After the Rescue: The Hidden Life of Vietnam’s Rescued Bears
Rescue is just the start.
The forest wakes early in Cat Tien. By sunrise the air is already heavy, the trees steaming from overnight rain, and the jungle is alive with birdsong and the rustle of yellow-cheeked gibbons soaring between the trees.
I’m sitting on the floor of the bear kitchen, sticky with sweat, slicing and weighing 7 kilos of jicamas into feeding bowls. Behind me, a keeper is chopping ripe dragon fruit. A fellow volunteer is washing tubs of fresh vegetables, while others are loading motorbikes with buckets of food. Everything is almost ready for bear breakfast.
In this sanctuary run by Free the Bears, 45 rescued sun bears and moon bears live quietly, deep in the Vietnamese rainforest. They have forested enclosures. Pools to swim in. Platforms to climb. Hammocks to laze. Food, safety, and shade.
But it hasn’t always been this way.
Most of these bears were stolen from the wild as cubs—ripped from their mothers, who were often killed right in front of them. Some were sold into the illegal pet trade, kept in cages far too small, fed human food, treated like toys until they grew too large to handle.
Others were locked in dark metal cages for decades, never seeing the sun or touching grass. Farmed for bile, their gallbladders were drained through crude, painful catheters, to supply a black-market medicinal industry that still thrives across Southeast Asia and China.
Some bears here have cracked and lost teeth, from years of chewing on metal bars. Some are missing limbs, lost to snares. Some can’t climb because their muscles never developed. Some are too afraid to be seen at all.
What was taken from them can’t be given back. Not entirely.
But here, in this quiet corner of the jungle, something is returned. Space, safety, and the first fragile steps toward learning what it means to be a bear again.
What Sanctuary Really Looks Like
There’s nothing glamorous about sanctuary work. The days starts early with sweat on your back and dirt under your nails. You clean out dens, scrub down algae-covered pools, and lug kilos of food through the leech-laden forest. You build hammocks, and prep and sort produce, hands sticky with cucumber pulp and watermelon juice.
It sounds basic probably. But it matters.
Many of these bears will live for another 30 or even 40 years. They require constant care: tailored diets, medical treatment, secure habitats, trained staff, enrichment activities, infrastructure, electricity, security. And above all, time.
A rescue is the first moment. A sanctuary is a commitment. And it is more rewarding than I even imagined.
Even clearing out bear poo feels meaningful. After what these bears have suffered, it feels incredibly important to be able to make their life comfortable in any small way.
Despite the hard going, nothing compares to the small moments it provides, quietly witnessing bears reclaim their life.
What People Don’t See
When people think about wildlife rescue, they often picture the dramatic part—the moment the cage door opens. And it is powerful. But what comes after is quieter, harder, and lasts much longer.
These bears don’t arrive and instantly reclaim their wildness. Many have never touched soil before. Never climbed a tree. Never learned to forage. Instincts without practice can wither. Behaviours never taught may never be learned.
Many have lived through traumas we can scarcely imagine. You witness the impact, slowly, over time—and hope that one day, they soften.
On my third day, I watched a bear called Isabella snoozing peacefully in her hammock. Her face turned to the sun, basking in the noonday. Isabella spent 18 years in a bile farm cage. She suffered regular, painful extractions, and still bears the scars of her former life. Her fur is worn away from rubbing against the metal bars in a space far too small, and she is missing a paw, likely lost to a snare trap when she was young, or cut off and sold for “delicacies” like bear paw soup.
But today she just relaxes in her hammock in peace, munching on some sweet potato in the company of her bear friend Mumslee.
Small wins like that are what sanctuary is built on.
Why This Story Isn’t Over
Vietnam has made huge strides in ending bear bile farming, but the problem isn’t over. Not even close.
There are still around 200 bears in bile farms across the country—most kept in tiny cages, still out of reach. In Vietnam, rescue isn’t a matter of finding the bears. It’s getting permission to take them.
The law doesn’t yet allow confiscation unless the owner voluntarily gives them up. Free the Bears continues to fight for legal reform, build relationships with farmers, and offer sanctuary to those willing to surrender their bears. But despite their unyielding efforts, progress is slow. And in the meantime, the bears wait.
In neighbouring countries like Laos, new rescues happen regularly. The illegal wildlife trade is active. Hunting of bears and other wildlife is relentless. The birdsong of the forest has all but disappeared.
Just last year in Laos, they had the largest rescue of bear cubs ever made, with 17 baby bears intercepted on their way to god knows where.
The fight is far from over.
This Is What You’re Supporting
What I witnessed at Cat Tien was the kind of care that doesn’t seek applause. The kind that shows up every day, without fanfare, rolling up sleeves and quietly rebuilds lives.
It’s not a rescue story. It’s a resilience story.
It’s about what happens after the headlines fade. When the trauma remains but the healing has begun.
These bears will never return to the wild. They have suffered too much, and there is limited safe places left to release them to.
But they can reclaim a life that is safe, rich, and free from fear.
That kind of life doesn’t happen on its own. It takes people. It takes funding. It takes time.
And it’s worth every bit of it.
How You Can Help
🐾 Donate and support organisations like Free the Bears to support lifelong sanctuary care — as little as $50 can feed a bear for 10 days! These organisations are still fighting for the ones who haven’t made it out yet.
🐾 Say no to wildlife selfies, exotic pets, unethical tourism, and bear bile products — cruelty often hides behind entertainment or tradition.
🐾 Share this story — the more people who know, the more pressure there is for change.
🐾 Volunteer — Volunteering is meaningful, and rewarding. Be sure to do your research to volunteer with an ethical sanctuary such as Free the Bears. Their Cat Tien sanctuary volunteer program is the most rewarding thing I have ever been a part of, and I would recommend it to anyone.
I came to the sanctuary to help. I left with something else: a deep respect for the relentless work of healing, and a burning desire to do more.
Rescue may be the spark.
But sanctuary is the fire we have to keep tending.