The giant panda plan is dead. SF Zoo Watch has confirmed through sources with direct knowledge of the situation that the San Francisco Zoo’s long-pursued agreement to bring giant pandas to the city has collapsed. The deal is off.

What the zoo is left with is the bill. And it is passing that bill to its workforce.

Zoo management has declared a fiscal emergency — citing tariffs, rising oil prices, and the costs of the panda program as the primary drivers of the crisis. Senior managers have already been fired. More layoffs are said to be imminent. Inside the institution, one question is moving through the staff with no good answer attached: who’s next?

The numbers behind the emergency are stark. Last year, the San Francisco Zoo posted a $6.3 million operating loss and a $5.5 million drop in net assets — nearly $12 million gone in a single fiscal year. Attendance remains approximately 40% below pre-2019 levels, down another 11% last year alone, even as tourism returned to the city and San Francisco’s broader economy recovered. The zoo is not struggling despite the recovery. It is struggling through it.

The panda explanation deserves to be examined carefully. The zoo spent significant resources pursuing an agreement that has now fallen apart. It made financial commitments based on a program that never opened, animals that never arrived, and revenue that was never generated. The institution bet public money on a deal it did not have — and it is now asking the people who care for its animals to absorb the consequences.

The departures already carried out were not handled with care. According to sources, multiple animal care managers — several of them holdovers from the Tanya Peterson era — were met by security and HR, handed black trash bags to empty their desks, and escorted off the premises. No farewell. No acknowledgment of their service. Just removal. And by most accounts, that is not the end of it.

Meanwhile, the operational picture inside the zoo remains troubled. Sources describe ongoing confusion about where animals are being placed and moved — disorganization that has persisted across leadership changes and shows little sign of resolution. The names on the org chart have changed. The patterns, in too many places, have not.

The San Francisco Zoo is not a private company. It sits on public land, operates under a city contract, and is funded in part by public money. When it declares a fiscal emergency and begins cutting the people responsible for animal care, the public deserves a full accounting. That accounting did not come today. The fiscal emergency went unmentioned at this morning’s Joint Zoo Commission meeting — the one oversight body that exists precisely for moments like this. That accountability cannot be allowed to quietly disappear into the next round of cuts.

If you work at the zoo and have information about the layoffs, the finances, or conditions on the ground, you can reach us confidentially at sfzoo.watch. We will keep reporting.

Today the San Francisco Zoo named Cassandra Costello as its permanent CEO — a decision made by the San Francisco Zoological Society and backed by City Hall.

What matters isn’t simply who was chosen. It’s what this choice reveals.

Costello has deep City Hall roots and experience inside municipal systems. She understands tourism, public agencies, and political navigation. What she does not bring is a demonstrated track record in progressive animal welfare reform, conservation-first transformation, or leading a zoological institution through ethical reinvention — precisely the kind of leadership this moment demands.

And that’s the point.

This appointment comes after years of well-documented instability: repeated animal welfare concerns, infrastructure failures, employee unrest, multimillion-dollar operating deficits, and a prior director who exited under intense controversy. Those were not isolated incidents. They were symptoms of institutional drift.

Faced with that record, the Zoological Society chose continuity.

Stability over transformation.

On the very same day, Monterey Bay Aquarium announced that Dr. Jenny Gray — a global leader in modern zoo ethics and conservation — would take the helm there. Gray spent nearly two decades transforming Zoos Victoria in Australia into a conservation-first institution recognized internationally for fighting wildlife extinction. She has led global associations, published on ethical frameworks for captivity, and helped redefine what a 21st-century zoological organization can be.

That is what ambitious reform looks like — from an institution already beloved by the public for its scientific leadership, conservation impact, and uncompromising commitment to animal welfare.

Instead of structural reform, San Francisco reaffirmed the very system that produced years of controversy and animal neglect. Dressing the zoo up as a “cultural institution” masks the deeper debate: Is this about tourism optics, or about ethical leadership and conservation impact?

Costello’s dismissal of bold proposals like EcoPark SF as “fanciful” and “unrealistic” signals something deeper than disagreement. It signals institutional defensiveness. A reluctance to even entertain structural evolution.

But this isn’t just about one CEO.

It’s about the operator.

The San Francisco Zoological Society has had decades to demonstrate responsible stewardship. Instead, the record shows secrecy, governance friction, financial instability, and repeated controversy. When a nonprofit operator presides over long-term decline, the solution is not internal reshuffling.

It is accountability.

The zoo is a public asset. It sits on city land. It receives public trust. And when that trust erodes, the city has a responsibility to act.

Other cities recruit mission-driven operators aligned with modern standards. The Conservation Society of California, which runs Oakland Zoo, has built a nationally respected model centered on welfare and conservation impact. Monterey Bay recruits global reformers. Institutions evolve when cities demand evolution.

San Francisco should do the same.

This moment was an opportunity to signal bold change.

Instead, the message was: stay the course.

If we want something different for the next 100 years, we cannot ask the same structure that produced the last disastrous 20 years to reinvent itself.

Real reform requires new stewardship.

It’s time for SF to end it’s contract with the San Francisco Zoological Society.

In response to the EcoPark SF proposal, San Francisco Zoo leadership issued the following statement to ABC7 News today:

“We do not consider this idea realistic. Anyone can come up with a fanciful plan and pretty pictures, but these images do not reflect the complexity or responsibility involved in caring for animals, conservation of species, and operating a major public institution.”

This response is deeply concerning and it reveals how far the current management is from the public it serves.

EcoPark SF is not a whimsical design exercise. It is an ambitious proposal led by San Franciscans and informed by a global team of veterinarians, progressive zoo leaders, conservation scientists, and former zoo executives — people with decades of experience working inside zoo systems and firsthand experience transitioning institutions away from traditional captivity models.

More troubling is what this response signals: that current leadership has little interest in listening to the public or thinking beyond the boundaries of a model that is already failing.

Polling shows that San Franciscans overwhelmingly support reimagining the zoo site and moving away from traditional captivity. Yet instead of engaging seriously with that mandate, the Zoological Society has chosen to circle the wagons, defend the status quo, and dismiss new ideas as unrealistic.

That’s not leadership. That’s rot.

Across the world, cities are rethinking what zoos can and should be. Buenos Aires has closed its traditional zoo and transformed it into an ecological park. Other institutions are shifting toward rescue, rehabilitation, habitat restoration, and immersive conservation education. These are not fantasies. They are operational realities.

Big challenges require big ideas.

Climate change, mass extinction, and evolving standards of animal welfare demand more than incremental upgrades to outdated infrastructure. They require institutions willing to rethink their purpose, governance, and relationship to the public.

The zoo’s response makes one thing clear: the San Francisco Zoological Society is not prepared to lead that transformation.

As I wrote in my op-ed in The San Francisco Standard:

The San Francisco Zoological Society has had decades to demonstrate responsible stewardship and has failed to do so, undermined by secrecy, budget mismanagement, and repeated animal welfare concerns. The city should end the contract and bring in mission-driven leadership aligned with modern standards. A great option is right across the bay: the Conservation Society of California, which runs the Oakland Zoo, is one of the most progressive, welfare-centered operators in the country.

If zoo leadership truly believes that bold thinking is unrealistic, then they are confirming what many already fear: that they are no longer capable of imagining — or delivering — a future that meets the ethical, environmental, and civic standards San Francisco expects.

EcoPark SF is not a rejection of responsibility. It is an invitation to finally take responsibility seriously.

And if the current operator cannot do that, the city must find one who can.

For years, San Francisco Zoo officials have described the zoo’s problems as temporary — a bad season, a rough pandemic hangover, a few unlucky headlines.

But new numbers now tell a different story.

Last year, the San Francisco Zoo posted a $6.3 million operating loss and a $5.5 million drop in net assets — nearly $12 million gone in a single year. Attendance remains about 40% below pre-2019 levels, down 11% last year alone, despite the return of tourism and the city’s broader recovery.

That combination — falling attendance and deepening losses — is what economists call structural decline. It doesn’t fix itself with marketing campaigns or new exhibits. It points to a model that no longer matches public demand.

This week, for the first time, we can measure just how wide that gap has become.

A new independent poll of 1,000 Bay Area voters shows:

• 76% want the zoo site reimagined into something new

• 57% oppose keeping wild animals in captivity

• 59% oppose bringing pandas to San Francisco

These are not fringe views. They are supermajorities — crossing age, political, and geographic lines.

Put the two pictures together:

On one side, a zoo losing nearly $12 million a year, drawing fewer visitors, and facing hundreds of millions in deferred capital needs.

On the other, a public that has quietly moved on from the idea that a traditional zoo is what this land should be.

What’s striking isn’t just that opinions have shifted. It’s that the shift is already showing up in behavior.

People are voting with their feet.

Families are choosing other destinations. Tourists are skipping it. School trips are shrinking. Revenue follows attention — and attention has been drifting away for years.

Yet city leaders will soon be asked to approve another generation of investment in the same basic model: patch the exhibits, import new animals, and hope attendance rebounds.

The poll suggests that rebound is unlikely.

San Franciscans don’t want a slightly improved version of the old zoo. They want something fundamentally different: more nature, more science, more public access, more climate education — and fewer animals living out their lives behind concrete and metal.

That is the context for why we are announcing the launch of EcoPark SF this week.

Read: It’s time to tear down the San Francisco Zoo. Here’s what should go in its place in the SF Standard

A coalition of local advocates, designers, educators, and former zoo professionals worked together to create a full proposal to transform the 100-acre zoo site into a climate-resilient public ecological park built around restored wetlands, native habitat, wildlife rescue, and hands-on science education.

The plan replaces the traditional zoo model with:

• large-scale coastal habitat restoration

• a California wildlife rescue and recovery campus (closed to public view)

• immersive climate and ocean science facilities

• public gardens, trails, and outdoor classrooms

• and education programs tied directly to local ecosystems

In other words: a place designed for how people — and science — actually think about nature in 2026, not 1936.

Whether EcoPark SF is the final answer or not, its emergence reflects something real: the debate has shifted.

This is no longer a question of how to save the zoo.

It’s a question of what should replace it.

The financial data is already flashing red.

The public opinion data is now unambiguous.

Together, they tell the same story.

San Francisco is being asked to decide whether to spend the next decade propping up a shrinking institution — or to use this rare 100-acre coastal site to build something that matches modern science, public values, and the realities of climate change.

The zoo is losing money.

The public is losing patience.

And for the first time, there is a serious alternative on the table.

On August 12, 2025, at 9:30 a.m., a massive silverback named Cecil was introduced to the Jones Family Gorilla Preserve at the San Francisco Zoo. Public messaging framed him as calm, even-tempered — a hopeful new leader for the group.

Inside the building, staff were preparing for the opposite.

Cecil’s arrival had already been flagged internally as a “Significant Life Event” for the three resident females — Bawang, Monifa, and Kimani — meaning keepers expected major disruption to group stability and behavior. What followed was documented in welfare logs the zoo had refused to release for nearly two decades.

Those records show a newcomer under immediate strain: shaking, refusing food, prolonged displaying, hypervigilance, and repetitive anxiety behaviors. The stress spread quickly.

Bawang, the matriarch, began avoiding routine securing and pacing within a day. By Day Three, all three females were patrolling the moat together in a tight, alert formation — a threat response, not normal cohesion. Welfare scores dropped across motivation, feeding interest, and behavior.

Monifa withdrew, spending long periods out of sight and repeatedly yielding space. Kimani became reactive, cycling between freezing and sudden displays and seeking keeper proximity.

On September 1, keepers recorded a fight involving all three females causing injury to one — a pattern not documented before Cecil’s arrival.

The highest-risk introduction type

The way SF Zoo introduced Cecil matters. A 2025 peer-reviewed scoping review in Applied Animal Behaviour Science analyzing 35 studies across 25 papers found that welfare outcomes vary sharply by introduction type. Most critically, single-to-multiple introductions — one new animal added to an established group — are both the most commonly used and among the most strongly associated with negative welfare impacts, including stress and aggression. Multiple-to-multiple introductions showed fewer negative effects overall.

Cecil’s introduction followed this highest-risk structure exactly: one adult male introduced to three established adult females. And the zoo’s own logs track what the research predicts — early optimism, persistent stress behaviors, escalating tension, and rollback. After a mirror enrichment attempt, keepers recorded Cecil shivering from psychological overload, then wrote: “Cecil and girls separate, back to mesh to mesh.”

In plain language: the introduction failed.

Why push forward anyway?

Transfers like Cecil’s are typically driven by AZA Species Survival Plan breeding goals. Public materials described him as a genetic match and framed the move around future reproduction. But the same 2025 review makes the tradeoff explicit: negative welfare outcomes are not rare surprises — they are expected risks.

So when staff labeled Cecil’s arrival a Significant Life Event, and the data immediately showed unresolved stress, group destabilization, and repeated rollback, the ethical question becomes unavoidable:

If the welfare data says this is going badly, when — if ever — does breeding stop justifying continuation?

History already warned us

This isn’t an isolated incident. This is the same facility where Kabibe, a 16-month-old infant, was crushed by a hydraulic door in 2014. And where Oscar Jonesy, the longtime silverback, died in February 2025 after being anesthetized despite known heart disease — against guidance from the Great Ape Heart Project. His diagnosis wasn’t disclosed publicly for six months.

The newly released records show routine gate checks. But checklists don’t equal safety, and paperwork can’t compensate for aging infrastructure, understaffing, or high-stress animal movement.

Taken together, Kabibe’s death, Oscar’s death, and Cecil’s failed introduction point to the same pattern: preventable harm, delayed disclosure, and institutional momentum overriding welfare warnings.

What these records demand

The welfare concerns surrounding Cecil’s introduction weren’t an accident. They were the predictable outcome of a system built around breeding targets and population management, not the lived experience of individual animals.

Without these records, the story would remain what the zoo has told the media: that Cecil is calm, compatible, and settling in as expected.

But the documents show otherwise:

• a newcomer whose stress has yet to resolve

• three females whose stability collapsed

• escalating conflict

• and an introduction that had to be reversed

Cecil’s arrival didn’t strengthen the group. It destabilized it.

This story isn’t about blaming keepers doing difficult work. It’s about insisting that animal welfare data stop being treated as internal, optional, or PR-managed. Transparency isn’t a courtesy — it’s how the public verifies that the zoo’s decisions are informed by animal welfare.

Cecil’s story isn’t only about August 2025. It’s about what kind of zoo San Francisco is willing to fund — and what the animals deserve.

When Cirque du Soleil arrived at the San Francisco Zoo for a brief pangolin-themed performance, the cameras naturally focused on the contortionist twisting himself into impossible shapes. But the real contortion act took place offstage — in the marketing department.

Zoo marketing director Paulo Vergara used the event to repeat a familiar and farfetched talking point: that the zoo is far more than an attraction.

“I think there’s a misperception that the zoo just does work within its own gates,” he said. “We take endangered species, we breed them on site, and we work with other organizations to release them back into the wild… We’re a conservation organization that does real, meaningful, calculable work.”

It’s a bold statement.
It’s also deeply misleading.

What the zoo actually releases into the wild

The San Francisco Zoo has participated in valid conservation reintroduction projects — specifically involving Yellow-legged frogs, Red-legged Frogs and Forktail Damselfly. These small-scale but important programs support native species that are genuinely at risk.

But that is the full extent of the zoo’s release-into-the-wild work.

There is no program through which the zoo releases mammals, birds, or other large vertebrates into natural habitats.

Aside from the Oakland Zoo’s legitimate contributions to bison and condor recovery, there is no repopulation of wild landscapes happening behind the scenes — no credible zoo-based mammal breeding program anywhere in North America designed to return animals to the wild.

That is simply not what modern U.S. zoos do, including San Francisco.

What actually happens to mammals bred at the SF Zoo

Any mammal born at the San Francisco Zoo stays within the closed loop of the zoo system — either:

• living out its life in the SF zoo’s own 1930s-era enclosures, or

• being transferred to another zoo as part of standard AZA population management.

None are released into the wild.
None contribute to wild population recovery.
None do the work that Vergara’s language suggests.

Marketing language shouldn’t outpace reality

The zoo’s limited native-species reintroduction efforts matter. Frogs and damselflies deserve attention, funding, and respect. But invoking “we take endangered species and release them into the wild” — without clarifying what species, at what scale, and with what outcomes — is a classic case of conservation-washing.

It creates the impression of large-scale ecological impact that the zoo does not, and cannot, claim.

When a zoo is struggling with aging infrastructure, ongoing welfare concerns, and long-standing governance issues, transparency is not optional. It’s the minimum standard.

The public deserves accuracy, not acrobatics

If the zoo wants to talk honestly about conservation, great — start with the real achievements, not a stretched-to-breaking narrative that implies mammals are stepping out of zoo gates and “back into the wild.”

No spinning.
No contorting.
No trying to bend the truth into a more flattering shape.

Leave that to Cirque du Soleil.

The zoo owes the public something simpler:
Straight facts.

In response to a recent public records request, San Francisco Zoo Watch received what the City of San Francisco identifies as the “responsive record” for the zoo’s 2022 Association of Zoos & Aquariums (AZA) accreditation report. The record provided is not the full report but 10 pages of what is normally a 35-50 page report. Even so, this partial release paints a deeply concerning picture of systemic issues at the San Francisco Zoo.

Key findings from the AZA inspection:

1. Leadership crisis and culture of fear. The AZA described “a significant gap in communication” between executives and staff, noting “a fear of retaliation” and “a lack of visibility of the CEO.”

2. Unsafe and deteriorating facilities. Inspectors found extensive rust and corrosion in major animal enclosures, no fire detection systems in several animal buildings, and structural decay in WPA-era facilities.

3. Poor planning and oversight. The zoo’s master plan was described as “poorly defined and not vision-driven.” Staff were excluded from design decisions, leading to dangerous flaws such as the snow leopard exhibit, which required reconstruction after completion.

4. Stagnant funding and inequitable pay. The City’s $4 million annual contribution has not increased since 1992, leaving the zoo struggling to maintain staff and infrastructure amid rising costs.

A Long Fight for Public Access

After six years of public records requests, appeals, and delays, the City of San Francisco’s Recreation and Park Department sent what it called “responsive records” for the zoo’s 2022 accreditation review. What arrived was not the inspection team’s full report — but a distilled, narrative version of the report.

This summary omits key data, rankings, and quotes typically found in AZA documents, raising new questions about how the City handles public information requests related to the zoo.

Even so, what remains reveals a deeply troubled organization under former CEO Tanya Peterson, whose leadership and governance were explicitly criticized by the AZA.

Leadership Breakdown and Fear of Retaliation

One of the strongest themes in the AZA report is the disconnect between executive leadership and staff.

“There appears to be a significant gap in communication from the executive level throughout the rest of the staff, and a lack of transparency of zoo operation decision-making to staff. This gap contributes to frustration and mistrust among staff at all levels… including a fear of retaliation.”

Inspectors noted years without all-staff meetings and “a lack of visibility of the CEO.”
They concluded that leadership viewed communication as strictly top-down, leaving little opportunity for open dialogue or feedback.

Such language is rare in AZA reports and underscores the severity of the leadership dysfunction that defined Peterson’s tenure.

Crumbling Infrastructure and Safety Risks

While praising staff for their dedication, the AZA raised serious concerns about the physical condition of the zoo’s facilities.
Inspectors documented ongoing structural decay, including rusting steel in the giraffe restraint chute, a problem first cited in 2016 and described as “continued and worsening.”

They also found no fire detection systems in multiple animal buildings, including lemur and aviary structures — a clear welfare and safety hazard.

The zoo’s veterinary facilities were called “aging and undersized,” forcing staff to work in tight, outdated spaces with limited diagnostic capacity.

Despite these limitations, the AZA noted that keepers and scientists were providing exceptional care, describing the zoo’s animal welfare research program as “groundbreaking and industry-leading.” That excellence, however, exists in spite of the institution’s physical neglect.

A Master Plan Without a Map

The AZA inspection team found that the zoo’s updated 2021–2023 strategic plan was “poorly defined and not vision-driven.”

“Staff appear to have minimal input or understanding of the master plan,” inspectors wrote.

They described confusion and lack of coordination around key projects, including the Madagascar Center, Andean condor exhibit, and the long-delayed Coastal California redevelopment.

Because animal experts were excluded from the design process, some exhibits had to be retrofitted for safety after construction — most notably the snow leopard habitat, which could not safely house animals as built.

Financial Fragility and Stagnant Support

The AZA report also drew attention to the zoo’s financial imbalance.
The City’s $4 million contribution — unchanged for more than 30 years — has failed to keep pace with inflation, leaving little funding for staff wages or infrastructure renewal.

Inspectors warned that San Francisco’s high cost of living made it difficult to recruit and retain staff and urged city and zoo leaders to revisit the funding model.

A Culture of Secrecy Persists

The Zoo’s decision to release a summary rather than the full AZA report, reflects a continued reluctance to provide full transparency. Even under the zoo’s new interim leadership, this partial disclosure suggests a desire to manage the public narrative rather than open the books.

By withholding the full report, officials obscure the scale of what the AZA actually found — the breakdown in morale, structural neglect, and governance failures that continue to define the institution.

SF Zoo Watch will continue to pursue the full, unredacted 2022 AZA report and press for transparency worthy of the animals, staff, and citizens of San Francisco.

See the narrative report:

2022 Narrative Report

203KB ∙ PDF file

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It’s been revealed that Oscar Jonesy—the longtime resident silverback gorilla—had heart disease, and was anesthetized against zoo-industry recommendations.

At the August Joint Zoo Committee meeting, Ingrid Russell, the San Francisco Zoo’s Vice President of Compliance and Animal Welfare, disclosed for the first time—and now in a recent zoo press release—that Oscar had been diagnosed with heart disease.

That revelation came six months too late.

Oscar, who had lived at the San Francisco Zoo since 1981, died in February after being anesthetized for what officials described as a “routine medical procedure.”

He never woke up.

According to the Great Ape Heart Project (GAHP)—the global authority on ape cardiac care—gorillas with known or suspected heart disease should never be placed under general anesthesia unless it’s absolutely life-saving. The cardiovascular risks are too high, and modern zoos are urged to use non-invasive monitoring and awake medical training instead.

But San Francisco Zoo didn’t follow that guidance.

Oscar’s death wasn’t a freak accident. It was a preventable outcome—one that raises serious questions about veterinary oversight, leadership accountability, and whether the zoo is capable of protecting the animals in its care.

A Pattern of Preventable Tragedies

Oscar’s death joins a grim list of preventable losses. His daughter Kabibe was crushed to death by a hydraulic door in 2014. Zura, another gorilla, died in 2020 under questionable circumstances. Former staff have described unsafe working conditions, inadequate training, and outdated infrastructure that compromise both animal welfare and employee safety.

New Leadership, Old Habits

This year, the zoo announced “new leadership.” But this weekends ZooFest 2025 fundraiser—“Silverback Soirée”—shows how little has actually changed.

According to the zoo’s press release, the October gala will celebrate the arrival of 27-year-old silverback Cecil from the Louisville Zoo. Guests will enjoy an “elegant evening” featuring signature cocktails—the “Gorilla’s Kiss” and “Cecil Spritz”—and a VIP reception at the Jones Family Gorilla Preserve, where Oscar lived and died.

Partying Through the Pain

Cecil’s arrival isn’t just another transfer—it’s a window into the culture that defines the San Francisco Zoo.

Rather than reflecting on the preventable death of Oscar Jonesy, the zoo is doubling down on the same behavior that led to it: managing appearances, moving animals like inventory, and confusing public relations with progress.

By uprooting Cecil—a 27-year-old sentient, emotionally complex being—from his stable, long-term social group in Louisville, the zoo is perpetuating a system that views gorillas as pieces in a breeding puzzle, not as individuals with memory, attachment, and will.

For two decades, Cecil lived with companions he knew and trusted. Now he’s been flown across the country, separated from his family, and placed into a facility that lost its last silverback under preventable circumstances—all so he can be paired with three females in hopes of producing offspring.

This isn’t conservation. It’s captivity management dressed up as mission work.

Inside the zoo’s culture, control masquerades as care. Every decision—who breeds, who moves, who lives in which enclosure—is filtered through the lens of institutional convenience and marketing value. Reflection and accountability are seen as threats; transparency is treated like risk. Even after a gorilla dies under anesthesia, the instinct is not to pause, but to pivot—to the next press release, the next headline, the next “new chapter.”

For the people who work there, this culture erodes morale and silences dissent. For the animals who live there, it erases individuality and agency.

Cecil isn’t a fresh start. He’s another victim of a system that refuses to evolve—one that breaks bonds in the name of breeding and calls it conservation.

Until the San Francisco Zoo replaces its culture of control with one of compassion, every gorilla who enters its gates will carry the weight of Oscar’s loss—and the burden of a system that still doesn’t see them for who they are.

Honor Oscar with Accountability

If the San Francisco Zoo truly wants to honor Oscar Jonesy, it should:

• Release his full necropsy and anesthesia records.

• Adopt non-invasive health monitoring for all great apes.

• Allow independent oversight of veterinary decisions.

• Acknowledge—and change—the culture that treats animals like inventory instead of individuals.

Instead, we get cocktails and press releases.

Oscar’s death should mark the end of an era. It’s time for a new model—one that stops treating sentient beings as inventory and starts building a future rooted in care, transparency, and respect.

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Today, the world mourns the passing of Dr. Jane Goodall — scientist, storyteller, and tireless advocate for animals and people. For so many of us, Jane was more than an icon; she was proof that one person, armed with compassion and persistence, can change the world.

I was lucky to be friends with Jane You can read more here:

The Most

Jane Goodall, My Hero and Friend, Forever

Today, I am heartbroken to share that Jane Goodall, my hero and dear friend, has died…

Read more

7 months ago · 1 like · Justin Barker

Jane was deeply aware of the challenges facing the San Francisco Zoo. After the SF Chronicle published its exposé on animal neglect and other issues at the Zoo, she shared these exact words:

Jane’s legacy reminds us that animals deserve more than cages and outdated displays. They deserve respect, space, and dignity. She taught generations to see the connections between animal welfare, human wellbeing, and the health of our planet.

Here in San Francisco, we face a pivotal choice about the future of our zoo. Will we continue a Victorian-era model of captivity, or will we honor Jane’s vision by transforming the grounds into a 21st-century EcoPark — a place rooted in rescue, education, climate action, and compassion?

Jane believed in the power of young people and communities to demand change. As we grieve her loss, let’s carry forward her call to action: keep going, keep caring, and keep fighting for a better world — for people and for animals.

Join us in honoring Jane’s legacy by reimagining what’s possible for the San Francisco Zoo.

For years, many of us have worried about repeated incidents at the San Francisco Zoo and the safety of the animals who live there. Right now, the city faces a choice:

Will millions be spent on acquiring new animals and maintaining aging enclosures that risk more suffering? Or will San Francisco choose a different path—one that lets people learn about wildlife without adding to their pain?

Join us TODAY to talk about what’s happening behind the gates and what we can do—together—to create a safer, more compassionate future for people and animals.

📅 Event Details

When: Monday, September 29, 2025 at 2:00 PM PT
Where: Live on Zoom
👉Register here to receive reminders and the event replay.

Speakers

• Michael Angelo Torres – Bay Area Campaign Coordinator, In Defense of Animals

• Justin Barker – Founder, San Francisco Zoo Watch (sfzoo.watch)

Why Attend

You’ll hear clear, current updates on the Zoo’s conditions and plans, learn practical actions that make a real difference, and connect with neighbors who care about compassionate solutions.

This is more than a status update—it’s a call for San Francisco to reimagine what a city zoo can and should be.

Let’s shape a future where compassion leads the way.

Register now to join the conversation →

By registering, you’ll receive event reminders and a replay link even if you can’t attend live.

At the July 20 meeting of the San Francisco Animal Welfare Commission, Brazilian advocate Taciana Santiago delivered a clear warning: San Francisco is not ready to host giant pandas.

Representing the international watchdog group Panda Voices, Santiago drew on years of monitoring pandas in zoos around the world, including the troubled case of YaYa and LeLe in Memphis. There, advocates documented malnutrition, poor bamboo, stereotypic stress behaviors, and ultimately LeLe’s death. YaYa only recovered once she returned to China.

The core issues

• Diet: Pandas eat only a handful of bamboo species, fresh and seasonal. Abroad, zoos struggle to supply it—sometimes flying it in weekly. Poor diet leads to illness and stress.

• Expertise: China concentrates the world’s panda-specialist vets and keepers. Problems misdiagnosed abroad often resolve quickly when animals return home.

• Space: Many zoos provide small, visitor-oriented exhibits. Pandas require multiple large yards, privacy from crowds, water features, and quiet.

• Costs: Loan fees average $1M per panda per year—not including bamboo, vet care, or exhibit construction.

• Oversight: In China, pandas are a national treasure, with citizens quick to flag problems. Abroad, distress is often mistaken for “cute” behavior.

Santiago closed with this:

“Is San Francisco really ready to host such sensitive and costly animals without sacrificing the welfare of the ones already here?”

Pandas are beloved. But the Memphis case showed what happens when love collides with logistics. If San Francisco wants to help pandas, the evidence points to supporting habitat restoration and care in China, not building a high-cost exhibit here.

In May 2023, the San Francisco Zoo proudly announced the arrival of Lamont, an 11-year-old male jaguar transferred from the Sacramento Zoo. Born at the San Diego Zoo in 2012 and originally named Tikal, Lamont had already spent his entire life in captivity—shipped from one facility to another in a system that treats animals like inventory, not individuals.

Now, just two years later, Lamont is dead.

Not a word from the San Francisco Zoo—maybe because it followed too closely on the heels of another preventable tragedy: the death of their red panda.

No media announcement. No mention on the zoo’s website or social media. Just a quiet disappearance—his name wiped from the jaguar exhibit, his life swept under the rug.

But the public noticed. A few weeks ago, Zoo Watch began receiving messages from concerned visitors and supporters:

“Where’s Lamont?”
“Why hasn’t he been on exhibit?”
“What happened to the jaguar?”

Their concerns were valid. The zoo had taken Lamont off exhibit—and now we know why: he had died, euthanized for reasons that remain undisclosed..

A Life of Captivity, Not Conservation

Lamont’s time in San Francisco was as unnatural as his quiet disappearance. For the past two years, he was held in a 30-by-40-foot cage, a space smaller than many suburban living rooms, with no trees to climb, no complex terrain, and no meaningful stimulation.

Rather than providing a habitat that mirrored the lush forests jaguars call home, the San Francisco Zoo placed him in a barren, temporary enclosure. This was not a place of refuge. It was a holding pen.

Lamont wasn’t thriving— and now we know he was hardly surviving.

A History of Injury, Hidden and Rewritten

Lamont’s visibly missing tail drew questions from the start. But few knew the real story. He had lost it at the Sacramento Zoo during a failed breeding attempt. Like so many animals in captivity, Lamont was forcibly introduced to a female for genetic pairing—an encounter that ended in violence, pain, and permanent injury.

A jaguar’s tail isn’t just for show. It plays a crucial role in balance, movement, and communication. Losing it can impair coordination and diminish quality of life—especially in the confined, artificial spaces of a zoo.

That scar followed him to San Francisco, but so did the same institutional mindset: breed, exhibit, rotate, repeat. No regard for the animal’s well-being. No accountability when things go wrong. No transparency with the public.

The Bigger Picture

Jaguars can live up to 25 years in captivity. Lamont didn’t make it past 13.

His story isn’t just about one jaguar—it’s about a broken system. It’s about how animals are moved around the country like property. How they’re forced into pairings, confined to unnatural spaces, injured, and then erased. It’s about how institutions like the San Francisco Zoo continue to brand themselves as conservation leaders while operating facilities that are outdated, under-resourced, and unfit for modern animal care.

In October 2024, a scathing city audit declared the zoo “extremely outdated” and “unsafe for animals and visitors alike.” And yet, no changes were made. No upgrades to the jaguar habitat. No recognition of the fact that confining one of the world’s most powerful predators, built to roam more than 60 square miles, to a cage no larger than a studio apartment is indefensible.

Silence Is a Statement

Tikal’s death should have been a moment of reflection, remorse, and reckoning.

Instead, it was hidden.

That silence says everything about how this institution views its animals and the public it supposedly serves.

He wasn’t rescued. He wasn’t celebrated. He was used—injured, displayed, then quietly discarded.

If this is how the San Francisco Zoo treats its most charismatic species, what’s happening to the animals out of sight?

It’s time for a new model. One rooted in transparency, ethics, and respect for the individual lives behind the glass.

Tikal’s story didn’t have to end this way. But now that it has, we owe it to him—and to every animal still locked behind those gates—to make sure it never happens again.

This episode is based on David Hancock’s 2012 presentation, “Zoos 2112,” a visionary talk that remains strikingly relevant today. More than a decade ago, Hancock questioned whether zoos were truly living up to their promises of conservation, education, and research—or simply serving as recreation spaces for people.

We break down his key insights:

• Zoos face a critical question about their relevance in a rapidly changing world

• The four pillars of zoos—conservation, research, education, and recreation—lack a focus on animal welfare

• Most visitor experiences don’t translate into lasting conservation action

• Welfare, while essential, is still not treated as a core mission

• Zoo design often prioritizes aesthetics for visitors over the needs of animals and staff

• Community engagement and local ecology should drive the future of zoos

• The ultimate goal must be to celebrate biodiversity and foster true ecological stewardship

Chapters

00:00 The Future of Zoos: A Critical Inquiry
10:15 Transforming Zoos: A Vision for 2112
21:34 Welfare and Design: The Heart of Zoo Evolution

Produced and narrated with AI technology, this episode revisits a decade-old vision that still challenges how we think about zoos today—because creating better futures for animals starts with honest reflection.

The San Francisco Zoo is gearing up to welcome 27-year-old silverback gorilla Cecil from the Louisville Zoo, describing the move as a “new chapter” and celebrating the chance for him to “lead his own group.” But behind the feel-good PR lies a disturbing truth: this isn’t about animal welfare. It’s about control, breeding quotas, and the illusion of progress.

Cecil’s transfer is just the latest maneuver in the Species Survival Plan (SSP), a program operated by zoos under the guise of conservation. But make no mistake: the SSP does not save animals in the wild. It maintains captive populations — moving gorillas like Cecil across the country to keep his offspring on display and continue the cycle of artificial, high-stakes social manipulation.

Highly intelligent, emotionally complex animals are uprooted, reshuffled, and plugged into breeding programs like replaceable parts in a machine.

And the costs of this system are deadly.

A Baby Crushed. A Silverback Dead. Zero Transparency.

San Francisco Zoo’s track record with gorilla care is not just troubling — it’s tragic. In 2017, a baby gorilla named Kabibe was crushed to death by a hydraulic gate in what the zoo called a “freak accident.” But it wasn’t a one-off — it was a result of infrastructure and oversight failures in an aging, outdated facility built in 1980.

Recently, Oscar died after undergoing a risky procedure at the zoo. The San Francisco Zoo has refused to release Oscar’s necropsy report, blocking transparency and raising serious questions about what happened behind closed doors.

According to multiple well-placed employees, Oscar was being used in an experimental breeding attempt and was placed under anesthesia — a known risk for great apes. He never recovered. And the public still doesn’t have answers.

The SSP: Breeding Without Accountability

Gorilla SSP officials and zoo administrators claim these moves are “modeled after wild behavior.” But gorillas in the wild aren’t flown across the country and dropped into unfamiliar groups to meet institutional breeding targets.

They form strong, lasting social bonds. They mourn. They grieve. And when those bonds are severed — as they will be for Cecil — the emotional toll is real.

Now, San Francisco is positioning Cecil to step into a leadership role among the zoo’s three female gorillas — Bawang, Monifa, and Kimani — all of whom have experienced their own series of disrupted social dynamics. Introductions like this are not guaranteed to succeed and often result in aggression, injuries, and intense stress.

And once again, the animals will be the ones forced to adapt.

It’s Time for a New Model

This isn’t conservation. It’s a system built on dominance, secrecy, and PR spin — where zoos boast about “preserving species” while hiding the real human errors and institutional failures that harm the individuals in their care.

Cecil doesn’t need a new chapter. He needs peace, consistency, and respect. He has spent the last 20 years with familiar companions in Louisville. To uproot him now — for a facility with a recent history of death, secrecy, and negligence — is not responsible gorilla care. It’s opportunistic animal management.

San Francisco has a choice. We can keep moving gorillas around like cargo in the name of breeding, or we can demand accountability, transparency, and a serious rethinking of what true, ethical animal care should look like.

This isn’t just about Cecil. It’s about the system that keeps failing them

After close to two decades at the helm, Tanya Peterson has officially stepped down as CEO and president of the San Francisco Zoological Society.

Her resignation, confirmed late Tuesday, marks the end of an era defined by secrecy, stagnation, and declining public trust. For years, Peterson wielded outsized influence over San Francisco zoo—an institution sitting on 100 acres of public land, operating under a city contract with minimal oversight.

But her departure is not the end of the story. It’s the beginning of a much-needed reckoning.

A Zoo in Crisis

The San Francisco Zoo isn’t just outdated—it’s broken.

For years, animals have suffered in conditions that fail even the most basic standards of care. Some of the worst exhibits have been called “inhumane” by visiting experts and city commissioners alike.

This is not just about aesthetics or preferences. It’s about neglect. It's about sentient beings living in environments that cause harm.

Meanwhile, public and staff safety has been repeatedly compromised. From outdated emergency protocols to faulty infrastructure and chronic understaffing, the risk has been real and ongoing. Let’s not forget: this is the same institution where a tiger once escaped and killed a teenager. Instead of reform, the zoo buried the past and doubled down on secrecy.

Internally, morale has cratered. Many dedicated animal keepers and veterinary staff have been pushed out, silenced, or overworked. Whistleblowers were ignored. When employees raised concerns about animal welfare, retaliation often followed.

And while all this happened, the public was kept in the dark. The zoo refused to release basic records. Budgets were opaque. Contracts were hidden. Leadership stonewalled city agencies and misled elected officials.

This is the legacy of Tanya Peterson’s leadership—and the system that supported her. The animals, the public, and the staff deserve far better.

The Zoological Society Board Must Be Next

While Peterson’s departure is significant, the structure that enabled her remains intact.

The San Francisco Zoological Society board—an insular group of wealthy appointees with no background in animal care—has operated in near-total opacity for years. Its members are self-selecting, and have dodged public accountability every step of the way. They have failed to course-correct even as internal and public criticism mounted and city bodies called for reform.

To move forward, San Francisco must reimagine the governance of the zoo itself.

What Needs to Happen Now

1. Sunset the Zoological Society’s Control
A new public-private governance structure should be created—one that includes city officials, animal welfare experts, conservationists, labor representatives, and community voices. The current arrangement has failed both animals and the public.

2. Transition Leadership to the Oakland Zoo
Since the day this campaign began, we have advocated for the Conservation Society of California—the 501(c)(3) nonprofit that runs Oakland Zoo—to take over leadership of the San Francisco Zoo. With a nationally recognized reputation for animal welfare, conservation, and transparent governance, Oakland Zoo represents exactly the kind of transformational leadership San Francisco needs. This transition should happen now. Let’s stop searching for another insider or placeholder. It’s time to partner with a proven institution that puts animals first and works openly with the public.

3. Appoint a CEO with Proven Animal Welfare Credentials
The next CEO and executive director must have an extensive, demonstrated background in animal welfare, conservation, and ethical wildlife care—not just nonprofit fundraising or political connections. The future of this institution must be led by someone who understands that animals are not attractions—they are sentient beings deserving respect, protection, and dignity.

4. Conduct an Independent Audit and Full Investigation
Even with Tanya out, her role in the zoo’s finances, operations, and oversight failures must be thoroughly investigated. San Francisco deserves a full accounting. A forensic audit of the Zoological Society’s financials and contracts should be initiated before any new agreement is signed.

5. Engage the Public
It’s time to open the gates and invite the community into a real conversation. What do San Franciscans want from their zoo? How can we build a model that reflects 21st-century values?

6. Think Bigger
San Francisco has the chance to lead—not just with a new CEO, but with a new vision. One that centers ethical care, climate action, and education—not pandas, politics, or private agendas.

A Chance for Transformation

Peterson’s resignation should not be seen as a closing chapter, but an opening act. San Francisco has a once-in-a-generation opportunity to rethink its relationship with this institution and to create a zoo—or something better—that reflects our highest values.

The animals can’t speak. But now, finally, the public can be heard.

These days, I’m buried in the fight. Filing records requests, building coalitions, sitting through hours of public meetings, reading the latest zoo drama. It’s easy to get caught up in the campaign—the strategy, the politics, the paper trail. To treat it like a systems problem, a matter of governance and accountability.

And then I go to the zoo.

And I remember what this is really about.

The mandrill still sits in that barren pit, staring into his hand.
The orangutan is still sequestered on that concrete island.
The chimpanzees still live in yesterday’s failure.

While we debate policy and negotiate reform, they stay there.

I spent a day at the San Francisco Zoo with photographer Jack Gescheidt, whose camera captured what my words could only try to hold. What began as an attempt to capture the animals’ stories became something else: an act of bearing witness. There’s a difference between knowing and seeing—between understanding suffering, and facing it.

The mandrills live in a pit. That’s not poetic license—it’s a literal pit. A deep, concrete enclosure with almost nothing to do, nowhere to go. One older male sat for an hour staring at his own hand, as if trying to remember what it was for. A female kept banging on the door to the off-exhibit area. Over and over. She was desperate to leave the exhibit, visibly frustrated. Animals should never be forced on display, especially when the display feels like punishment.

The orangutans live on two 10-by-10 islands—not lush, leafy refuges, but barren relics of another era. The exhibit, built 75 years ago, offers no real trees, no complexity. Just concrete, metal, a few fire hoses, and some burlap bag. Sometimes they put the bag over their heads—not as play, but, I imagine, as a way to hide. From the sun. From the stares. From the years. Years spent with little to no outdoor access, unable to fully extend their arms, confined to dark, rat-infested holding areas. What does it do to a mind like theirs to live like that?

Across from their moat, money is being spent—not on real improvements, but on what one staffer wryly called an “art installation.” A couple of fake concrete trees, surrounded by tropical plants already browned and dying. That’s the upgrade. A cosmetic fix in a place that needs a transformation.

Even the keepers—the ones who spend the most time with these animals—are frustrated. I overheard one say, “Welfare standards have changed,” their tone heavy with resignation. They weren’t making excuses—they were naming the problem. Many of them want better, but like the animals, they’re trapped inside a system that won’t change fast enough, with management who may not care to change at all.

Then there are the François' langurs, locked in some of the smallest, most inappropriate cages I’ve seen in a U.S. zoo. Chain link, no space to leap, nothing soft or natural. These are sensitive, arboreal monkeys—creatures built for motion, for canopy and cliffside. In the wild, they swing through limestone forests in tight-knit family groups. Here, they can barely move.

The chimpanzees—who once spent decades marooned on a 10-by-10 slab of concrete—have slightly more room now. But only a few remain, a far cry from the rich social groups they need to thrive. One laid motionless for a long time. Another stared into space. I don’t know what they were feeling, but I know what I felt.

The gorillas are confined to outdated, overexposed enclosure—concrete, fake rocks, and sparse patches of grass that offer no real cover. The Zoo’s own website notes that gorillas in the wild prefer dense ground-level vegetation, yet their habitat provides none. Visitors surround them on all sides—phones out, voices raised. There’s nowhere to retreat, no sanctuary from the stares. The viewing glass is streaked with water stains, cloudy and hard to see through. One female turned her back to us and sat by the closed door to her off-exhibit space. A quiet act of resistance. Or maybe, still mourning the loss of Oscar.

All of these animals—great apes, Old World monkeys, our closest living relatives—share more with us than we like to admit. In the wild, they use tools, solve problems, form complex family bonds. They play. They mourn. They pass culture down from one generation to the next.

Chimpanzees have been known to grieve for years. Orangutans have been observed using leaves as gloves and branches as umbrellas. Gorillas hum while they eat and comfort one another with gentle touches. Mandrills live in intricate social hierarchies and communicate with a rich repertoire of facial expressions and vocalizations.

These are not simple creatures. They are not here for our entertainment.

So why are they still in these cages?

The answer lies in a legacy of indifference. A city-owned zoo that hasn’t evolved. Exhibits built in the 1940s and earlier still house some of the world’s most intelligent beings. Even recent improvements feel like Band-Aids on broken bones.

Sometimes the problem with this zoo is just the concept. But sometimes, like on this day, it’s the reality.

The breath of an orangutan who has very little to climb.
The banging of a mandrill on a door that won’t open.
The blank stare of a chimpanzee who has run out of things to do.

Jack and I left the zoo with a lot of photos. But mostly I left with a question:

What would it look like if we treated these lives as sacred?

Not as exhibits. Not as talking points. But as lives.

Real ones. With needs and wants and the capacity to suffer.

That question hasn’t left me since.

I hope it never does.

This episode is based on the 2025 research paper, "Zoos and other organisations with living world impacts should have honest policies" (ScienceDirect), which challenges many of the assumptions zoos have long relied on to justify their existence.

We break down key insights from the research:

• Zoos often overstate their conservation role

• Visitors increasingly prioritize animal welfare over entertainment

• Zoo education doesn’t always lead to lasting impact

• Research is undervalued and poorly shared

• Transparency is expected, not optional

• Public pressure drives real change

• Zoos should focus on animals they can care for well

• The future may lie in smaller, more ethical conservation centers

Chapters

00:00 Introduction to Zoo Watch and Its Mission

00:56 The Complex World of Modern Zoos

02:49 Conservation Claims vs. Reality

05:51 Education: Learning vs. Entertainment

09:03 Research in Zoos: Impact and Limitations

11:54 Animal Welfare and Public Perception

14:58 The Future of Zoos: Balancing Ethics and Entertainment

Produced and narrated with AI technology, this episode makes complex research accessible—because real transparency, and better futures for animals, begin with understanding the truth.

Just days after my direct plea to Phil Ginsburg during Monday’s Recreation and Park Commission meeting, the Rec and Park General Manager issued a June 11 follow-up letter demanding that the San Francisco Zoological Society (SFZS) comply with long-overdue public records requests.

As we previously reported, Ginsburg had issued a formal directive on April 21, citing Section 16.2 of the Zoo’s lease, which requires SFZS to follow the same transparency laws as any city department. He gave the Zoo until May 1 to comply.

Now, over a month later, Ginsburg confirms that SFZS has still failed to fully produce the requested documents tied to Sunshine Ordinance Task Force (SOTF) File No. 25003. He also acknowledges that the SOTF has closed the file and referred the matter to the Board of Supervisors due to the Zoo’s continued noncompliance.

Ginsburg also notes the Zoo’s failure to respond to the Board of Supervisors’ audit, which has been pending for months. Despite repeated outreach from the City’s Budget and Legislative Analyst, Zoo leadership has not turned over requested financial documents.

This renewed demand comes after years of the Zoo flouting transparency laws—and marks a critical step toward accountability following sustained pressure from the public and watchdogs.

We’ll continue to monitor what happens next.

Read the letter here:

At today’s Recreation and Park Commission meeting, something extraordinary happened.

Commissioner Larry Mazzola Jr., the Chair of the Joint Zoo Committee, broke ranks with the San Francisco Zoo’s leadership and said—on the record—that:

“They run it like a dictatorship.”

As someone who has spent the past year fighting for transparency and accountability at the San Francisco Zoo, I want to explain why that moment matters—and what led to it.

The Pressure Is Working

For months, I’ve been showing up at public meetings, filing records requests, talking to the media, and pushing the City to pay attention to what’s really going on behind the gates of the Zoo. I’ve spoken out about the Zoo’s refusal to turn over documents, the lack of a strategic plan, and the disturbing reality for animals and staff at the SF Zoo.

I’ve filed formal complaints and urged city leadership to step up. Hundreds of workers and community members have done the same. Plus the SF Chronicle has done an amazing job reporting all of the drama unfolding at the zoo.

Despite all this — It’s been a constant uphill battle.

So when Commissioner Mazzola said today that he’s “tired of taking bullets for them” and publicly called for the City to terminate its relationship with the San Francisco Zoological Society, it was a massive moment.

“I’ve asked them for records. I’ve asked them for a simple subcontractor list, and I was told, ‘You can’t have that.’ And I’m the chairman of the Zoo Committee. If I can’t get it, who can?”

“We need to get rid of the Zoological Society. Gone. Put out an RFP and get somebody new in there.”

It was the most direct and honest statement I’ve heard from any city official since this all began (other than the amazing work the folks at the City Animal Commission have been doing speaking up about the issues at the zoo).

What I Said Today

During public comment, I was nearly blocked from speaking. Staff tried to stop me, saying I’d already commented earlier in the meeting I clarified that I was responding to Commissioner Mazzola’s remarks and thanking him for his leadership.

Then I laid out the facts for the commission:

• The Zoo submitted internal financial spreadsheets that don’t align with their IRS Form 990s.

• There’s no strategic plan—the only thing that comes close is a PowerPoint from 2016.

• When auditors asked for animal care protocols, the Zoo provided a 2002 employee handbook—and nothing more.

“The Zoo is seemingly operating without any formal safety, welfare, or animal care procedures. It’s unacceptable.”

I told the commission they don’t need to wait for the Budget and Legislative Analyst’s audit to act. The problems are already obvious.

A Better Way Is Possible

I urged the commissioners to visit the Oakland Zoo, which is run by the Conservation Society of California—a nonprofit widely recognized as a national leader in progressive zoo management.

“Just across the bridge is the most progressive zoo in the country. It is night and day. I believe the Conservation Society of California should run the San Francisco Zoo. That is the next natural step.”

What Happens Next?

Today’s comments didn’t happen in a vacuum. They happened because we’ve kept the pressure on.

The public is watching. The media is reporting. Workers are speaking up. And now, even commissioners are starting to say what many of us have known for a long time: the current zoo is broken and the non-profit running the zoo must be replaced.

This fight isn’t over. But today felt like a turning point.

I’ll be there every step of the way.

Earlier today, the San Francisco Chronicle published a report based on a letter from San Francisco’s Budget and Legislative Analyst (BLA), revealing that the San Francisco Zoo has refused to cooperate with a months-long audit ordered by the Board of Supervisors.

The audit was launched after months of advocacy and massive resistance from the zoo in response to growing concerns about the Zoo’s financial transparency, governance practices, and compliance with its city contract. Over the course of four months, the BLA submitted a series of formal information requests to the San Francisco Zoological Society.

Instead of full cooperation, the Zoo stalled, deflected, and withheld critical information.

The letter from the BLA published today by the Chronicle includes a detailed matrix showing exactly what the City asked for, what the Zoo provided, and what it failed to turn over. The result is a scathing account of missing budgets, redacted inspection reports, outdated policies, and an apparent breakdown in oversight.

What the City Asked For

Back in January, the BLA submitted 25 separate requests to the San Francisco Zoological Society—the nonprofit that runs the Zoo under contract with the City.

These requests were standard for a financial and governance audit, including:

• Detailed budget data

• Third-party contract records

• USDA and AZA inspection reports

• Strategic plans and staffing structure

• Animal safety and welfare logs

The goal: to assess how the Zoo is managing public funds, fulfilling its mission, and complying with oversight agreements.

What the Zoo Provided (and Didn’t)

Instead of transparency, the City got evasions and omissions:

• Only 6 of 25 requests were fully satisfied

• 13 were only partially fulfilled—missing key data, heavily redacted, or incomplete

• 4 were ignored entirely

• 2 were claimed to “not exist” (a claim the BLA disputed)

Five Major Red Flags

1. Mismatched Financial Records

The Zoo submitted internal spreadsheets that didn’t align with its IRS Form 990s or audited financial statements. When asked to explain? Nothing. In fact, Zoo executives told auditors not to rely on the numbers they submitted.

2. Contract Lists with No Context

A list of 96 vendor contracts was provided—but most were missing amounts, dates, or purpose descriptions.

3. Missing Government Inspection Reports

Auditors requested full USDA and AZA inspection documents. The Zoo failed to provide reports tied to known violations and submitted only redacted or partial versions.

4. No Strategic Plan

The most recent strategic document was a PowerPoint draft from 2016. There is no current plan, no roadmap for the Zoo’s future, and no accountability to any long-term vision.

5. Outdated Operating Policies

The Zoo pointed to a 2002 Employee Handbook in place of modern safety, welfare, or animal care procedures. No updated protocols were shared.

Why It Matters

The San Francisco Zoo is operated by a private nonprofit—but it sits on public land, receives millions in taxpayer funding, and is bound by a city lease that requires compliance with California’s Public Records Act and other transparency laws.

By refusing to cooperate with this audit, the San Francisco Zoological Society isn’t just being difficult—it’s actively undermining public accountability. And it’s doing so while continuing to solicit donations, fast-track multimillion-dollar projects, and push high-profile plans like the panda exhibit without public oversight.

The BLA’s warning is explicit: if the Zoo continues to obstruct, they will recommend that the Board of Supervisors invoke subpoena power to force compliance.

This isn’t an isolated incident—it’s part of a long, well-documented pattern of secrecy and resistance.

For the past six years, I’ve been fighting for access to public records from the Zoo—filing requests, raising red flags, and showing up to hearing after hearing. Tomorrow, I’ll attend what may be my 20th Sunshine Ordinance Task Force meeting in pursuit of the truth.

This audit may be the most damning evidence yet. But it’s also an opportunity—finally—for the City to act.

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