Journals this month looked at “fabulous but forgotten” ecosystems, hungry monkeys, roaming lions, lead-poisoned birds, and more — including a focus on microplastics.
When I worked for a major academic publisher in the early 2000s, Christmas came twice a year: once in December and once when the annual Journal Citation Reports came out.
The JCR, published every year since 1975, ranks academic journals against each other. Each journal receives something called an “impact factor,” a calculation based on how many papers a journal publishes and how many times its papers are cited by subsequent research within two years.
This is a very big deal in scientific circles. The higher the impact factor, the more readily the publisher can sell a journal to libraries and other institutions and the more likely the journal is to receive high-quality submissions. That, in turn, helps keep future impact factors high.
It’s not a perfect system. Smaller journals — such as those from the Global South or those covering narrow topics — don’t get cited as often, so they may not receive a high impact factor.
Meanwhile there are plenty of other ways to assess a journal’s impact. Media mentions are also a big deal, and many journals now publish statistics for each paper’s news links or social-media shares. It could be argued that nonscientific citations have a greater effect on policy and public perception than anything else.
So let’s dive into those smaller journals and share the latest science from other conservation journals around the world. Below you’ll find more than three dozen papers that grabbed my attention in the past few weeks. They cover “vampire” birds, hungry monkeys, feral cats, roaming lions, the wildlife trade, and more. Most of the articles are open access, so they should be available to researchers (and any other interested readers) around the globe.
Will they also shape policy? That remains to be seen, but some of these papers have only been downloaded a couple of hundred times as of this writing, so let’s give them a fighting chance.
“Animal-borne sensors reveal high human impact on soundscapes near a critical sea turtle nesting beach” (Biological Conservation)
“Are vehicle strikes causing millions of bee deaths per day on western United States roads? Preliminary data suggests the number is high” (Sustainable Environment)
“Camouflage or Coincidence? Investigating the Effects of Spatial and Temporal Environmental Features on Feral Cat Morphology in Tasmania” (Ecology and Evolution)
“Climatic drought and trophic disruption in an endemic subalpine Hawaiian forest bird” (Biological Conservation)
“Conserving genetic diversity hotspots under climate change: Are protected areas helpful?” (Biological Conservation)
“Counterillumination reduces bites by Great White sharks” (Current Biology)
“Diurnal Activity Budgets and Feeding Habits of Grivet Monkey (Chlorocebus aethiops aethiops) in Fragmented Moist Afromontane Forest” (African Journal of Ecology)
“Environmental Conservation and the Bulawayo CBD as a Linguistic Landscape Construction: An Ecolinguistics Perspective” (Journal of Asian and African Studies)
“Facing the heat: nestlings of a cavity-nesting raptor trade safety for food when exposed to high nest temperatures” (Animal Behaviour)
“Great Gerbils (Rhombomys opimus) in Central Asia Are Spreading to Higher Latitudes and Altitudes” (Ecology and Evolution)
“Large Reductions in Temperate Rainforest Biome Due to Unmitigated Climate Change” (Earth’s Future)
“Lead-based ammunition is a threat to the endangered New Zealand Kea (Nestor notabilis)” (Conservation Letters)
“Madagascar’s proposed domestic rosewood trade undermines species protection and exposes fatal flaws in the CITES regime” (Madagascar Conservation & Development)
“Native plants play crucial role in buffering against severity of exotic plant invasions in freshwater ecosystems” (Biological Conservation)
“Nearly half of Colombian artisan craft plant species lack national and international vulnerability assessments” (Ecosystems and People)
“Predicting conservation priority areas in Borneo for the critically endangered helmeted hornbill (Rhinoplax vigil)” (Global Ecology and Conservation)
“‘Vampire birds’: diet metabarcoding reveals that migrating Woodchat Shrikes Lanius senator consume engorged camel ticks in a desert stopover site” (Journal of African Ornithology)
The Interplay of Lions and African Wild Dogs
These papers, which examine some of the same species but share no authors, deserve to be looked at in unison:
“Long-Distance, Transfrontier Carnivore Dispersals in Southern Africa” (Ecology and Evolution)
“Spatial Risk Effects From Lions Compound Impacts of Prey Depletion on African Wild Dogs” (Ecology and Evolution)
This month also featured a lot of research on microplastics — as many as 10 papers a day, by my count. Here’s a small selection focusing on microplastics’ effects on wildlife. This weighs a little more heavily on subscription-access papers, but many of these are open access.
“Bibliometric Insights into Microplastic Pollution in Freshwater Ecosystems” (Water)
“The dual role of coastal mangroves: Sinks and sources of microplastics in rapidly urbanizing areas” (Journal of Hazardous Materials)
“Ecotoxicological Impact of Cigarette Butts on Coastal Ecosystems: The Case of Marbella Beach, Chile” (Sustainability)
“From insects to mammals! Tissue accumulation and transgenerational transfer of micro/nano-plastics through the food chain” (Journal of Hazardous Materials)
“Microplastics alter the functioning of marine microbial ecosystems” (Ecology and Evolution)
“Microplastics and terrestrial birds: a review on plastic ingestion in ecological linchpins” (Journal of Ornithology)
“Microplastics in Animals: The Silent Invasion” (Pollutants)
“Polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) microplastics affect angiogenesis and central nervous system (CNS) development of duck embryo” (Emerging Contaminants)
“Unraveling Plastic Pollution in Protected Terrestrial Raptors Using Regurgitated Pellets” (Microplastics)
Our next column will be a bit different: We want to share researchers’ favorite peer-reviewed papers of 2024. For consideration, drop us a line at tips@therevelator.org and use the subject line TMICS. Send us a link, your name and institution, and 1-3 sentences about why you think readers should check out your paper. We’re eager to hear from you, especially if you’re from the Global South or an institution without much public-relations support. (Deadline: Dec. 10, 2024.)
Home to glaciers, snow leopards, and rich human cultures, Ladakh suffers from a lack of political representation, which has inspired recent protests.
The Place:
Ladakh, India’s cold desert, is located to the east of Jammu and Kashmir at altitudes between 8,800 and 18,000 feet. This mountain enclave is geographically distinct, with unique climatic and ecological characteristics fostering a rich culture amidst towering peaks. Ladakh is marked by steep cliffs, deep valleys, arid plains, salt flats, and sparse vegetation. Situated between Pakistan and China, it nurtures a population of around 275,000 people, as well as rare and beautiful wildlife such as snow leopards and Tibetan antelopes.
The people and wildlife here depend on the Hindu Kush ranges to the northwest for essential resources. The other mountain ranges surrounding the Ladakh, the Karakoram to the north and the Himalayan to the south, are some of the highest in the world. Together known as the Hindu Kush Himalaya, these ranges are often referred to as the “Third Pole.” They feature the world’s most renowned peaks, clad in over 30,000 square miles of glacial ice — the largest concentration of glaciers outside the Arctic and Antarctic.
Why It Matters:
High-altitude regions have fragile ecosystems and experience the effects of climate change more acutely and earlier, which also makes them indicators of broader climate trends. This allows scientists to study shifts in weather phenomena, migration, and ecosystem responses along with the tectonic processes involved in the region’s varied geology.
A rich diversity of medicinal plants can be found here, such as Himalayan yew, known for cancer-fighting properties; ashwagandha, used for stress relief; and ginger, valued for anti-inflammatory benefits. Protecting these unique environments is essential to sustaining traditional medicine practices and preserving these invaluable resources.
Ladakh is home to a rich tapestry of cultures, traditions, and religions, including Buddhism and Islam. Its monasteries, festivals, and unique lifestyles provide insights into how diverse ways of living have adapted to harsh conditions. The area’s unique wildlife play essential roles in nutrient cycling and maintaining ecological balance: Himalayan blue sheep, also known as bharal, graze on alpine meadows, while Himalayan marmots aerate the soil and serve as prey for other species.
The Threat:
The local ecosystems in Ladakh, and the more than 1.2 billion people downstream, depend on glaciers for their freshwater supply. As the permafrost thaws, concerns about potential pandemics from viral spillover have surfaced.
Recently a collaborative effort of Ohio State’s Byrd Center and Chinese Academy of Sciences isolated 33 viruses from ice samples in the Tibetan Plateau, 28 of which were novel and estimated to be approximately 15,000 years old. The runoff from glacier melt has furthered the risk of introducing diseases into vulnerable communities.
Recent examples of mega-scale flash floods and landslides underscore the impact of man-made disasters and the urgent need for new policies.
Militarization has occurred in Ladakh due to its strategic location and geopolitical conflicts. Unregulated tourism, construction, global warming, and various forms of pollution are worsening the situation. Snow in the glaciers melts faster as black soot from fossil fuels settle on the snow and ice and absorb the sunlight they would normally reflect.
Water contamination is another major concern, and flooding has altered soil functions, microbial communities, and soil redox potential. Floods cause soil erosion, nutrient loss, and siltation of water bodies, reducing the already constrained agriculture yield in the region.
Ladakhis also lack access to essential healthcare facilities and services that reflect their needs and support their wellbeing. A decade of unfulfilled promises has left residents feeling politically marginalized and skeptical of policymakers, especially concerning healthcare and land rights. Recent amendments to forest laws allow forest land use for nonforest purposes, jeopardizing biodiversity and Indigenous livelihoods and deepening distrust.
Who Is Protecting It Now:
Ladakh activist Sonam Wangchuk and others have spent the past few months fasting, protesting, and educating the community, with the goal of bringing more autonomy to the region.
Wangchuk’s dedication to innovation and sustainable development has earned him numerous accolades, including the Ramon Magsaysay Award, often referred to as Asia’s Nobel Prize, in 2018. His initiatives — including ice stupas, artificial glaciers that store water — highlight time-tested and Indigenous innovations in the face of climate challenges.
While he envisions a future of innovative development and education for all, Wangchuk is particularly currently focused on preservation of ecosystem in Ladakh. With the extreme conditions and limited resources, the Ladakh protests are addressing the need for reforms to support the unique challenges faced by the region and he is the face of the protests.
What This Place Needs:
The ongoing protests in Ladakh reflect a desire for political representation and autonomy and are aimed at preserving ecological integrity and Tribal rights.
Among the primary demands are full statehood within India, recognition as a Scheduled Tribe under the Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution for legislative and administrative control, and the implementation of policies aimed at safeguarding Ladakh’s fragile ecosystem while balancing developmental needs and local participation.
Ladakhis have reason to be worried: The government of India has plans for massive solar and hydroelectric projects that come with substantial environmental and social costs, including biodiversity loss, land degradation from extensive solar farms, and alterations in local water flows. Socially these projects have the potential to displace communities and lead to external control over local resources, and eventually the influx of workers would pose a threat to the Ladakhi livelihoods and culture.
Lessons From the Fight:
The people of Ladakh teach us spiritual resilience.
The unique demographics of the region, with its blend of Buddhist and Muslim populations, foster a sense of solidarity in advocating for local governance and sustainable development. As both groups confront external pressures from national policies and environmental changes, their collective efforts symbolize a shared commitment to protect their heritage and secure their futures in an increasingly complex geopolitical landscape. This collaboration highlights a broader geopolitical context, as both communities face common challenges related to resource management, healthcare access, and demands for statehood.
Traditional practices, often overlooked, can play a crucial role in sustainability. Empowering small-scale and indigenous communities helps preserve their knowledge and ways of life. One possible answer is economic localization, which prioritizes local, sustainable practices like ecotourism that celebrate rather than exploit local culture. Small-scale green energy projects can reduce reliance on fossil fuels, protecting delicate ecosystems. Water conservation, forest management, and incentives for local businesses should replace resource extraction by large corporations. Fast-paced change often overlooks the science behind traditional practices that can help save our planet.
Do you live in or near a threatened habitat or community, or have you worked to study or protect endangered wildlife? You’re invited to share your stories in our ongoing features, Protect This Place and Species Spotlight.
As the fish swim back to places they haven’t reached for more than a century, scientists will watch for signs of the watershed’s recovery.
The removal of four hydroelectric dams on the Klamath River in southern Oregon and Northern California has been recognized as the largest dam removal in U.S. history. More notably, it’s also the largest salmon-restoration project to date.
In late September I watched an excavator take large bites out of the cofferdam at Iron Gate, the most downstream of the dams.
Photo: Juliet Grable
Just over two weeks later, a crew spotted a pair of salmon spawning in one of the tributaries above Iron Gate, where the fish had not previously been able to reach. On Oct. 16 biologists spied fall Chinook salmon at the mouth of a tributary in Oregon. This spot, 230 miles from the ocean, is above all four of the former dam sites.
The speed of the salmon’s return has astonished even the most seasoned biologists.
“Even though we’ve been anticipating the moment, it’s not until you see that first Chinook…I don’t know; I’m still in shock,” says Mark Hereford, project leader of the Klamath anadromous restoration program at Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, who found the fish in the Oregon tributary.
Photo: ODFW
News of the salmon’s return prompted a flurry of texts and excited phone calls among fish advocates. Their return is especially poignant to members of the Klamath Tribes, whose ancestral lands include the upper Klamath Basin above the dam sites. With the construction of the dams, salmon, or c’iyaals, had been absent from the Upper Basin for over 100 years.
Now attention is shifting from the massive dam-removal project to the equally enormous task ahead: restoring the Klamath watershed. Biologists will look to the fish themselves for guidance.
All Hands on Deck
The Klamath River supports fall and spring Chinook, coho, and steelhead, along with other important species like Pacific lamprey. All are expected to benefit from dam removal.
Biologists are using every means possible to detect and track salmon as they explore their new habitat. The California Department of Fish and Wildlife has installed “video weirs” to capture images of salmon in key tributaries; the agency also has crews on the ground surveying spawning salmon. Also in California, the nonprofit Cal Trout has installed a sonar monitoring station just above the former Iron Gate dam. Cal Trout is also leading a project to sample fish using special nets near the Iron Gate dam site; these hands-on surveys will provide a week-by-week snapshot of fish in the river. The crew are fitting some of these fish with radio tags and passive integrated transponders, or PIT tags, so they can track them as they move upstream.
In the upper basin, ODFW is working with the Klamath Tribes, university researchers, and other partners to conduct spawning surveys and set up monitoring stations to detect tagged fish.
“It will help us answer the question: Are fish moving into the new habitat, and if so, what species?” says Hereford.
This intensive monitoring will continue for at least four years. Besides informing restoration, the efforts will also reveal how fish respond to some of the challenging conditions in the upper basin.
The Klamath River starts in Upper Klamath Lake in southern Oregon and passes through two small dams before crossing into California.
Most of the vast wetlands surrounding Upper Klamath Lake were converted into farmland over a century ago. The lake is naturally productive, thanks to volcanic soils high in phosphorus, but the removal of filtering wetlands and channelization of tributaries above the lake let in a flood of nutrients. The lake is frequently plagued with large algae blooms and poor water quality.
There’s ideal habitat in the tributaries above Upper Klamath Lake, but to reach it, cold water-loving salmon must navigate an expanse of warm, shallow, and at times oxygen-poor water. How will they fare?
To get a jump on this question, fisheries biologists have been releasing young hatchery-bred spring Chinook into tributaries above the lake.
What they’ve witnessed is encouraging, says Hereford, who is leading the project, now in its third year. They’ve detected fish everywhere they’ve set up monitoring stations. What’s more, fish are finding cold, spring-fed pockets in the lake.
“Some of them are able to find that cold water refuge and staying there the whole summer, which is great,” says Hereford. There’s abundant food in these cold pockets, which allows the fish to grow nice and big before they head downstream toward the ocean. Bigger fish generally survive better, says Hereford.
The young spring Chinook they release later this fall will actually have the chance to reach the ocean.
“This year will be really interesting because it’s the first time we’ve released fish into a free-flowing river,” says Hereford.
Young fish moving downstream and adults swimming upstream will still have to navigate two small dams that were not removed. Both have fish ladders, but the openings in the ladders are too small for large adult salmon to pass through. (This problem will be fixed: A feasibility study is already underway.)
Radio-tagged and PIT-tagged juveniles will tell biologists how they’re getting through the dams and inform future solutions to improve passage.
Long-Term Recovery
Large dams have contributed to steep declines in salmon runs across the West.
“When we have dams in place, we have a lot of constraints on salmon,” says Shari Witmore, fish biologist, West Coast Region at NOAA Fisheries. “Layer on climate change, water management, and diversions, and that further constrains their ability to respond to local conditions and access different types of habitat. Overall, it’s more of a struggle to have sustainable, diverse populations.”
As the pioneering fall Chinook demonstrate, they’re good at finding cold, spring-fed streams. Now that the dams are gone, they can access more of them.
“When you’re talking about a large and diverse system like the Klamath, the tributaries and the main stem all work together like a family,” says Michael Belchik, senior fisheries biologist at the Yurok Tribe. “Some of the tributaries are cold-water refuges when the main stem Klamath gets warm.”
The dams on the Klamath didn’t just physically block fish; they starved downstream reaches of the sediment and gravel they need to construct their nests, or redds. The reservoirs also acted like giant heat sinks, altering temperatures downstream. They harbored massive algae blooms that compromised water quality and submerged cold springs that are ideal spawning grounds.
Already Belchik has noted the return of cooler temperatures to the river, which bodes well for the fall run of Chinook.
“If we’re seeing a couple fish here or there in certain tributaries, we’re going to see a lot more in the upcoming years as the river recovers, the clarity returns, and the spawning gravels are revealed,” says Belchik.
Dam removal is just the beginning. As exciting as it is to see the return of salmon to their historic habitat on the Klamath River, it will take several fish generations for them to establish sustainable populations, says Witmore.
Other large dam-decommissioning projects have shown that fish often respond quickly to removal of physical barriers. After two dams were removed from the Elwha River in southwest Washington between 2011 and 2014, steelhead returned to habitat above the dam sites almost immediately. Chinook salmon have also rebounded, albeit more slowly. Last year the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe was able to open a small subsistence and ceremonial coho salmon fishery — an important milestone in the recovery of these fish populations.
Restoring Habitat
Jenny Creek is one of the first tributaries to flow into the Klamath River above the Iron Gate dam. Before and after photos illustrate the dramatic effects of dam removal.
My “before” picture, from September of 2023, was taken from a bridge that passes over the creek right before it entered the Iron Gate reservoir. Fat and sluggish, the backed-up creek is painted with swirls of green algae. You can’t smell the anaerobic rot, but it’s not hard to imagine.
Photo: Juliet Grable
A year later, the water runs clear, dancing around boulders and past willows that have spontaneously sprouted along the banks.
Photo: Juliet Grable
“If you look at Jenny Creek and the Klamath main stem itself in the Iron Gate reservoir footprint, you see thousands, tens of thousands of willows coming up,” says Belchik. “A whole riparian forest is being reborn even right now.”
This tributary is one of several targeted for restoration in this and the other reservoir footprints. Crews have already been sculpting floodplains and planting new vegetation on bare ground that was uncovered when the reservoirs were drained. They’re also placing whole trees, with their roots intact, across streams to help create pools and spawning habitat.
Restoration is taking place not just in the reservoir footprints but throughout the watershed. Even groups that have historically clashed over water are cooperating to get this work done. Just last month the Klamath Water Users Association and several Tribes announced they had agreed on 19 restoration projects throughout the basin.
The old tensions are still there: Water remains a scarce resource with too many demands on it. But there does seem to be a newfound understanding that we all benefit from a healthy Klamath watershed.
Meanwhile everything biologists and other scientists are learning on the Klamath will add to the body of knowledge around dam removal.
“What are the consequences? What happens to the fish afterward? What if there’s spawning areas below the dam? What happens with the sediment?” says Belchik. “We’re going to be able to answer these questions better and better as we move forward.”
A Triumphant Return
On Nov. 3 I took my husband Brint to see the Chinook spawning at one of the tributaries. By then biologists on spawning surveys had counted more than 100 fish on a single day in that stream alone.
We walked downstream. The creek is only calf-deep in places, but the 30-inch salmon were not easy to spot. We had to learn to see the dark, undulating torpedo shapes.
The landscape opened up as we neared the confluence with the Klamath. This part of the creek had been submerged under a reservoir less than a year ago. It was treeless, and the mud adjacent to the stream banks had dried and cracked into blocks.
As we walked we were joined by others curious to witness history — hunters who were camping nearby and families on a Sunday outing. Several kids tested their balance on the large logs that had been placed across the stream, looking for fish.
“Salmon!” a boy screamed, pointing. A startled Chinook breached with a splash, then darted downstream. The boy’s mom explained why it was important not to disturb the fish while they were hard at work making more salmon.
Photo: Juliet Grable
Brint and I grinned at each other. We too were screaming “salmon,” though silently: the simple thrill of seeing these big, beautiful fish amplified by the triumph of their homecoming.
WOODLAND — Biologist Dave’y Lumley paced the shallow water at the mouth of the Lewis River on an overcast morning in late September. With each step, she carefully scanned the water in front of her, holding two hockey sticklike probes just under the surface.
“My mind goes blank on everything else and what I’m looking for is any slight movement,” Lumley said.
She and a colleague from the Yakama Nation’s Pacific Lamprey Project, Noah Sampson, were looking for larval lamprey — a difficult task because the fish can be less than an inch long at this stage of development.
The probes connect to a beeping, gauge-covered backpack, known as an electrofisher. Together, the rig works by gently shocking the water about three times a second to tease out young lamprey from the riverbed so they can be caught, counted and studied before being released.
This research was part of a three-day trip Lumley and Sampson, both Yakama Nation members, made to Southwest Washington to survey lamprey populations in the Wind, Washougal, Lewis and Cowlitz rivers, as well as some creeks — likely for the first time.
But it’s only one small part of the nation’s 15-year effort to restore Pacific lamprey populations to their former abundance in the Columbia River Basin after dams, habitat destruction, industrial pollution, ocean overfishing, climate change and other factors brought the important native fish species to the brink of local extinction.
What Are Lamprey?
While the Columbia River as we know it today was shaped by a series of floods about 15,000 years ago, lamprey date back much further.
At about 450 million years old, the eel-like fish evolved when Pangaea didn’t yet exist, the first trees hadn’t yet sprouted and the Pacific Northwest wouldn’t emerge from under the ocean for another couple hundred million years.
Lampreys’ life cycle starts when they hatch in gravelly streambeds and swim to slower-moving water. They then spend the next three to 10 years burrowed in the sand and silt, filter and deposit feeding.
Then, juveniles go through a metamorphosis and swim to the ocean, where they spend the next one to seven years using their hallmark “sucking disk” to attach to and feed on larger host fish. From there, they head back to rivers and streams like the ones where they were born, spending up to two years there before mating and dying.
In preparation for their Southwest Washington trip, Lumley and Sampson searched Google Earth, looking for sites along the rivers that appeared to have the sediment that creates ideal habitat for young lamprey.
Publicly accessible sites, including the ones visited that day, are ideal. But if she sees a privately owned spot she likes, Lumley has a few tricks up her sleeve.
“I don’t have a problem talking to landowners. Worst they can say is ‘No,’ ” she said. “We will go and make phone calls and send emails, go knock on the door because trespassing is not good, and we keep good relationships with people because then we can keep coming back every year.”
Lamprey Hide-and-Seek
The first step in restoring lamprey populations is finding out if any are in a river. The team does this by picking three 1-square-meter plots at a site and checking them for larval lamprey with the electrofisher. They then use those findings to establish how many are in a broader area.
Lumley was carefully pacing through the first plot of the first site to the electrofisher’s waltzlike beeps — one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three — when the day’s first lamprey darted from the sand.
“We got one, so they are here,” Lumley said. She smiled as she netted the small fish and deposited it in a bucket Sampson held.
Despite that promising start, it was the only lamprey the pair found at that site — or the next two. But even one fish was enough to collect important data.
Back on shore, Lumley wrangled the wriggling pinky-sized fish to measure it as Sampson collected and read off data about water and sediment depth, as well as pH.
The three-day survey trip comes after the Yakama Nation’s restoration efforts have achieved growing success in Central Washington, and especially in the Yakima River Basin.
The basin has seen higher numbers of juveniles heading to the Pacific Ocean and adults are starting to return, Ralph Lampman, leader of the Yakama Nation Pacific Lamprey Project, told The Columbian in September.
And while the data collected that day in September covered a worksheet front and back, surveys make up a small part of the broader restoration program. The Yakama Nation runs the program in partnership with other groups, including the Nez Perce Tribe, Warm Springs Tribe, Umatilla Tribe and Columbia River Inter-Tribal Fish Commission, as well as agencies including the Bonneville Power Administration and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
Lumley used a tiny pair of scissors to delicately snip a fin for the Yakama Nation’s genetic monitoring program.
“I’m just going at the very back of the second dorsal and I’m just taking a little sliver,” she said.
The Yakama Nation also operates the world’s first full Pacific lamprey hatchery, Lampman said. Some of its other programs include education and outreach, training lamprey researchers from around the world and doing “translocations” — that’s when biologists truck returning fish past the dams to spawning sites throughout the Columbia Basin.
Why Save Lamprey?
This work started following the revelation that returns of the foundational Columbia River species had collapsed.
Bonneville Dam counted passing lamprey from when it opened in 1938 until 1969. In the years after the count resumed in 1999, the highest yearly returns of that period were still only roughly one-third of the highest returns of the earlier era.
And even those high returns during the mid-1900s were just a fraction of pre-dam returns, which lamprey biologists say numbered potentially in the millions.
The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, which operates many of the dams, estimates roughly half of the lamprey that attempt to pass a dam succeed — and that’s for each dam. There are nine dams on the mainstem Columbia before fish reach the impassable Chief Joseph Dam, and hundreds more across the Snake River and other tributaries.
However, dams aren’t the only threat to lamprey. Habitat loss, ocean overfishing, climate change and other factors have hurt lamprey, too.
To Lumley, there is a brutal irony in the fact a species that survived 450 million years is now threatened within only a couple hundred years of the arrival of Euro-American settlers and industrial infrastructure —like dams.
“It’s unfortunate but it makes sense,” Lumley said. “We’re actually physically putting in an impassable barrier. But they’re still here, so hopefully they’ll outlive us.”
Cultural, Ecological Role
The pair and their gear — which Lumley says is often likened to something out of the movie “Ghostbusters” — have a way of starting conversations.
Lumley says the exchanges are a chance to conduct “impromptu educational outreach” about lamprey.
“Are they good to eat?” one angler asked.
“They’re good, yeah. They’re very high nutrition, high oils, vitamins, minerals, stuff like that,” Lumley said. “Little bit more than salmon — also they’re food for everything. Everything eats them.”
It’s those nutrients that get at the heart of the fish’s importance in the Columbia Basin — both to ecosystems and Native nations, Michael Buck said. He’s a Yakama Nation member and a researcher studying the history and intellectual traditions of Native people in the Columbia River Plateau.
While his recent research has involved interviewing dozens of Yakama elders to understand the role of lamprey in the nation’s life before settlers and dams arrived, he got his start when he was much younger.
“Our entire family from Priest Rapids Village would caravan all the way (to Willamette Falls) for a day-and-a-half of eeling,” he said, referring to lamprey with the shorthand name many Native people have long used.
From conversations with elders, Buck found the nation’s relationship to lamprey is just as deep and important as with salmon.
“The eel was important to children, to toddlers who were teething. The eel tail was used for a pacifier,” he said. “The dried eel tail, the oil was used for different medicines, like earaches and cleansing, and it was also a connection to stamina. The eel oil gave you stamina to be a strong fisherman, a strong horse rider.”
Buck, who also works as a traditional medicine practitioner at Seattle Indian Health Board, said the “quick, nutritious grab” was a part of what kept Native communities vital, and with its collapse, health problems arose.
“This stereotype came from starvation — the stereotypical alcoholic Indian with no teeth, diabetes. That’s something that the government gave to us,” he said. “The eel made us strong and fast and clean in our blood.”
But it hasn’t only been Native communities who have suffered without lampreys’ former abundance. Salmon and lamprey have been migrating together for as long as salmon have existed, Buck pointed out. And both the younger, more popular fish and the broader regional ecosystems need lamprey to function properly.
To Lumley, the best way to understand that is to think of the larval lamprey as doing for the river what an earthworm does for a garden.
“They churn it, they aerate it, break down organic matter and they’re good for everything,” she said. “Everything will eat them.”
It’s that importance — both cultural and ecological — that drives Lumley in her goal of restoring lamprey populations so harvests can return to what they were only a handful of generations ago.
While she didn’t taste the fish or even know much about it until she was in her early 20s, she wants other Yakama members at a young age to get to learn about lamprey and its importance — and to try it.
“When we do an educational outreach booth, we set up an aquarium with live fish so people can actually see them up close and touch them, pick them up,” she said. “It’s great being able to tie tribal youth to a traditional food source.”
Growing returns in the Yakima Basin have boosted that outreach work, and enabled them to bring back fish for members who can’t harvest them, including children and older people.
“It is very meaningful to me. I love this job,” Lumley said.
Over the past decade, she has worked her way through a college degree, and from a seasonal technician to fish biologist. She said she can’t see herself doing anything else.
It’s work that, in addition to passion and knowledge, requires and rewards a hopeful disposition: While the Lewis River only yielded one larval lamprey, Lumley and Sampson went on to find more than 60 at sites along the Cowlitz River.
“It was a really good day for lamprey,” Lumley said.
Every year these critically endangered birds perform artistic aerial feats to charm potential mates. But if things don’t change, we may see their last dance soon.
Species name:
Bengal florican (Houbaropsis bengalensis)
Description:
Bengal floricans are ground-dwelling birds in the bustard family. The females tend to be slightly larger than males, and the sexes have very different plumage. Adult males sport a black neck and head with a small crest, a mottled brown-and-black back, and pristine white wing bars prominent in flight. The characteristic elongated feathers on their breasts are puffed out during territorial and courtship displays. Females, on the other hand, are more of a muted brown hue with pale underparts and some streaking on their backs. The species is perhaps best known for the male’s elegant courtship display: The strutting, neck fluffing, jumping, and humming are best described as an “aerial dance.”
Where They’re Found:
There are two known subspecies with disjunct distributions. Houbaropsis bengalensis bengalensis is found in the Ganga and Brahmaputra floodplains of the Himalayan foothills in India and Nepal. The other, H. b. blandini, inhabits the Tonle Sap floodplains of Cambodia, and a few individuals may be present in Vietnam. A former population in Bangladesh has ceased to exist.
Bengal floricans are specialists of wet alluvial grasslands, having short grasses with scattered bushes and long grass tufts. Such habitats in the Indian subcontinent are now largely confined to national parks and wildlife sanctuaries, where they’re managed by annual burning practices. From Dr. Ravi Sankaran’s formative research on this species in Dudhwa National Park, we know that the birds appear in grassland patches within 2-5 weeks of their burning.
1831 illustration from A century of birds from the Himalaya Mountains (public domain)
Known to travel short distances between seasons, Bengal floricans now often find themselves in agricultural lands adjoining protected areas. For example, Koklabari Seed Farm, adjacent to Manas National Park, sees as many as 27 floricans in monsoon season — over one-third of its entire population in the national park, according to recent research.
IUCN Status:
Bengal floricans have been listed as critically endangered on the IUCN Red List since 2008 due to mounting threats to their grassland habitat and sharp population declines. The population in Cambodia is feared to have decreased by almost 80% in just three generations (30 years), putting the species among the most threatened bustards in the world.
Major Threats:
The threats to Bengal floricans stem directly from threats to the grassland habitat they’re so dependent upon. Being highly productive flatlands, this habitat is highly sought after for cultivation. In Cambodia large swathes of grassland are being converted to “intensive, industrial-scale, irrigated rice fields.” In India and Nepal, little grassland remains outside protected areas.
Even where there are protected grasslands in the floricans’ range, the management may not suit the needs of this species, as the focus is usually on charismatic large mammals such as Asian elephants or greater one-horned rhinos.
Woody encroachment into Terai grasslands is being noted across the Himalayan foothills, pushing Bengal floricans closer to the brink. Illegal grazing and invasive plant species taking over grasslands are also likely to pose threats, although their impacts are yet to be understood.
A typical wet grassland habitat, the Terai-Duars region of West Bengal, from where Bengal florican may have disappeared. Photo: Nisha Bhakat
Another emerging threat is overhead power lines. During a study in Cambodia, six Bengal floricans were found dead after collisions with lines.
Notable Conservation Programs or Legal Protections:
Given its threat status, the species receives the highest degree of legal protection across much of its range. In India floricans are on Schedule I of the Wildlife Protection Act, 1972; in Nepal they appear on Schedule I of the National Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act, 1973; and Cambodia considers the species to be amongst its highest conservation priorities.
Cambodia, in fact, has created protected areas called Bengal Florican Conservation Areas (BFCAs) with community-based management where the birds can coexist with traditional farmers. In 2024 Nepal launched a 10-year action plan for the birds’ conservation, with multiple proposed avenues such as carrying out annual burning before the breeding season, ex-situ conservation and breeding programs, satellite tracking of individuals to better understand habitat use, deepening understanding of species ecology, and so on. In India a nonprofit organization called Aaranyak is carrying out a Bengal Florican Conservation Project in collaboration with several governmental and nongovernmental entities.
Two Bengal florican chicks being hand-reared at the Angkor Centre for Conservation of Biodiversity, Cambodia. Photo: Maria Blümm Rexach/ACCB via IUCN
Now in a first, Bengal florican eggs laid in the wild are being carefully hatched and then raised at a conservation center led by Angkor Centre for Conservation of Biodiversity in Cambodia. They make up an assurance population against extinction of the blandini subspecies. For a species that had never been kept in captivity before, this is quite a remarkable feat. Against all odds, and a prediction this subspecies would be extinct by 2023, conservation actions like this show all may not be lost just yet.
My Experience:
Bengal floricans have almost, if not totally, vanished from Bengal, the state after which they are named. Growing up in that state as a birdwatcher and reading old trip reports, I always dreamed of seeing one in Jaldapara or Gorumara National Park. My closest encounter with the species continues to be through the eyes and words of others, perhaps most intimately while reading Dr. Ravi Sankaran’s extensive field notes from Dudhwa. One can almost picture an adult male foraging in the Satiana grassland patch, pausing briefly as a peafowl calls not too far away. It partially inflates its neck as a show of territoriality, but soon resorts to preening. Just after sunset, it gets flushed and flies off into the dusk toward Chapra grassland.
This sight is a thing of the past, as recent surveys have failed to locate any Bengal floricans in Dudhwa National Park. Despite us having decent knowledge of the species’ ecology and requirements since the 1990s, populations continue to decline alarmingly.
But the forest of wildlife conservation sprouts from seeds of hope. Perhaps the many conservation projects targeting this species will turn the tide and one day Bengal floricans will reclaim the grasslands in the Terai-Duars of Bengal.
Key Research:
Rahmani, A.R., Narayan, G., Sankaran, R. and Rosalind, L. eds. (1988). The Bengal Florican: Status and Ecology. Annual Report. Bombay Natural History Society, Bombay.
Rahmani, A.R., Narayan, G., Rosalind, L., Sankaran, R. and Ganguli-Lachungpa, U. (1991). Status of the Bengal Florican Houbaropsis bengalensis in India. Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society. 88: 349-375.
Baral, H.S., Ram, A.K., Chaudhary, B., Basnet, S., Chaudhary, D., Timsina, A., Acharya, S., Bidari K., Acharya, S., Acharya, B., Thulung, P., Karki, A., Acharya, K.P. (2013). Survey of Bengal Florican Houbaropsis bengalensis bengalensis (Gmelin, 1789)(Gruiformes: Otididae) in the Koshi Tappu Wildlife Reserve and adjoining areas, Nepal Journal of Threatened Taxa. 5(7): 4076-4083. http://www.threatenedtaxa.org/ZooPrintJournal/2013/April/o324026iv134076-4083.pdf
Packman, C.E., Showler, D.A., Collar, N.J., Son Virak, Mahood, S.P., Handschuh, M., Evans, T. D., Hong Chamnan and Dolman, P. M. (2014). Rapid decline of the largest remaining population of Bengal Florican Houbaropsis bengalensis and recommendations for its conservation. Bird Conservation International. 24: 429–437.
Note: Dr. Ravi Sankaran’s research on Bengal floricans remains one of the most extensive works done on this species’ behavior and ecology. Even more information can be found in his field notes than in the many reports and papers he published. At a time where grassland habitats are severely threatened, these notes can provide valuable information to inform conservation action Dr. Sankaran’s papers are housed in the Archives at the National Centre for Biological Sciences and are available for research reference.
Do you live in or near a threatened habitat or community, or have you worked to study or protect endangered wildlife? You’re invited to share your stories in our ongoing features, Protect This Place and Species Spotlight.
Russia’s bombing of Kakhovka Dam in 2023 killed hundreds of people and tens of thousands of animals, but it’s also provided a potential ecological reset.
In the early hours of June 6, 2023, two large explosions reverberated across cities and small towns located on the banks of the Dnieper River in southern Ukraine. The Russian military had reportedly set off multiple bombs, destroying the three-kilometer-long Kakhovka Dam and draining its massive reservoir into nearby settlements.
Water from the dam flooded the plains, killing hundreds of civilians and countless livestock, destroying farms, and displacing the residents of more than 37,000 homes.
The bombing made headlines around the world. However, it’s the long-term impact of the attack on the local biodiversity that has scientists and experts concerned. In the weeks following the explosion, researchers from Ukrainian ministries and independent organizations carried out several assessments as best they could to the backdrop of the war.
They found that the attack had flooded about 60,000 hectares (230 square miles) of forest in at least four national parks, threatening an estimated population of 20,000 animals and 10,000 birds.
“Almost all aquatic vegetation had died, and much of the marine life had disappeared, including mollusks,” says Serhiiy Skoryk, director of Kamianska Sich National Park in Kherson, one of the regions affected. “Those that survived moved downstream,” says the scientist-turned-freedom fighter.
The deluge also dislodged many landmines in the heavy conflict region, moving them downstream into farms and residential areas.
The researchers found an equally deadly if less obvious threat: Industrial pollutants previously captured in the reservoir’s sediments had contaminated the flood zones and the Black Sea.
Another report by the Ukrainian Scientific Center for Marine Ecology, published just months after the destruction of the dam, also showed high evidence of pollution in the Black Sea, including heavy metals such as copper, zinc, and arsenic compounds.
“All that water from the reservoir contains contaminant particles, along with carcasses of the animals that died during the flood, most of which ended in the sea, which is now polluted,” says Oleksiy Vasyliuk, an environmental scientist from Ukraine who has been documenting the ecological impact of the war.
One of the hardest hit groups of species was mussels, “filter feeders” who help purify water. With populations of these animals significantly reduced, Vasyliuk expresses worry that these pollutants could enter the human food chain.
Satellite data shows the dramatic drying of the Kakhovka reservoir bottom that has been transforming the landscape in 2023-2024. Source: EOS Data Analytics
The war has made an already bad situation for many species even worse. “Even before the war, the ecology of Ukraine was endangered, but the Russian invasion attacks have caused serious threats to Ukrainian biodiversity,” says Anastasia Drapaliuk, project coordinator at Tellus Conservation in Ukraine.
In a paper for the Ukrainian Nature Conservation Group, Drapaliuk and other experts noted that wildlife across 5,000 square kilometers (1,930 square miles) faced catastrophic effects from the flood, including rare species of birds, mammals, reptiles, and insects. “Populations of some species were dealt a possibly greater blow in one day on June 6 than in the last 100 years,” they wrote.
But amidst the destruction, something unexpected has emerged.
Baby Forests
“Despite the challenges, our colleagues have been making regular expeditions to the affected area,” says Vasyliuk. “Three months after the attack they were shocked to find vegetation and forests in part of the reservoir that was left dry after the dam collapse.” They documented a young willow forest making its way through the dry cracked soil left behind by the floods. “It was unbelievable; no one expected to see the greenery they found, or that such a thing could happen amidst these tragic events,” he adds, the thrill of the discovering still evident in his voice.
Where they feared desertification, a thick forest of largely willow trees (Salix alba), some reaching as high as six meters, now occupies about 150,000 hectares (930 square miles) of land that had once been covered by the reservoir.
New vegetation emerges. Photo: Serhiiy Skoryk
Vasyliuk hypothesizes that despite the absence of fertile soil, the forest flourished because of the organic mass left behind by the lost animals and plants, including dead species such as the mollusks.
“It is possible the organic particles from these mollusks and other materials fed and nourished the forests like fertilizers,” he says. “The entire mechanism [that led to the birth of a new forest] is yet to be studied, because what we found was a lot of cross-breaded seeds among indigenous trees.”
Still, it seems a cause for celebration. “It was very great,” he says, adding that the forest was the “only good thing to happened since the Russian attacks have damaged much of the local environment.”
Skoryk echoes that: “Nature was healing herself, and all we have to do is to not interfere and let her take charge. Like a phoenix, in the form of a new forest, was rising from this tragedy,” he says.
Drapaliuk looks at the growth from a longer perspective. The way she sees it, the nature in the region has been given a bit of a reset: It’s simply reviving its original biodiversity, “Before the Soviet Union, this was a historically significant region, not just for the Cossacks [indigenous Ukrainian tribes] but also for the biodiversity. It was the wetlands, a place for many rare birds and animals,” she explains.
Rebuild or Restore?
This new forest is a rare positive development in an otherwise tragic situation, considering an estimated 298,000 hectares (1,150 square miles) of forest fires — 50 times more than the annual average — have been reported across Ukraine since the start of the since 2022, according to the by the Kyiv School of Economics. The report, which took stock of Ukraine’s economic losses as of this past January, calculated forest damages “at more than 82.9 million cubic meters of timber with an estimated value of $4.5 billion.”
As a result, many Ukrainian environmentalists and scientists have appealed to the government to withhold any reconstruction of the dam.
“When the dam was first built [during the Soviet era], the damage to the regional ecology, culture and heritage were not taken into consideration,” says Vasyliuk. “As a result, so much of the natural and historical significant biodiversity was impacted, such as the Great Meadows,” referring to the historic steppe terrain of Ukraine that was submerged under the reservoir when the dam was built.
In the early 1950s the Soviet Union pushed for widespread industrialization. During this period, this region and many others were razed to make way for infrastructure such as the dam.
“The dam increased the salinity of the land, affecting soil quality, and that should be one of the reasons to not rebuild it,” Vasyliuk argues. “We need to plan strategically for the future and make decisions that are good for Ukrainian and not just because the dam was already there and someone gave us money to rebuild it.”
Toll on Scientific Study
Overall, though, scientific research in the region has been severely restricted since the Russian invasion.
“From what we can gather, about 30% of the previously protected areas, such as wetlands and Ramsay sites in Ukraine, are now active warzones or occupied territories,” says Drapaliuk, who presented findings on that damage last year in a webinar for the EUROPARC Foundation. The Dnipro delta, the mouth of the Dnieper River, is included in the Ramsar Convention’s list of protected areas of international importance.
“So much of the area has been mined (with explosive land mines) that it becomes dangerous to even study the region even after it is liberated,” Drapaliuk says, adding that lack of resources, financial and human, has considerably slowed down data collection.
“The damage by the war has put a lot of pressure on our work,” she adds. “For those working in the national parks, it is difficult to even access basic needs such as vehicles, fuel, electricity and equipment since much of it was destroyed during the Russian attacks.”
Then there’s the effect on people. “To care about a forest, you have to care about people who work for it,” Drapaliuk says. But persistent Russian bombing of the region has prevented any normalcy in the work and life of the locals. “A lot of people from this area, a lot of forest rangers, are now in the army, making it difficult to continue work on protection and conservation.”
Indeed, the war has blurred the lines of duty for those like Skoryk, who went from being an environmentalist to a combatant to a prisoner of war. Just days after the invasion began in February 2022, Skoryk was taken prisoner by Russian forces who had entered Ukraine. He eventually escaped when his captors “got drunk on too much vodka.” He went on to assist with the liberation of the national park.
Photo courtesy Serhiiy Skoryk.
Drapaliuk urges international environmental groups to invest in preserving Ukraine’s biodiversity. Much of the aid flowing into Ukraine today is for military support, and issues such as ecological destruction tends to take a backseat.
“Of course, we all understand the priority and urgency; our country needs military support,” she says. “But in my opinion, we also really need international help to protect the ecological sector.”
Skoryk calls attention to demining efforts in the region, a task to which he is personally devoting his time.
“Gradually, we are clearing the area of mine and explosives, but it is a vast land mass encompassing nearly 12,000 hectares, and complex undertaking,” he says.
Experts also emphasized the need to build policies and plans, not just for wartime but also to be implemented after victory.
“There is a lot we can’t do now [in terms of conservation] but we can prepare an action plan for territories under war or occupation. They can be established as new protected areas so that we are ready to save the biodiversity in those territories soon after liberation,” Drapaliuk says.
Whether they’re primers on environmental activism or a series on resisting autocrats, these books offer a chance to study up for the bumpy years ahead.
Life throws us curveballs, and we adapt.
For instance, I never meant to read so many books on authoritarianism, but that’s just the way things have gone.
With the Trump 2.0 administration poised to take office in short order, maybe it’s time for everyone to read more about autocracies — how they rise, how they affect the environment, and (of course) how to fight and stand up to them.
Here are 20 books, including some primers on environmental activism, to help provide a roadmap for the days ahead. As always the link for each book goes to its publisher’s site; you should also be able to find many of these books through your local library or bookseller. Just try to read them before the next wave of book bans…
Mayor’s Desk: 20 Conversations With Local Leaders Solving Global Problems by Anthony Flint — We won’t see much federal action to combat climate change and other crises anytime soon, but you can expect local action to continue (and perhaps become even more important). Books like this help share effective local success stories so they can be replicated elsewhere. Once they’re effective in enough places, it’s hard to argue that they don’t deserve to go even wider.
Project 2025 — Let’s be clear: This isn’t an endorsement. This book is the Necronomicon of the 21st century — a dark tome designed to tear down the administrative state and sow chaos for millions of people. The Trump campaign swore this wasn’t its policy manual, but let’s see how many of the authors join the new administration and what they get up to in the months ahead. Meanwhile this blueprint for right-wing destruction — which says the quiet parts out loud — offers critical insight on where we need to build our opposition and resistance.
Strongmen: Mussolini to the Present by Ruth Ben-Ghiat — Published in 2021, this book has already helped to define the modern conversation about authoritarianism and will continue to do so.
The “Defending American Democracy” series by Richard L. Abel — Three books (soon to be joined by a fourth), all bearing the subhead “Resistance to Trump and Trumpism.” They’re a bit on the pricey side, and perhaps more academic than many readers need, but they present a powerful portrait and critical understanding of today’s strongmen in general and Trump in particular. They may also offer strategies for turning the tide.
How Autocrats Are Held Accountable (coming mid-2025)
Youth to Power: Your Voice and How to Use It by Jamie Margolin — An essential book for young activists. It’s a couple of years old now, but it can still help to motivate the next generation.
Surviving Autocracy by Masha Gessen — A powerful book by one of journalism’s best. Gessen links what they saw in their home country of Russia with what’s been happening in the United States. Again, this is a few years old, but it’s vital history.
Patriot: A Memoir by Alexei Navalny — The Russian activist was willing to die for his homeland. His memoir, written in the prison where he would later die, offers lessons to help the rest of us live.
On Freedom by Timothy Snyder — This powerful and insightful follow-up to On Tyranny offers a new way of looking at human needs and government.
Presence Activism: A Profound Antidote to Climate Anxiety by Lynne Sedgmore — The best thing to do when you’re feeling overwhelmed by the climate crisis (or Trump 2.0) is to do anything. Taking action improves mental wellbeing, and acting collectively makes a huge difference. We’ll need to keep our anxiety and dread at bay the next few years; helping the planet and other people is one way to accomplish that, while doing some good in the process.
Of course we could add many other books about activism, democracy, compassion, or environmental science to this list. Share your recommendations here and we’ll add them below. Here’s what readers have already suggested:
That’s it for this month, but you can find hundreds of additional environmental book recommendations, including dozens of books on activism, in the “Revelator Reads” archives.
Damage is coming soon, but we can strengthen ourselves now.
I woke up an hour early on Wednesday morning, checked the news on my phone, and got punched in the face.
Then I put the teakettle on, walked the dogs in the fog, came home to a brilliant sunrise, and got to work.
By the time you read this an endless stream of pundits, journalists, and other experts will have analyzed the 2024 election and Trump’s pending return to power. I’ve already read and watched more than my share of them. Dark days are coming; that much is all but certain.
But those days aren’t here yet. The things we fear are months in the future — if many of them happen at all. Because the people who will resist Trump 2.0 are already planning, (re)building, and getting ready to do what they need to do.
Of course, that’s also in the future. That’s not today.
Today is all we have for certain on this planet. Today is about living, enjoying that sunrise, getting in touch with your community and coalitions, and reminding yourself of what gets you out of bed in the morning. It’s about the species you love, the wild spaces you treasure, the causes you advocate for, and for the cultures that give us strength.
I know we all have worries about what happens after Jan. 20, 2025. But we can’t let those worries and fears consume us now. The late Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh said it well: “The past is gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch with life.”
Today reminds you what’s worth saving and gives us the strength for tomorrow.
So let’s talk about today. What are you doing to build your strength and resilience? Send your thoughts; we’ll compile and share some of your answers with Revelator readers. (Me, I’m taking walks, talking with friends, watching nearby wildlife, reading, and filling my sketchbook.)
But let’s also talk about the past. Trump 1.0 and other right-wing governments (local or national) caused a lot of environmental damage. How did you, your organizations and coalitions, or your community resist — or recover? Let us know briefly or write a more in-depth op-ed or essay to help others in the fights to come.
And yes, let’s talk about the future. What environmental threats (federal or local) do you worry about, or what are you doing now to prepare for potential upcoming developments? Share your plans to help others with the same or similar fears or goals.
And you can write to us today or in a few weeks; we’re not going anywhere.
Speaking of which, we have a half-dozen great articles and commentaries ready to publish and dozens more coming down the pike. We’ll start publishing those in the days ahead. Because Trump 2.0 is just the latest threat — there are lots of other ongoing problems (and solutions) for us all to understand and act upon. Today and every day.
Critics argue the authoritarian government has rammed the project through with minimal environmental oversight and in violation of several laws.
To most of the world, Great Nicobar Island doesn’t seem to exist. Few photos from this remote, fragile island in the Indian Ocean have been posted online. The citizen science site iNaturalist contains no uploads about the island’s wildlife. The tourism site TripAdvisor only lists one restaurant on the island, with just two reviews.
But India sees the potential for something huge on Great Nicobar: profits.
Great Nicobar is part of India’s Andaman & Nicobar archipelago, more than 800 miles away from the Indian subcontinent. The Indian government has spent the past several years pushing through a controversial $9 billion “holistic development project” for Great Nicobar — including an international port, an airport, a power plant, ecotourism hubs, and a residential township with entertainment zones, shopping complexes, and restaurants.
The project is a brainchild of, and being piloted by, India’s public policy think tank Niti Aayog, which was established in 2015 after the right-wing Narendra Modi government came to power. The execution of the project has been entrusted to a little-known government agency, Andaman and Nicobar Islands Integrated Development Corporation Limited, whose stated objective is to “develop and commercially exploit the natural resources for the balanced and environment friendly development of the territory.” The project comes under the purview of India’s Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change, and is also supported by the port and Tribal affairs ministries.
The project, these entities argue, will transform this remote island into a world-class free trade zone like Hong Kong and usher in “development” for its people. At least 10 national and international corporations, including the Gautam Adani-led Adani Ports and the Dutch dredging major Royal Boskalis Westminister, have already expressed interest in the port project.
But environmentalists, ecologists, and conservation experts argue that the project, if allowed to go on as planned, will be “ecocide” and “genocide” for the island and its inhabitants, including hundreds of unique plant and animal species and two Indigenous communities.
“In the past, successive governments had taken a hands-off approach to the Andaman & Nicobar because of its ecological fragility,” says Ritwick Dutta, environmental lawyer and cofounder of the advocacy group Legal Initiative for Forest and Environment. “That has now changed to an intervention-heavy approach that could not only change the ecological character of the islands but also put them at imminent risk.”
The Island
Great Nicobar is the southernmost of the 572 islands that form the Andaman & Nicobar archipelago in the eastern Indian Ocean, where they sit closer to Myanmar, Thailand and Malaysia than to mainland India.
Over 95% of this island, the largest in the Nicobar chain, is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, within which there are two national parks: the Campbell Bay National Park and the Galathea National Park. Great Nicobar supports diverse habitats, including mangrove forests, littoral (beach) forests, coral reefs, and tropical evergreen forests.
That diversity, coupled with the island’s geographic isolation and tropical wet climate, supports an assemblage of at least 1,767 known animal species and 811 plant species. Of these, many — such as the Nicobar megapode, Nicobar long-tailed macaque, Nicobar scops owl, Nicobar serpent eagle, and Nicobar tree shrew — are endemic to the island and classified as vulnerable, endangered, or critically endangered on the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s Red List.
The Nicobar megapode. Photo courtesy K Sivakumar
In 1956 the government demarcated this entire island as a “Tribal reserve,” carving it out for the sole use of the Indigenous Shompen and Nicobarese peoples and prohibiting encroachment or use in any other form.
The nomadic forest-dwelling hunter-gatherer Shompens, with a surviving population of around 240, are recognized by the central government as a particularly vulnerable Tribal group. In February of 2024, 39 genocide experts warned that the project and its accompanying demographic shifts “will ensure the death knell of the Shompen,” who have thus far managed to limit their contact with the outside world. As a result, “simple contact between the Shompen — who have little to no immunity to infectious outside diseases — and those who come from elsewhere, is certain to result in a precipitous population collapse,” the experts wrote in an open letter to India’s President.
“We have met some families of Shompens living in Great Nicobar and none of them are interested in outsiders coming there and setting up shop or home or factories,” says social ecology researcher Manish Chandi, who has been working among Andaman & Nicobar’s Indigenous communities since 1995. “The southernmost family of the Shompens live close to the Indira Point, the southernmost tip of the island, and their territory extends to the mouth of the Galathea Bay, which is exactly where the port is slated to be constructed. So you can imagine a complete transformation of their lives,” he says.
Take action today 👉 Comment on India’s Ministry of Tribal Affairs’ @TribalAffairsIn posts and say no to the Great Nicobar Development Project which will destroy the uncontacted #Shompen people if it goes ahead! ❌ pic.twitter.com/JfLVjI4Gca
The 1,094 Nicobarese live along the coasts and depend on fishing, hunting-gathering, pig and poultry rearing, and horticulture of coconut and areca nut. Displaced from their ancestral lands following the cataclysmic Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami of December 2004, they have since been forced to live in government-provided shelters despite appeals to the local administration to be allowed to return.
“The Nicobarese want their ancestral lands back, if not to live, then at least to create their plantations,” Chandi says. “Even if we see it as ‘primitive’ or ‘rural,’ this is the life they have chosen and they want to continue with it to a great extent, of course with the addition of some modern facilities, such as medicine and education.”
The island also supports a heterogenous settler community whose members have migrated to the Great Nicobar from India’s mainland states since the 1960s.
Great Nicobar has spent the past 20 years rebuilding from the 2004 earthquake and tsunami, which claimed at least 3,449 lives (or as many as 10,000 according to some estimates), submerged parts of the coastline by nearly 13 feet, wiped out 27 square miles (6,915 hectares) of forestland, and caused widespread ecological destruction with lasting effects on the island’s biodiversity. It took over a decade for altered coastlines to re-form and mangroves and coral reefs to recover. The island is seismically volatile and has experienced 444 earthquakes over the past 10 years, or one earthquake a week, according to data compiled by researchers at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences.
India’s Playground
This ecologically fragile, biodiverse, and earthquake-prone zone is now the playground for the Indian government’s aspirations to create “an alternative to Hong Kong.”
This massive development will require 64 square miles (166 square kilometers) of land, or roughly 18% of the total area of Great Nicobar. According to data provided by the environment ministry in Parliament, it will wipe out a million trees over 50 square miles (130.75 square kilometers) of pristine evergreen rainforests dating back to the Pleistocene era. Recent estimates by independent researchers suggest that the number may be as high as 10 million trees. The proposed port and parts of the airport and township will subsume the entire Galathea Bay on the island’s southeastern coast, leading to destruction of mangrove forests and coral reefs that create natural barriers against tsunamis and cyclones. The port will also claim 32 square miles (84 square kilometers) of Tribal reserve land, which constitutes half of the project’s designated land.
Protecting this Tribal land is crucial, Chandi notes, because most of the wildlife across the Andaman & Nicobar islands are found in the Tribal reserves. While there are nearly 100 wildlife sanctuaries and national parks across the island chain, most of them have a smaller complement of wildlife. As the largest protected ecosystems in the islands, Tribal reserves are important not only because they are home of the original inhabitants but also because they are crucial repositories of wildlife, he explains.
In addition, the areas adjoining the Galathea and Campbell Bay national parks will be left without any eco-sensitive zones to speak of. These zones are meant to provide an additional buffer or protection to the biodiversity within national parks and wildlife sanctuaries. In 2021 the environment ministry approved a proposal by Andaman & Nicobar administration officials to maintain a buffer zone of just 0 to 1 kilometer (0-0.6 miles) around these parks, meaning they may have no eco-sensitive zone around their boundaries. This is significant given that in a June 2022 order, India’s Supreme Court ruled that each national park and wildlife sanctuary must have a minimum eco-sensitive zone of at least 1 kilometer, though a year later the court relaxed its own order, saying such zones cannot be uniform across the country.
“Having a zero-extent eco-sensitive zone sets a dangerous precedent, since such zones are created to prevent human-animal conflict,” says Dipak Anand, a senior project associate with the Wildlife Institute of India.
Given that the Galathea National Park lies next to the Galathea Bay, it is also likely to experience the fallouts of construction and dredging activity as land is reclaimed for the port and the airport.
Source: Draft Notification on Eco-Sensitive Zone Around Galathea National Park.
Finally, the environmental assessment report conducted for the project suggests that it will increase the island’s population from just over 8,500 today to 350,000 by 2052, placing huge pressure on its natural resources.
A Monkey in the Middle
The consequences, environmental activists say, will be catastrophic for the island’s flora and fauna. Among the species that will find themselves pushed to the brink is the endemic Nicobar long-tailed macaque, already listed as endangered under India’s Wildlife (Protection) Act and vulnerable on the IUCN Red List.
A Nicobar long-tailed macaque stares out from between the leaves. Photo: Pankaj Sekhsaria (used with permission)
The primate has adapted to a wide range of habitats, including inland and littoral forests, coastal areas, and mangroves. But the 2004 tsunami reduced their population — in 2014, researchers recorded 36 troops, compared to 53 in the pre-tsunami years — and significantly shrank their habitats. With extensive patches of the forests that contain their food destroyed, macaques increasingly ventured into human settlements to explore new food sources. This problem of habitat shrinkage will be further exacerbated by the felling of a million trees under the megaproject.
The EIA report claims that macaques will not be significantly affected and attempts to trivialize the potential harm to the species by describing them as “rampant,” “a pest,” and a “menace in residential areas.” The only mitigation measures suggested in the report are installing canopy bridges to maintain forest corridors and counter habitat fragmentation or, where necessary, relocating the macaques to other islands.
However, as Ishika Ramakrishna, a doctoral candidate at the Centre for Wildlife Studies who works on human-primate relationships, writes in The Hindu, “Macaques have a restricted range, and such drastic alterations to their surroundings and threats to their already limited numbers can increase chances of inbreeding and loss of diverse gene pools. This can be disastrous, resulting in epidemics and loss of reproductive viability that will decimate the population.”
Big Feet vs. Big Footprint
Relocation is also the only conservation measure proposed for a coastal ground-dwelling bird called the Nicobar megapode, a big-footed species also known as the Nicobar scrub fowl.
The birds build mounds of coastal sand and leaf litter to hold their eggs until they are ready to hatch. That makes the megapodes particularly vulnerable to coastline alterations, says K Sivakumar, a former scientist at the Wildlife Institute of India who has been researching the birds since the 1990s. The 2004 tsunami not only wiped out 70% of their population but also battered their nesting mounds, he says, adding the subsidence of the southern tip of the Great Nicobar means much of the bird’s prime habitat has already been permanently lost.
Now the project will shrink their breeding grounds even further. Of the 51 active megapode nests in the project area, about 30 will be permanently destroyed, environmental clearance documents show. That will be a huge blow to the species, says Sivakumar.
One of the birds’ key nesting sites is the Galathea Bay, declared a wildlife sanctuary in 1997. That gave it protected status under India’s Wildlife (Protection) Act, which prohibits most construction activity, hunting, and human habitation in wildlife sanctuaries, national parks, biosphere reserves, and other habitats in the interest of biodiversity conservation. But in 2021 the National Board of Wildlife, the apex body that oversees wildlife-related matters in India, stripped the bay of this protected status, making way for the port as well as the destruction of the megapodes’ coastal habitat.
To compensate for this loss, the EIA report suggests turning nearby Menchal Island, an area of less than half a square mile, into a megapode sanctuary. Sivakumar remains skeptical about the effectiveness of this measure. In a post-tsunami survey in 2006, he recorded only six active nests on Menchal, compared to 203 on Great Nicobar. While still with the WII, Sivakumar recommended that beaches at the Alexandria and Dagmar Bay, the megapodes’ other crucial nesting site in the Great Nicobar, be given protected status to secure the bird’s remaining habitats. The suggestion went unheeded, leaving these areas open to coastal development in the future.
“If the project is expanded to other parts of the coastal habitat, that will be detrimental for the Nicobar megapode,” Sivakumar cautions. “It will be a big question mark on how long and whether we can retain the species in the Great Nicobar, whether it will be 50 or 100 years.”
An Important Site for Turtles
The loss of Galathea Bay’s protected status will similarly threaten a prime nesting site for the world’s largest sea turtles.
Growing up to 7 feet long and weighing nearly 2,000 pounds, leatherbacks travel to these beaches from as far as Australia and parts of Africa during their annual breeding season, says Kartik Sanker, professor at the Centre for Ecological Studies, Indian Institute of Science, who has been part of several leatherback monitoring projects in the archipelago.
As with the Nicobar megapode, leatherbacks lost most of their nests on Great Nicobar in the tsunami, according to Sanker, who says it took over a decade for the beaches to recover and for the turtles to start nesting there again. In 2016 over 400 nests were recorded in Galathea, which was close to pre-tsunami levels. Nearly two-thirds of all leatherback nests on Great Nicobar were concentrated in Galathea, with the rest distributed between the Alexandria and Dagmar beaches.
With the leatherbacks returning to these beaches every year, Sanker cautions that “any permanent alteration to these breeding sites could impact their long-term survival.”
The EIA report emphasizes that the port is to be built on the eastern side of the Galathea Bay, so as not to disturb the leatherback nests that lie on the western flank. But given the scale of the project, Sanker says very little of the beach will likely survive for the leatherbacks to continue nesting in. Also, “any disturbance in the form of light and noise tends to be a deterrent for leatherbacks. Even if they do come and nest, hatchlings will get disoriented in the light and may end up going towards the land rather than the sea,” he explains.
Sea turtle tracks to the sea on Great Nicobar Island. Photo courtesy Pankaj Sekhsaria.
These impacts, the EIA report claims, could be mitigated by suspending construction at night during turtle nesting season, dimming lights in the port area, and reducing underwater noise. Once the port becomes operational, the plan is to monitor the movement of ships to avoid collision risks, install deflectors to keep turtles away from the path of suctioning equipment, and establish hatcheries to ensure the survival of hatchlings. In addition, the project proposes a leatherback sanctuary of about 5 square miles (14 sq km) at Little Nicobar, which had about 200 nests as of 2016. But activists say these measures are either ineffective or grossly inadequate to counter the threat to the leatherbacks’ largest nesting site in India.
Birds in Plight
Noise, light, and habitat loss will also take a toll on the island’s bird diversity.
Great Nicobar’s wetlands, located at the intersection of the Central Asian and the East Asian-Australasian bird migratory flyways, offer sanctuary to hundreds of migratory birds. This is in addition to endemic species such as the Nicobar scops owl, Nicobar sparrow hawk, Nicobar serpent eagle, Nicobar parakeet, Nicobar imperial pigeon, and Nicobar jungle flycatcher.
The EIA acknowledges that the loss of trees will affect the region’s birds but claims that “the impact will be limited as most of the faunal species will be able to relocate to other areas where the vegetation is significant.” For the territorial Nicobar owl, the EIA assures readers that trees with their nesting holes in the project area will be identified, geo-tagged, and “safeguarded as far as possible.”
But “even if scores of India’s finest birdwatchers were to work year-round to document all actual and potential own nesting sites, it would be hopefully unrealistic to survey one million trees (some as tall as 45 m) to identify the owls’ nesting holes,” Pankaj Sekhsaria, a member of the environmental action group Kalpavriksh, recently wrote in the magazine Sanctuary Asia. Sekhsaria has been working on issues of the Andaman & Nicobar Islands since the 1990s and has recently curated a book titled The Great Nicobar Betrayal on the proposed development project.
Authoritarian Approaches
Such half-baked mitigation measures aside, approvals granted to the project demonstrate a disregard for existing regulations and processes.
For more than a year now, India’s environmental court, the National Green Tribunal, has been hearing petitions and counterarguments on the merits of the transshipment port. Several petitioners have challenged the project for violations of environmental and coastal regulations and failure to comply with environmental clearance processes, a charge that the environment ministry is currently defending in court.
The judicial process, thus far, has not been encouraging. In an initial hearing in April last year, the green tribunal said it would not interfere with the forest and environment clearances granted to the project even as it appointed a committee to look into certain “unanswered deficiencies” in the clearances. In an obvious conflict of interest, the committee is made up of members of the very same agencies involved with the project, namely NITI Aayog, which has conceived it, ANIIDCO, which is implementing it, and the environment ministry, which has signed off on it. Predictably, a year later, this committee concluded that the port project could go ahead as planned.
“We have no idea how the high-powered committee has come to any conclusion, because that report is not in the public domain,” says Debi Goenka, executive trustee of the Mumbai-based nonprofit Conservation Action Trust, one of the entities that challenged the project in the courts. The Trust had filed three petitions before the green tribunal, challenging the forest and two environmental clearances. “Our three petitions were dismissed by the tribunal when our lawyer was not present in court, without giving us a hearing,” Goenka says. “That was one of the grounds for a fourth petition we filed in the Calcutta High Court. That’s still pending,” he adds.
One of the remaining holdups of the project, and one that is currently being contested in India’s environmental court, is that parts of it will lie in areas where major development activity is prohibited under India’s coastal zone regulation. According to its provisions, areas with mangroves, corals and coral reefs, turtle- and bird-nesting grounds, among others — all of which can be found in the demarcated project area — are deemed ecologically sensitive and classified as Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ)-1A, where minimal construction activity is allowed.
Indeed, the Andaman & Nicobar coastal regulatory body had earlier classified parts of the site where the port is slated to come up as a CRZ-1A zone. Recently, as environmental bodies challenged the project in court, the national coastal management body conducted a fresh survey and decided that the same areas come under a lesser-protected category, CRZ-1B, the area between high tide and low tide lines, where construction is permitted.
However, as Conservation Action Trust’s Goenka explains: “The government’s own documents, the EIA report, and whatever studies they have furnished for clearance, indicate that there are thousands of coral colonies in the areas that they are going to reclaim and dredge for the port project. Per the CRZ notification, if the site has corals, it automatically becomes CRZ1A, and you cannot build a port there, you cannot destroy the corals. That will be an offense under the Wildlife (Protection) Act.”
What’s more, Sekhsaria points out, the project was cleared with unprecedented haste by India’s Ministry of Environment, Forest, and Climate Change, despite its magnitude and potential far-reaching consequences. The request for proposals for the project, preparation of a feasibility study, release of a draft and final EIA reports, and granting of environmental clearance by the ministry were accomplished in just two years. The draft EIA was based on just four days of surveys, even though large parts of the island are impenetrable forests and difficult to access. The ministry invited comments on the EIA from stakeholders and environmental groups, but the final report was published three months later without accounting for the concerns raised on ecology, biodiversity, rights of Indigenous communities, seismic volatility, and disaster vulnerability, Sekhsaria says.
The process of obtaining the consent of Indigenous communities for the project was also replete with misinformation and inconsistent information. In November 2022 members of the Tribal council of Great and Little Nicobar withdrew their support for the project, pointing out that during public stakeholder meetings they had not been informed by local government authorities that the land marked for development included their traditional pre-tsunami villages. In a letter to the environment ministry and Andaman & Nicobar administration, the Tribal council of Great and Little Nicobar said that they were not informed about the extent of “the Tribal Reserve that falls within the proposed project” and the precise “locations of the port and the township.”
“We are aware of how we are systematically being marginalized in this manner through this proposal and also the lack of understanding in the entire planning process that prevents our sustainable holistic development in both economy and through our island culture,” members of the council wrote. Their letter has yet to receive a response from the government.
This at-all-costs approach is symptomatic of the way the Modi government has been clearing infrastructure projects. An analysis by the Legal Initiative for Forest and Environment shows that in 2021 the NBWL approved all 129 proposals for diversion of land from wildlife sanctuaries, national parks, and conservation reserves for the purpose of mining, irrigation, roads, and highways. Headed by the prime minister, environment minister, and Tribal affairs minister, among others, the board granted approvals “without waiting to verify conservation plans, allowing projects without site inspections or the reviewing of necessary details like compensatory afforestation,” the study says.
Much of this is true for the Great Nicobar project as well. Backed by a hasty EIA report, institutions like the WII and Zoological Survey of India have been tasked with monitoring the project’s ecological impacts once construction is underway. The protected status of the Galathea Bay was rescinded in January 2021, nearly a year before the release of the draft EIA and before the government had clarity on the feasibility of building a port there. As the Legal Initiative study points out, India’s Wildlife (Protection) Act does not allow for the “denotification” of an entire wildlife sanctuary, as has been done in this case. The law only allows the alteration of boundaries of protected areas, thus raising more questions on the legality of constructing a port at Galathea Bay at the cost of widespread habitat destruction of some of the world’s most vulnerable and endangered species.
“Animals can usually recover from population declines if they have the opportunity to reproduce and there are resources for the offspring,” says Sanker. “But what is harder to recover from is the loss of habitat.” As things stand, the threat of habitat loss looms large over the thousands of species that call Great Nicobar their home.
As Sekhsaria puts it, the best mitigation plan for them “is to not have the project at all.”
How a Girl Scout project became a widespread community effort to inspire deep sea conservation.
Ocean enthusiasts and random passersby alike came together in Seattle this past August to explore and celebrate their connection to the deep sea.
Two years in the making, the Deep Sea Conservation Festival started as my idea for a free community event centered around the deep sea and its relevance in our daily lives. After months of work, it blossomed into a massive collective effort with the support of dozens of people and complete with speakers, booths, food, and musical performances.
Starting this process as a 16-year-old with no formal deep sea or scientific experience, I had no idea my dream for this event would find so much support and success. I envisioned this festival just a few hours after randomly attending a National Geographic Live talk about the deep ocean by marine biologist Diva Amon. There I heard for the first time about this remarkable, crucial, and threatened habitat. Somehow this one inspiring spark was enough to ignite my love of the deep sea and motivate me to share this passion with my broader community, setting me on a trajectory that would change my entire high school experience.
Now, as I enter my senior year of high school, I find it remarkable that one hour, one piece of information — bundled with excitement — could have had such a profound influence on me. It makes me wonder if this event allowed me to pay that forward.
A Deep Realization
The Deep Sea Conservation Festival was my Girl Scout Gold Award Project, the highest award available to Scouts and earned for completing a “take action” project that addresses the root cause of an issue they perceive in their community.
At the time the inspiration for this festival came to me, I wasn’t a total stranger to ocean conservation. I had grown up along the water and had served as a youth volunteer at the Seattle Aquarium for more than a year. In that role I’d begun to track how conservation messages diffused through more general audiences. I found that facilitating connection is a crucial part of inspiring preservation.
Even with this foundation, as I listened to Diva speak, I was shocked by my own ignorance about the marvels of the deep sea and the impending doom facing it. At the same time, my feelings of inadequacy helped me realize that if I’d never explored my connection with the ocean beyond the surface level, then the members of my community who were also juggling other passions — like those I consistently talked to at the aquarium — wouldn’t have their attention turned to the deep sea either.
At first look, the deep sea and my local community appeared to be two separate entities. But the more I learned, the more I began to poke holes in this “out of sight means out of relevance” worldview. That’s why I centered my Gold Award project on addressing the lack of awareness surrounding how what we do impacts the deep sea — and vice versa.
Swimming Together
Throughout the process of organizing this event, I met so many incredibly kind and generous people, from policy experts to attendees and from conservation advocates to community organizers. Countless individuals and organizations dedicated their time and expertise to show up for me and this common dream of deep-sea conservation.
Bolstered by their support, this festival grew from an amorphous blob of inspiration and fuzzy mental images into a detailed and effective plan to enact change.
The first event of its kind, the Deep Sea Conservation Festival invited people from around the community to show up and celebrate the vibrant and unexplored corner of our planet that is the deep ocean.
On the day of the festival, more than 500 people from around northwest Washington came to explore their relationship with the deep sea. The Seattle clouds parted, and under a gleaming sun people of all ages and backgrounds engaged with the deep ocean and their role in its preservation. After attendees got their Deep Sea Passport upon entry, they moved between booths, speaker sessions, and activities; designed their own deep-sea fish; discovered counterillumination; and talked with volunteers at tables covering subjects such as deep-sea mining and current deep-sea policies. The combination of basic activities — like creating personalized anglerfish hats — and more intensive opportunities, like learning about seawater electrolysis, enabled people of all backgrounds and interest levels to explore their relationship with the deep.
Through the experience of organizing this event, I was able to watch my community solidify behind me and the ocean in a massive way. I felt a new energy and excitement about the deep sea, particularly as I spent the day of the festival talking to so many passionate attendees who were enthusiastically engaged in learning and dedicating themselves to taking action.
And act they did: During the event, 176 people emailed Washington state senators encouraging them to support a national deep-sea mining moratorium, our target action item for the festival. In this way, the project went beyond fostering individual connections to the deep ocean to encompass advocating for political change as well.
From Interest to Action
To gauge the effectiveness of the event, we surveyed as many of the participants as possible — both as they arrived and after they left the festival.
While walking into the event, only a little more than 40% of 140 presurvey takers agreed that ocean conservation felt accessible to them. Comparatively, upon leaving the festival, nearly 70% of attendees reported the same.
This data shows two main trends: one, that marine science and environmental preservation continue to be daunting fields to break into; and two, that by engaging in informal ocean education, festival attendees were able to better see themselves as a part of the collective effort to protect the oceans.
These results echo back to a lesson I first learned while volunteering at Seattle Aquarium: I discovered that many people were eager to help protect our planet, but their willingness to accept the research laid out in front of them didn’t transfer to their ability to actively parse out and interpret data on their own. Marine science remains inaccessible for many reasons, particularly because it takes a significant amount of time and knowledge to interact with and because many people assume they need a degree to get involved.
It’s consistently evident that so many people care about conservation. But people still need help crossing the many time and educational barriers that prevent them from effectively participating in the conversation. The festival proved that by making science and environmental preservation more accessible and attainable, we can effectively tap into a large and passionate force of potential changemakers.
After the festival, 90% of 60 postsurvey participants reported that they agreed or strongly agreed with this statement: “The Deep Sea Conservation Festival helped increase my understanding of the deep sea and the threats that it is facing.” Similarly, 76.7% of attendees agreed or strongly agreed with this statement: “My experience here has motivated me to become more involved in the world of deep sea/ocean research and conservation.”
It’s been amazing to see the impact of my vision and the efforts of my entire community to realize it. I’ve found myself incredibly motivated by how my event empowered my community and how large something like this could be scaled.
Since the event, I’ve found myself dreaming about how it could have looked if it had double its 500 attendees, or if it was adopted by a larger group and became something that could have a legacy larger than myself and my team. I’ve caught myself hoping that my work to organize this celebration of the deep sea has inspired other people to put in the effort to share their dreams, research, and missions with others and mobilize a broad range of communities to take action.
