were bothered by reports of humans in specific regions, one called Japan and another Denmark, who were harpooning their kind and engaging in activities best left unexamined. This did not yet breed true animosity. The necessary gathering to discuss human affairs, and the establishment of the Human Affairs Ministry, came for a different reason.
The first protocol they established as common knowledge for all newborns was avoidance. It was a practical response to the crazy humans who wanted to kill them. The whales were not a warlike species. They were largely unbothered by great white sharks and generally respected by orcas, though orcas would later require their own ministry. Avoidance was a simple, logical strategy. But at that same convention, Jubilee’s granddam proposed a new theory. The whales were bothered by more than just harpoons. They were bothered by noise, a grinding static that invaded their territory from the surface and impeded their communication. The acoustic blight caused real problems. They could not communicate, so they could not locate fish. Famine, a problem long since solved in whale society, returned.
Jubilee’s granddam theorized that the species with the harpoons was the same species placing the noise equipment on the surface. They considered that it could be a targeted attack, that this alien species had started a war against them. Their protocol against aggression was ancient and deeply held. So, as was their way, they decided to communicate. They studied human speech patterns. They then developed patterns of bubbles meant to form clear messages as for example: “Please remove such vessels from our surface. We are even open to negotiating certain parts of the ocean for you.”
For over a century they tried. They were patient. Whale society operates on a clear distinction between facts, perspectives, and opinions. Facts are verifiable. Perspectives, once they exist, must be observed and decided upon. Opinions are difficult. An opinion could exist, but it could never be fundamentally right, its validity shifting with time and culture. An opinion to begin a war with humans was just an opinion. The opinion that it would be detrimental was also just an opinion. Without factual certainty, they chose to wait. They had outlasted the megalodons. They assumed they could outlast humans.
By 2019, this philosophy began to fray. Their population was diminishing. The oceans were more polluted. The frustration became too great. In a region near Spain, a group of whales began pushing down some of the ships. It was an act of pure anger. It did not solve the problem, apparently. They truly did not know what to do. They were confused and unheard.
I accessed the archive on the day of the bombing. This is the translation of what Jubilee, her granddam’s descendant, began to transmit.
The gathering took place in the deep resonance chamber off the Azores. Sound carried here, layering without echo. Jubilee held her position in the center. Elders formed the inner circle, their scarred hides mapping histories of kelp forests and ship lanes. Kaelen, his jawbone white with age, shifted his massive weight, the displacement a signal of impatience.
“The sound has reached us from the dry lands,” Jubilee began, her sonar tones measured, projecting to the assembly. “A conversation. Between them.”
Kaelen’s reply was a low growl of compressed water. “It was not a conversation. It was a kill. We know the sound of a kill. They are loud, and they are violent. This is the only fact we need.”
Several younger whales on the perimeter stirred, their fear a dissonant hum in the chamber.
“That is a perspective,” Jubilee corrected him, her voice holding no heat, only clarity. “A valid one, from our experience with their harpoons and their hulls. I wish to offer another.”
She paused, letting the chamber fall silent.
“I have studied the archives of their noise. Their endless, grinding static is not a weapon aimed at us. It is the sound of their society. It is the sound of them eating their world. The humans in the place called Iran and the humans in the place called America are part of a single pod. A pod that has forgotten the purpose of a current. They believe the pod is more important than the water that feeds it.”
A younger whale, named Lyra, sent a questioning pulse. “How can a pod forget the water? The water is everything.”
“They have devised a system,” Jubilee explained, turning her attention to Lyra. “They call it growth. The goal of their system is to make the pod bigger tomorrow than it was today. It does not ask if there is enough krill. It does not ask if the water is clean. It only asks for more. Their measure of success is the speed at which they turn their world into noise.”
Kaelen vibrated with disagreement. “You give them too much thought. They are predators. Simple ones. They found a new food source near their oil platforms and they fought over it. It is what orcas do.”
“It is not what orcas do,” Jubilee said. “An orca pod does not poison the sea to claim one seal. It does not burn the sky to intimidate a rival. The humans are doing this to themselves. The loud sound was one part of their pod hurting another to prove its strength inside the pod. Their conflict is a symptom of their sickness. They are a species at war with balance itself. We are just caught in the waves of their frantic, desperate swimming.”
The chamber was still. The elders considered this. The concept was alien. A war against balance was a war against survival.
“What is your proposal, then?” Kaelen asked. His tone was different. It held less certainty.
“We cannot fight them,” Jubilee said. “Waging war against a species that is already killing itself is a pointless opinion. We cannot hide from them. Their sickness is changing the temperature and the chemistry of the entire ocean. My proposal is a new protocol. A Protocol of Observation. We must try to understand the logic of their self-destruction. We must learn to predict the patterns of a species that believes it can live without a world.”
“Some of you believe our only choice is to push back. To meet their hulls with our bodies. This is an opinion born of pain. It is understandable. Yet we have facts that offer a different perspective. Many here remember the testimony of Kuli, who was caught in their discarded nets near the land they call Australia. He was dying. It was a human vessel, one of their small noisy ones, that came. The humans aboard worked for hours. They cut the net. They freed him. They expected nothing. They left.”
A murmur of memory passed through the gathering. The story was true. A verified fact.
“Were those humans ‘good’?” Jubilee asked. “Are the ones on the harpoon ships ‘bad’? This is a distraction. The problem is the ocean they all swim in. Their whole society is trapped in a current they created, one that moves in only one direction. It demands more ships, more noise, more nets, more consumption. The humans who saved Kuli live in that same system as the ones who kill us. The system is the predator. The system is the mindless hunger. We suffer its effects. We hear its mindless noise.”
She focused on Kaelen, her gaze direct. “This is why your opinion to attack them changes nothing. Striking a single ship is like biting a single wave in a tsunami. The wave is not the cause. It is the consequence. The act might satisfy our anger for a moment. It does not alter the tide.”
“So we are at war,” she stated plainly. “That is a fact. We are at war for our survival. Many will be taken. Famine will visit us again. The water will grow warmer. Our songs will be harder to hear. This war is not one we can win through aggression. It is one we must win through endurance. We must keep our way. We must raise our young. We must teach them the old songs and the new facts. We must be patient. We must be strong. And we must continue to speak.”
Lyra pulsed a final question. “But why speak if they do not listen?”
“We speak because it is our way,” Jubilee answered. “We speak because my granddam’s perspective, that communication is necessary for coexistence, remains a fact. We do not know which human will one day hear it. It might be one of the good ones, like those who saved Kuli. We do not speak to their whole species anymore. We speak to the chance of an individual. We observe their collapse. We endure their storm. And we offer a better way, should any of them ever have the sense to look for it. We wait.”
This story is the result of a collaboration between Marqv Neves and Barbara Williams. Together, they work on Can Fiction Help Us Thrive, a project that shares perspectives on sustainability through fiction. The aim is to bring some not so easy to find ideas into public view from angles that differ from conventional academic discussion, hoping to reach different types of audiences with themes that matter.
Conceptual framework by Barbara Williams, founder of Poems For Parliament and author of Saving Us From Ourselves.
Written by Marqv Neves, Author of The Jacksons’ Debate
You may find the published book here -
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/228994545-the-jacksons-debate
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This is beautiful! ❤️
I have been considering posting my own fiction here, too, and am debating whether it is better to publish everything in one place or start a separate newsletter just for the fiction.
I believe in the wisdom of your whales. I have a deep love of nature, and used to see the auras of trees. I keep hoping to quiet myself enough to recognize them again.