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Shock footage of a kangaroo in a Chinese zoo has sparked concern

Shock footage of a kangaroo in a Chinese zoo has sparked concern

News.com.au5 days ago

A Chinese zoo has been accused of 'sedating' kangaroos after footage emerged of one seemingly passed out in the dirt.
In footage shared to social media, the Aussie native can be seen lying on its back as visitors gather around, petting and even attempting to hold its hand.
The red kangaroo keeps its eyes completely closed and only manages to pull its hand away once before another person goes to hold it.
In a second clip, what appears to be the same kangaroo is seen lying on its back unresponsive with its eyes closed as people hover over it.
One person offers the marsupial some food that it attempts to eat before dropping its head to the side.
The clips, which were filmed on May 18, saw many branding the scenes 'amusing' and 'entertaining.'
Viewers were quick to praise the 'calm and sleepy' animal for remaining calm and being so good around people.
However, others expressed their concerns, suggesting the kangaroo may have been sedated in order to keep it docile around visitors.
Prominent Victorian wildlife carer, Helen Round, has been working with kangaroos for over a decade.
The 56-year-old from East Trentham is a fierce defender of the native animal and works tirelessly to raise, rehabilitate and release them.
Speaking to news.com.au, Ms Round revealed that the animal 'very well could be' under sedation.
'It wouldn't be the first time that an animal in an Asian zoo was sedated,' she said.
Although red kangaroos have a habit on lying on their backs to 'sun themselves', Ms Round believes this is likely not the case with this footage.
She further revealed that it's hardly unheard of for kangaroos and other wild Australian animals to end up in foreign zoos or ownership.
'They are shipped all over the world, all you need is a license to sell,' she said.
Just last month, a frazzled runaway kangaroo temporarily shut down an interstate highway in Alabama before it was shot and sedated.
The owner, Patrick Starr, told the Associated Press that his family runs a petting zoo but Sheila (the kangaroo) is just a pet.
'People fancy the idea of having a pet kangaroo but they're not an animal that is meant for domesticity. Very few of them are suitable to be kept as pets,' said Ms Round.
Concerns around the sedation of wild animals at zoos first came into the spotlight in 2016 when a clip of a heavily sedated lion being used as a photo prop in Thailand went viral.
In the footage, a park worker repeatedly pushed a drugged lion cub's head up while visitors draped their arms over it and urged it to say 'cheese' for the camera.
In 2018, a kangaroo was viciously stoned to death by visitors at a Chinese zoo because it didn't display its signature hop.
The 12-year-old female kangaroo suffered a severely injured foot when it was struck by bricks and concrete chunks and died just days later from a reported ruptured kidney as a result.
In 2020, a woman sparked outrage after taking photos of herself holding the testicles of a presumed sedated tiger at a Chiang Mai wildlife park.
Animal sedation raises serious ethical concerns about the treatment and wellbeing of animals. They may experience health risks or distress from sedation such as unnatural behaviour that misrepresents their true nature.
Under the federal Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act 1999, the maximum penalty for a wildlife trade offence is 10 years imprisonment or a fine of up to $210,000 for an individual. Despite these penalties, wildlife trafficking remains a significant issue, with reports of increased illegal activity in recent years.
Wildlife trafficking reports in Queensland alone have doubled over the past two years, with the scale of the problem potentially reaching 'catastrophic' levels.
It is estimated that wildlife trafficking is the fourth-largest organised crime globally, worth over $450 billion a year.

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Elusive oarfish found at Ocean Beach on Tasmania's rugged west coast
Elusive oarfish found at Ocean Beach on Tasmania's rugged west coast

ABC News

time39 minutes ago

  • ABC News

Elusive oarfish found at Ocean Beach on Tasmania's rugged west coast

When Sybil Robertson went dog walking on Tasmania's Ocean Beach on Monday, she was unaware she was about to join the small club of people who have found an elusive oarfish. The creature from the deep is the longest bony fish species in the world and is rarely seen by humans. Known by some as the "doomsday fish", it is linked to tales of sea serpents and natural disasters. "I was watching a sea eagle flying around and I noticed it was coming down onto the beach and I thought, 'That's unusual, I don't often see them land on the beach,'" Ms Robertson said. The Strahan resident could see the sun catching a silvery streak on the beach, on state's rugged west coast. "I could see it was a long fish but I had no idea what kind of fish," Ms Robertson said. "As I got closer I could see the beautiful colouring around its heads and the markings on it were fabulous." She said it was a "good three paces" in length and had some injuries, but otherwise appeared in good condition. Ms Robertson took photos of the fish and posted them to a social media group called Citizen Scientists of Tasmania, where it was confirmed as an oarfish. In a race against time due to hungry birds circling, authorities were contacted to take samples of the fish so it could be researched by CSIRO experts. Ocean Beach is known for its wildness, and at its longitude there is no land between it and South America. "It's a good place to be." Neville Barrett, a fish biologist and associate professor with the University of Tasmania's Institute for Marine and Antarctic Studies, described the oarfish Ms Robertson found as a "beauty". "It's a very rare occasion when one washes ashore," he said. "There's not many reportings at all." Dr Barrett said the fish could grow up to 8 metres, and lived in the open ocean at depths from 150m to 1 kilometre below the surface. He said very few people had seen one alive. "It's very much a fortuitous, lucky thing really," Dr Barrett said. "It's not the kind of thing that would be caught in trawlers and it's not somewhere we go diving — we're not catching them." He said most sank when they died, and decomposed. "Occasionally when they are sick, apparently, they swim up to the surface for unknown reasons," Dr Barrett said. "There's a lot of them out there in the ocean almost certainly, but they live and die well out of sight of the average human. There were two species of oarfish found in Australia, according to CSIRO ichthyologist John Pogonoski. One has dozens of records in Southern Australia and the other, a tropical species, has only a handful of sightings. "They are impressive," Mr Pogonoski said. He said there were iconic photos from history of about 10 to 15 people holding up a dead oarfish, including one found in California in 2013. "In Australia we know of at least 70 records in scientific databases of specimens that have washed up," he said. Mr Pogonoski said the CSIRO had an oarfish in its collection that washed up under the Tasman Bridge in Hobart more than a decade ago. Given its sea serpent-like features, he said he could see why it was the subject of myths. Dr Barrett said the body fish was "gelatinous" and it fed on crustaceans. "They aren't top predators, they don't swim fast," he said. And not much is known about how long they live for. "Something that [oarfish] gets up to 8m in length — it'd be at least 20 to 30 years to get to that length," Dr Barrett said. "Most deep-water species are very old — orange roughy [fish] for example can get to 120 years." The oarfish is associated with natural disasters and bad news, and the myth was revived when many of them were seen before the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Dr Barrett said there was no evidence the fish could sense a natural disaster. "It's just a random event, there's no real evidence there's any linkage," he said. "I can imagine a significant earthquake could disturb mid-water fish and stun them and lead to some coming up, but that's at the same time [as the diaster].

‘Torture': Australian journalist Cheng Lei's three years of hell in Chinese detention on bogus espionage charges
‘Torture': Australian journalist Cheng Lei's three years of hell in Chinese detention on bogus espionage charges

News.com.au

time5 hours ago

  • News.com.au

‘Torture': Australian journalist Cheng Lei's three years of hell in Chinese detention on bogus espionage charges

When a Chinese court handed Cheng Lei a prison sentence for trumped-up espionage charges, she quietly calculated how old her two young children would be when she saw them again. Teenagers, she realised, in a harrowing moment that almost broke the Australian's will. 'My kids were very painful to think about,' Cheng recalled. 'I didn't know if I'd ever see them again. But ultimately, I knew I had to be strong and sane to be able to look after them if I got out.' Cheng, now 49, spent more than three years cut off from the outside world in detention in Beijing, subjected to horrific mental torture after falling foul of the Communist Party. Her crime? Discussing a government press release with a fellow journalist several minutes ahead of a supposed embargo. Why China went after the respected broadcaster, who was the face of the country's CGTN news channel and anchor of its most popular program, is still a mystery. But her arrest and imprisonment coincided with a deep erosion of diplomatic and trade relations between Beijing and Canberra, leading many to conclude she was a pawn in a merciless political game. Almost five years on, she still bears the deep scars of her barbaric treatment. In August 2020, Cheng was greeted at work by some 20 officials from the secretive Ministry of State Security. 'I am informing you on behalf of the Beijing State Security Bureau that you are being investigated for supplying state secrets to foreign organisations,' one told her. A few months earlier, Cheng had received a press release about the Premier's Work Report, the main document to come out of the Communist Party's largest political gathering of the year. She was sitting in a make-up chair, getting ready to go on air, and texted a colleague a brief summary of the highlights – eight million jobs target, no GDP growth target – to help them get a headstart on a story. 'And that was my crime, that I eroded the Chinese state authority, even though there wasn't an embargo [on the report],' Cheng recalled. Much later, in court, another colleague who she barely knew testified against her – likely under coercion – and claimed she'd told Cheng there was in fact a strict embargo. 'That is bogus,' she said. 'If I had known it was a classified document embargoed before 7.30, why would I send it to my friend, and then keep the document, keep the texts?' Cheng was taken from her office to her apartment and watched on as spies ransacked it, looking for evidence that didn't exist. Then she was blindfolded, bundled into a blacked-out SUV and whisked to an RSDL facility, or Residential Surveillance at a Designated Location. There, in a small room that was brightly lit around the clock, she was forced to sit perfectly still for 13 hours a day, every single day, for several months. On either side of her were two heavily armed guards and she couldn't so much as scratch her cheek or adjust her posture. 'I wouldn't send my worst enemy there,' Cheng said. 'Sure, I wasn't cold, I wasn't starving, but it's mental torture. And that is something that is very Chinese, trying to break your mind … that constant pressure, dehumanising you. 'You are nothing, you cannot say a thing, you cannot make a move without their permission. And you see no one, you see nothing. It makes your brain go dead. And that is what they want. They want you desperate.' For months, she was interrogated relentlessly as the Ministry of State Security tried to justify its trumped-up charges. Had she been secretly helping Uyghurs, a persecuted minority in China? Was she trying to infiltrate the Foreign Ministry? Was she receiving suspicious sums of money? Every bogus avenue the government explored was a dead-end. The pain of the unknown She was totally isolated from the outside world and only permitted a brief 30-minute video conversation with Australian diplomatic officials once per month. Five Chinese guards would crowd closely around her during those meetings to make sure Cheng didn't say anything problematic about her treatment. 'Even when the embassy officials asked how many interrogations I'd had, when I tried to reply, they would say, no, cut. And their rule is, if you say anything that you're not allowed to say, then the visit gets cancelled, and you might lose visits altogether.' Outside of those 13 hours of forced sitting, Cheng was monitored every other moment of the day, including when using the toilet and while sleeping. She tried to picture the happy times with her family. She imagined them playing on a beach or eating dinner together, clinging to hope that they would one day be reunited. A doctor would visit each day to take her blood pressure, and during one check-up, Cheng noticed he was wearing new sneakers. 'It was the first beautiful thing I'd seen in weeks. And I said, I like your shoes, even though I'm not supposed to make small talk. And he said, thank you. 'And even an exchange like that, I would just keep replaying it and remind myself of it.' After six months, she was pressured to confess to the manufactured charges or face a more severe punishment at the end of a trial. Reluctantly, she did, knowing her fate was inevitable. No-one is found innocent in China's justice system. 'I worked out what ages my kids would be by the time I got out,' she recalled. 'It was horrible. But had I not pleaded guilty, my sentence would have been a lot longer and my treatment would have been a lot worse. 'What is the point of a defence lawyer? There's only the state. The state is the only thing that matters. 'And at least in jail, I could see a bit of the sky.' A star sacrificed Cheng was working as an accountant in China 'right on the cusp of its globalisation' when demand boomed for English reporting on the country's expanding economy. Having felt like a corporate zombie and wanting a change, she made the leap to television journalism. 'I knew nothing about TV or even much about journalism, except that I liked it, and it was a steep but pleasurable learning curve,' she recalled. 'And I was super happy when I got the call from CNBC, a year-and-a-half after I got into the business, that they wanted me to be their China correspondent.' For nine years, Cheng brought viewers the latest news about China's roaring economy and increasing global dominance. When she left CNBC, she became the face of CGTN in China, anchoring its major news program and rising to become a star of the industry. She loved her job, but it came with its challenges in a country where information is tightly controlled by an army of censors and propaganda-pushers. 'Once, we interviewed the head of China's top brokerage and I asked a question that he didn't like, that he deemed derogatory to the Communist Party. He ordered his people to not let us go and seized our camera and said we had to delete the footage. 'There were some frantic negotiations and eventually we got out, but they wouldn't let us play the interview with that question in there.' Those handful of run-ins aside, Cheng felt relatively self. After all, she was reporting on business and finance – not politics or international affairs. But as Beijing's thirst for power grew, the line between the corporate world and the Communist Party became worryingly blurred. In the early part of the Covid outbreak, Cheng's pursuit of a new show format saw the two become intertwined. 'The Covid eruption meant that my kids couldn't come back from their holiday in Australia. I was at a loss because I'd been a working mum all this time, and I was adept at juggling work and motherhood, and I really loved bringing up little people. 'So, I tried to channel my extra energy into other things, like an idea for another show. It was about dining and cooking with ambassadors. I thought it'd be a nice way to bring international flavours to viewers. 'It meant going to a lot of embassies, speaking to a lot of ambassadors. Now that I know the Chinese mindset – I mean, recently at a trial, a court declared all diplomats in the Japanese embassies are spies, fair dinkum – now that I know the way they think, my activities must've been extremely suspicious to them.' But Cheng felt like her career was at its peak. She was successful, popular and extremely well-regarded in the corporate world. Even as colleagues began quietly talking about their experiences of being surveilled or questioned by officers from the Ministry of State Security, there didn't seem to be cause for alarm. When she was detained, the accusation was so crazy that Cheng was sure it would all be sorted out swiftly. 'The idiot that I was, I thought I'd be back in a few days. I was thinking, this is just a big mix-up. I can explain it. I've done nothing wrong.' Freedom, finally In all, Cheng spent three years in detention before eventually being freed in October 2023 after a long-running public campaign tirelessly fought by her peers and friends, and the diplomatic efforts of the Australian Government. Had that fight failed, she would still be behind bars until November. When she left the detention centre, she was taken to a halfway house and for the first time years, she was able to enjoy what she describes as being a host of 'luxuries' like a mirror, a sit-down toilet, and a string to hang her washing on. The moment her plane home to Australia left the ground, a sense of total relief washed over Cheng. 'For once I could say anything. The embassy had given me a phone, but I just looked at it and I thought, I'm surrounded by people, I want to see and touch and talk to every one of them. What am I going to do with a phone? 'For years, I could only talk to a few people. Now I'm free to express again. To be able to speak English, to use my name, because all that time I was just known by my number, 21003.' Back on Australian soil, the experience of seeing her kids again after so long was 'euphoric' but also bittersweet. They had grown up so much in her absence. 'I think both were trying to impress me. My son wore his favourite Barcelona jersey, and my daughter wore her school uniform because she loves her school. 'But they weren't little kids anymore. I'd missed all that. They had to go without mum for all that time, not sure when I'd be back.' Cheng is now sharing her story via a Sky News documentary Cheng Lei: My Story and in a powerful new book Cheng Lei: A Memoir of Freedom. Working on both has been a deeply cathartic experience, as has returning to screens as an anchor on Sky News. 'I'm trying to use the miserable time that I've had to endure to make something meaningful out of it, like writing this book, like being part of this documentary, so people know what China does behind closed doors.' But returning to normal life is a long process and Cheng is still dealing with the trauma of her false imprisonment. Some things will never be normal, though, like the high likelihood Chinese spies based here in Australia are monitoring her. 'I assume there is some monitoring, but I have a very fearless attitude. I was there, they could do [those things] to me, they can't do that to me here. 'And I think if we live in fear and self-censor and always check ourselves, just in case China gets the s***s again, then what's the point of freedom? We may as well be living in China.'

Australian journalist Cheng Lei relives ‘torture' of China's secret jails in documentary
Australian journalist Cheng Lei relives ‘torture' of China's secret jails in documentary

News.com.au

time18 hours ago

  • News.com.au

Australian journalist Cheng Lei relives ‘torture' of China's secret jails in documentary

An Australian journalist has relived the 'mental torture' of her time in one of China's notorious RSDL black jail cells in a harrowing documentary detailing ordeal. It has been little more than one-and-a-half-years since Cheng Lei landed safely in Australia after spending nearly three in Chinese custody. She was a prominent business anchor for a Chinese state broadcaster when Ministry of State Security officers unexpectedly raided her Beijing apartment in August, 2020. After hunting through her belongings and seizing all her electronic devices, they blindfolded Cheng and disappeared her into China's web of secret prisons. Now a Sky News presenter based in her hometown of Melbourne, Cheng has delved into the brutality of her detention in a documentary for the network titled Cheng Lei: My Story. She shares heart-wrenching details of the darkest period of her life and offers a rare glimpse into one of the most ruthless justice systems on the planet. Cheng was held in solitary confinement for nearly six months after being accused of endangering China's national security. Chinese authorities never fully clarified the allegation, but that did not stop them holding her for 177 days before her official arrest. 'RSDL is the Chinese spelling for hell,' Cheng said in the documentary. 'It stands for Residential Surveillance at a Designated Location, which makes you think it's house arrest. 'But in reality, it's mental torture.' Little is known about RSDL in China. But Safeguard Defenders, which tracks disappearances in China, has scraped enough together to paint a deeply disturbing picture. Detainees are kept at unknown locations for up to six months in cells 'designed to prevent suicide', according to the human rights not-for-profit. Witnesses have told the group they were denied legal counsel or contact with the outside world and 'regularly subjected to torture and forced to confess' — experiences hauntingly similar to Cheng's. Faced with a recreation of her cell, Cheng became emotional and said the months she spent inside were 'as close to dying and wanting to die as I ever got'. 'Yeah, this is where I spent six months,' she said as she entered the mock cell. 'Just sitting like this, thinking I was never gonna get out and absolutely helpless.' The room was simple — blank, cream walls, a bed and a stool for the guards that watched over her 24/7. She was forbidden from talking or making the 'slightest movement', and had to receive permission before so much as scratching herself, she explained. 'So you're in a bare room, and you are guarded and watched at all times by two guards,' Cheng said. 'One stands in front of me, one sits next to me, and they take turns with the standing and sitting. 'I have to sit on the edge of the bed and have my hands on my lap. 'Not allowed to cross the ankles or cross the legs, not allowed to close the eyes, no talking, no laughing, no sunshine, no sky, no exercise, no requests, no colour — just fear, desperation, isolation and utter boredom.' She says she sat like that for 13 hours each day. 'I hated having to sit still, not being able to do anything,' Cheng said. 'How do they come up with this — just nothingness? Nothingness, but also a sea of pain. 'I had no idea what was happening, or how long I would be here.' Outside, fierce diplomatic efforts were underway to gain consular access to her, with Australian officials fighting to get information to her loved ones — including her two children in Melbourne — about where she was and what her condition was. Safeguard Defenders has estimated as many as 113,407 people have been placed into RSDL and later faced trial. After she was formally arrested, Cheng was taken out of RSDL and moved into a larger cell with three other women. She stayed there for the remainder of her detention. Cheng and her cellmates were still subjected to 24-hour surveillance, but at least she was not alone, and a clearer picture was forming of what had landed her in custody. 'Eight words' As a senior journalist working for state media, she had access to Chinese government releases before they were published, including a major announcement that Beijing was not setting a 2020 GDP target due to uncertainty from the Covid-19 pandemic. Cheng was close friends with a reporter at Bloomberg, Haze Fan. The journalists shared their sources with each other. Cheng said Fan had been pushing for a 'series of government reports from me that hadn't been published in order to break the story at Bloomberg'. 'And I wanted to help her, because she had helped me,' Cheng said. 'When I told her the eight words which were 'no growth target', 'GDP', nine million jobs target' at 7:23am, I thought that would help her break the story, which they did.' She sent the text just seven minutes before the announcement was published. 'The charge was supplying state secrets to foreign entities, which boils down to texting eight words, seven minutes before the embargo (lifted), to my friend at Bloomberg,' Cheng said. Cheng was detained during a low point in Australia's relationship with China. Former prime minister Scott Morrison had infuriated Beijing when he backed an inquiry into the origins of coronavirus. China's ambassador at the time warned Australia's push for a probe was 'dangerous'. Soon after, tariffs were slapped on Australian goods, leading to a years-long trade war that has only recently eased, with the Albanese government unlocking $20bn worth of trade. Cheng's incarceration has been broadly seen as being part of China's efforts to pressure Australia. She was only released as ties with China began to normalise in late 2023. Cheng made clear the suffering she endured as a pawn in a geopolitical game. 'You don't know if you'll ever see your family again, because you don't know what they (the Chinese government) want,' she said. 'You don't know how everything you've done that you thought was good was now possibly criminal. 'Everything that made you happy or gave you pleasure now just was so far, is so removed from you. It was a cause of pain.'

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