By Đinh Hồng Kỳ, published in the “Perspective” section of VnExpress on May 31, 2025.
Suddenly, a male dolphin approached them. But unlike previous rare encounters filled with playful gestures, this time its eyes were filled with urgency—as if calling for help. It swam a short distance ahead, then turned back repeatedly, as if beckoning them to follow. Trusting his instincts honed over a lifetime at sea, Enzo sensed something was wrong. He and his daughters swam after it.
At a depth of about 15 meters, they found a female dolphin entangled in an abandoned fishing net. She was struggling, seemingly exhausted from trying in vain to surface for air. Enzo and his daughters carefully cut away the last of the net. As soon as she was freed, the dolphin swam straight to the surface—and right there, she gave birth.
Enzo later recalled that miraculous moment: the male dolphin—the mother’s companion—gently approached him and touched him, as if in gratitude.
Enzo Maiorca and his daughter Rossana – ocean love across generations
He later told the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society:
“As long as humans do not learn to respect and listen to nature, they will never truly understand their place on this Earth.”
It was not merely a miracle between a human and dolphins. It was a gentle but profound reminder: all forms of life are capable of feeling, of suffering, and of gratitude—if only we take the time to stop and listen.
We are living in an era where nature is no longer whispering—it is crying out. Yet humanity seems increasingly deaf to its voice.
Coral reefs are bleaching. Primeval forests are being razed to make way for cities, industrial zones, and seaside resorts. Many projects not only encroach upon rivers and seas but also dig canals, alter natural flows, and disrupt ecosystems that have existed in harmony for hundreds of years.
When a river is filled in, it is spoken of as “development.” When a mountain is flattened, it is called “building the future.” Nature says nothing—until the floods come, the ground cracks, saltwater intrudes, or crops fail.
Rivers slow. Underground flows shift. Ecosystems distort. Species that once coexisted in harmony—fish, shrimp, birds, storks, and local communities—are now disappearing, displaced, or struggling to adapt in vain.
We are not lacking in warnings. Climate change is no longer a future issue—it is a present reality. And yet paradoxically, the closer we get to disaster, the deeper we push into nature. We build dikes against floods. Drill wells in drought. Construct filtration plants in polluted areas. But rarely do we stop to ask: are we living in conflict with nature?
For a long time, humans believed themselves the center of the universe—capable of building towering cities, creating advanced technologies, even launching spacecraft into the cosmos. But this belief in human supremacy has increasingly alienated us from the ecosystem of which we are fundamentally a part.
Humans have only existed for a few hundred thousand years, while Earth has been here for billions. Dolphins, sea turtles, and ancient trees have witnessed many cycles of planetary change—and they have survived—because they know how to live in balance. Humans do not.
It is no coincidence that warnings of ecological collapse are now echoing across global political and economic forums. Climate change is no longer solely a matter for scientists—it is a survival issue for every nation, every business, and every individual.
That is why ESG—environment, social, and governance—must not remain just a reporting framework. It needs to become a way of life—a model for ethical and responsible economic action. No one can do it alone, but every entity—from governments to businesses—can begin by listening again to the voice of nature.
A river does not choose to be dammed. A forest does not ask to become a construction site. Development decisions made without consultation with nature will inevitably become decisions against humanity’s own future.
The story of Enzo Maiorca and the dolphin family may be just a small anecdote amid a sea of scientific data. But it touches something data cannot measure: emotion, connection, and gratitude among all living beings sharing this planet.
We may not dive like Enzo. We may not understand the language of dolphins, hear the breath of forests, or sense the choking of the soil. But we can begin with the silence needed—to listen not with our ears, but with our hearts.
And only then can we truly understand where we stand in this vast web of life.
