And with all that loss comes an unsettling silence.
“Unless the world acts to stop extinctions, I will write my last nature essay on a planet that is less than half as song-graced and life-drenched as the one where I began to write,” she explains in the book’s preface. “My grandchildren will tear out half the pages in their field guides. They won’t need them.”
Her book uses sound as a reference point to better understand what we stand to lose as extinction rates climb higher. But the essays are also a celebration of the natural world’s chorus and the joy of learning to hear what’s still there.
The essays are also being set to music in a series for Oregon State’s Spring Creek Project that will feature 20 4-minute-long concerts combining live musical performance with excerpts from Earth’s Wild Music.
“I’ve never been so excited about a project in my life,” Moore tells us. “It combines everything I care about with the cause that I believe in more than anything else.”
The Revelator spoke to Moore about the moral stakes of our environmental crisis, what it’s like to find a truly quiet place to listen, and what we lose as wild songs disappear.
You’ve been writing about nature for 50 years. During that time our environmental problems have become graver. Has this changed how you approach your work?
Kathleen Dean Moore. Photo: Frank Moore
At first I was a celebrant. I believed Mary Oliver when she said, “My work is loving the world … which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.” And that went along fine for years and years, but then it became clear that what I was writing celebrations of were disappearing.
I was right in the midst of an essay on frog song, and bulldozers came and took away the marsh and put in a condominium. I was writing about a bald eagle nest, and the nest — and the tree it was in — burned to the ground in a forest fire. So it was starting to become clear to me that I was going to have to do more than celebrate. I was going to have to demonstrate. I was going to have to protect. I was going to have to defend the natural world.
Why did you decide to focus this collection on sound?
I started thinking about how I could open people’s hearts without breaking them. How I could point to the onrushing extinctions and not force people to turn away in absolute grief. I decided that I was going to have to write in a way that was like a wave — I would lift people and smash them at the same time.
What is it that reaches people without breaking them? What is it that goes straight into people’s hearts? What do they love about the world and will call them to action?
I decided that of all the things I loved about the world, what I loved the most was the music. What I loved the most was the sound. I’ve been writing about this for quite some time, so I had a couple of essays already under my belt, and I couldn’t think of a more wonderful writing assignment for myself then to go outside and listen.
Nature may be getting quieter. But people are getting louder. How is our noise affecting wildlife?
We are deafening. Noise that we create is causing extraordinary harm to the creatures. Think about the pain caused to the whales from the exploratory thudding of those machines that go through the ocean and stamp to try to find oil.
Think about the meadowlarks that lived in the fracking fields and had to endure endless noise of drilling and trucks. And as a result, the songs of the meadowlarks are fractured and abbreviated. They haven’t been able to hear their parents well enough to imitate them.
Many of us may be out of practice at listening. In fact, a lot of folks walk around with earphones on so we can’t hear what’s around us. How do we get better at both listening to and understanding the sounds of nature?
Listening is an art that we should practice because it does two things. It makes us shut up and it makes us open up. We stop listening just to the songs of “me, me, me”. When we set aside our own stories, it opens us up so we can listen to the stories of other beings. It’s a skill of empathy, isn’t it? Listening to other people’s stories and other creatures’ sounds is a way of understanding the world from their point of view. It’s a moral training.
When it comes to understanding what we hear, Rachel Carson, who wrote Silent Spring, and cared so much about bird song, took pains to tell us that it doesn’t matter if we know the names of what we see. That comes later. But the first thing that has to happen is love.
So I’m not so concerned about knowing which bird is calling. I’m surrounded by people who could do that in a majestic way. My husband can identify birds by their call. My neighbor can. I think it’s a beautiful skill that I don’t have.
But I do have the ability to catch a song. To hear it, which isn’t nothing. It can catch my attention and I can seek it out and I can listen to it. Knowing its name — maybe that’s not so important as knowing its tune.
How are people affected by this loss of nature’s song, and what’s the importance of preserving silent places where we can still experience what’s left?
We lose joy. Let’s face it — the sounds of the natural world are beautiful and they make us happy. I think we also lose a connection to the world around us.
In the book, I write about going with acoustic ecologist Gordon Hempton to One Square Inch of Silence, a small spot in Olympic National Park [possibly the quietest place in the United States]. It was a wonderful experience. At the time, we were in pouring rain. Nature itself was cacophonous, but we didn’t hear a human sound for 20 minutes, which is the definition in Gordon’s mind of a quiet place.
Gordon now is recording in a jungle somewhere that can only be reached by canoeing down a wild river, because it’s one of the last places on Earth he can find that’s silent.
He’s famous for these recordings called the Dawn Chorus that captured the outpouring of bird song that’s triggered by morning light. But he couldn’t do that anymore, because that music box is broken. We’re in the process of wrecking what we should be treasuring.
It’s hard to find a balance between grief and celebration. But you know, people often ask me, “What can one person do?” And I say, “Stop being one person.”
You don’t have to do it all. Other people are working all around the world on the same causes you believe in. Find them, join up with them. You’ll find your place in the choir. [Author and teacher] Joanna Macy says to choose what you love and devote yourself to it. That, she says, is enough.
Organizers in Ecuador know that conservation efforts thrive when the next generation is informed and involved.
Jumandy Allauca, a resident in Ecuador’s Cotopaxi province, was 13 years old when I first met him. It was 2011 and he was participating in a day of collective work with other members of his community — performing maintenance work on a pipeline that carries irrigation water from high altitude wetlands down to their village, some 20 kilometers away. He and I had hiked up together, following the family donkey, Pepito, who was laden with a sack of sand and a pair of shovels.
Working on the pipeline. Photo: Tristan Partridge
“We have to do this work,” Jumandy told me. “The water here is for everybody.”
This was partway through the 15 months I spent living in the region to find out more about Indigenous politics and environmental activism. I returned in 2018 and had scheduled another visit to reconnect with friends there in 2020, but COVID-19 put an end to such plans. Instead, we have been spending more time talking via WhatsApp, Zoom and other online platforms.
The páramo always features in our conversations.
The Andean páramo moorlands are home to high-altitude lakes, countless mountain streams, and a host of unique plants and wildlife.
They’re also uniquely at risk in ways that threaten millions of people, if not the entire climate.
Efforts to protect the páramo overlap with Indigenous struggles for recognition and environmental justice. Local leaders know that the future of all these actions depend on one group in particular: young people.
As I first learned a decade ago, preserving the páramo ecosystem and sustaining its role in hydrological cycles is vital for ensuring that water continues to flow through the community irrigation pipeline, a project operative since 2009. Such work remains particularly important now, when the páramo faces increasing threats from industrialization and climate change.
I’m frequently told how jóvenes (young people) play a key role in this work.
Reflecting on his experiences in the páramo, earlier this month Jumandy told me, “We need the young people to be well trained,” and repeating the word concientizar, perhaps best translated from Spanish as “to raise awareness.”
Jumandy added, “We need to raise the awareness of young people — and of their parents too — so that everyone understands the importance of the páramo, so that everyone, including young people, plays an active part in these processes.”
In our recent conversations, local leaders have expressed an acute awareness of the need to keep young people engaged and active. Youth participation is essential to ensure that páramo conservation efforts continue — and this is something that has benefits for people not only across the Andes but also around the world.
The Páramo
An ecosystem unique to the Andes, the páramo moorlands are located mainly in Ecuador and Colombia, along with areas of Peru and Venezuela. This discontinuous belt of land covers roughly 36,000 square kilometers and represents a kind of high-altitude island archipelago. Found between 3,200 and 4,500 meters above sea level, these tropical alpine wetlands occupy a zone that typically lies above the agricultural frontier and upper tree line, reaching up to border areas of perennial snow.
Photo: Tristan Partridge
The abundant flora and fauna found in the páramo make it the world’s most diverse high-altitude ecosystem. Even though weather conditions are harsh — varying from heavy rain and occasional snow to long daytime periods of intense sunshine — the páramo is home to an estimated 5,000 species, 3,000 of which are found nowhere else on the planet, including hummingbirds like the Ecuadorian hillstar and Buffy helmetcrest.
An Andean fox in the páramo. Photo: Alexey Yakovlev (CC BY-SA 2.0)
The particular soil systems and vegetation of the páramo mean it functions like a giant sponge in the hydrological cycle. Mosses and grasses absorb rainfall that is then stored in the soil before being slowly released into streams and rivers. Researchers analyzing these processes estimate that water supplies for 40 million people across the Andes depend directly on the páramo.
The wider world also benefits from a healthy páramo because its soils act as a carbon sink, helping to limit global heating. The páramo, like other lands in tropical alpine regions, stores carbon through a combination of its particular vegetation, low air temperature and atmospheric pressure, and soils that are frequently water-logged.
Today, however, the páramos themselves face rising temperatures and reduced precipitation, threatening their diverse flora and hydrological benefits.
Land-use change presents another range of grave threats. Recent modeling projects that by 2060, páramo areas will be reduced by 30% — its unique web of life being chipped away by cattle grazing, commercial pine forests and farming as a result of the upward expansion of agricultural frontiers — a process that’s already begun.
At the same time, many communities who live and work in close relation with the páramo are very much aware of these threats and are taking proactive steps to alleviate them.
Learning From Experience
As a young teenager, Myriam Allauca was a regular participant in activities organized by and for her community’s youth group. In Pujilí parish, in the heart of Cotopaxi’s highlands, the group would meet regularly and undertake endeavors such as learning to identify local species of trees and flowering plants or traveling as a group to visit a nature reserve in the lowland cantón of La Mana. At other times, they would collaborate with community leaders to join projects that were already underway, such as helping to build two thatched-roof huts for use by occasional conservation workers in the páramo.
By her late teens Myriam had taken on a leadership role in the group, at one point running a project to map the boundaries of the whole area of páramo owned by her community.
Alpacas on the mountainside. Photo: Tristan Partridge.
These were clearly formative experiences. By her mid-twenties, Myriam had been elected by the community to be their vice president.
“What we learn when we are young is so important,” Myriam tells me. “Our experiences at that age shape what it is we want to do, what we want to commit to, later in life.”
I suggest her own life illustrates that point very clearly. Now with two young children of her own, Myriam works as a local development partnerships facilitator for SwissAid — an international development NGO from Switzerland with a long history of working in Ecuador, although it plans to end operations there later this year.
Our conversation took place a few weeks after Myriam’s own community, San Isidro, secured a landmark victory — many years in the making — that helps pave the way for further páramo conservation efforts nationwide. At the end of November 2020 the national Ministry for Water recognized the area of páramo held communally by San Isidro as a “protected hydrological area” — one of the first in the country.
Land with this protected status still belongs to the community (rather than to the state) but is subject to stricter regulations that limit how the land can be used. Any activities that could alter the quantity or quality of local water supplies, for example, are prohibited. Achieving this status, Myriam says, was the result of decades of community organizing and campaigning, in addition to extensive on-the-ground research in the preparation of scientific reports.
Jóvenes played a key role helping to secure this protection for the San Isidro páramo, says Tannia Rojas, who also grew up in San Isidro and now works as a regional facilitator with SwissAid.
“Young people were super important in that process — things progressed much faster in San Isidro [than in other communities] due to all the information we had gathered,” she says. “We had a land-management plan, a water-protection plan; we had measured flow-rates of the different streams, documented the flora and fauna by taking photographs. And all that fieldwork, led by our council members, was made possible through the participation of young people.”
That participation enabled data gathering on a scale not seen before in the community. For example, the 73-page water-protection plan included photographs, hand-drawn topographical maps and updated flow-rate measurements for 17 páramo streams taken at 3,600 to 4,399 meters above sea level — and all of this information was gathered with assistance from young people. In part, this is because of the significant time and human energy requirements involved in such work — entire days spent hiking at high altitude, often encountering heavy rainfall while equipped with minimal, if any, waterproof gear. The final “protected area” report submitted to regional authorities was similarly detailed, including 25 maps that incorporate community-collected data.
Young people have also helped connect events in San Isidro with parallel efforts elsewhere in the region, sharing updates with other communities and members of the Indigenous Movement, and amplifying their own community’s achievements through social and legacy media. All of this has raised the profile of páramo protection. Even though the community faces ongoing legal threats from parties trying to seize ownership of the páramo for their own commercial ends, council members in San Isidro, including the current president, Porfirio Allauca, now receive calls from other communities asking their advice on how to achieve the same protective recognition.
Historic Struggles
In different parts of the country, communities have developed different strategies for páramo protection. Further south in Ecuador, in Azuay province, environmental activists from the People’s Council for Cuenca’s Water and allied groups successfully campaigned for a referendum to let city residents vote on whether to allow mining in the area — including in the Quimsacocha páramo. The “Yes” campaign in favor of banning mining scored a resounding victory in the vote, which was held on the same day as Ecuador’s first-round presidential election in February.
Since the referendum was approved by Ecuador’s Constitutional Court, a lawyer from the campaign told media that he received many calls from communities elsewhere in Ecuador interested in protecting the páramo and preventing mining.
Making sure these diverse campaigns have a future is something that Patricio Copara addresses daily. As director of youth work and culture with Ecuarunari, an Indigenous organizing body, Patricio works with communities and youth groups across Ecuador’s highlands. Visiting different provinces, he sees communities with widely varying experiences of campaigning and activism, some much more successful than others.
But a common theme cuts across them all: trying to ensure that the next generation are engaged.
“This last year, with the pandemic, has been very difficult,” he tells me. “We had to cancel so much of our program. We haven’t been able to mobilize as normal.”
They’re still active, though. In several provinces, they’ve helped communities set up “young leaders’ training schools.” In addition to providing young people with current information on Indigenous Movement actions, a core goal here is to connect different communities with agencies operating at the national level offering financial and legal support, depending on those communities’ particular needs.
“In any place, you find some young people who are not committed, or not working,” he says. “So we’re creating these [schools] as spaces to explore alternatives, to work on the things that people care about.”
For Patricio, successful activism is not only about fighting to defend the páramo and other Indigenous territories, although he dedicates much of his time to supporting people doing just that. Nor is it only about looking ahead and working collectively to create a viable, desirable future for the current generation’s children and grandchildren. He emphasizes that all his work, at home and with Ecuarunari, is part of a “historical struggle” and that must remain central to conservation efforts.
“We need to move forward valuing the struggle of our ancestors, our grandparents,” he told me recently. “We should never forget that our grandparents lived practically as slaves” — as bound laborers under the hacienda system. “They sacrificed, and so did our parents, and that work is reflected in the Indigenous Movement, in our struggle today. We cannot forget the past, and it is the youth who need to be aware and do that work of remembering.”
The páramo in San Isidro forms a central part of this kind of community commemoration. The hills are recognized as both a site of historical importance and as a symbol of solidarity. To mark the inauguration of the irrigation water pipeline, just over ten years ago, community leaders laid a plaque at the base of a flagpole beside two thatched-roof huts built by Myriam Allauca and her colleagues. The plaque thanks recent ancestors for their efforts in acquiring this land — the result of a long struggle following Land Reform in the 1960s and 1970s — and restates how the páramo is both a site of and a source of communal action. After listing the people who fought to secure this land for the community, the text describes the páramo as a “wellspring of life” that those alive today pledge to “look after forever and ever.”
Reading the plaque. Photo: Tristan Partidge
Tannia Rojas hopes people everywhere will take this message to heart, especially young people who, she says, “are fundamental to the conservation process.” Protecting recent gains — which are always under threat, especially within judicial systems that have a history of discrimination against Indigenous people — is the responsibility of everyone, she says. “We need young people to sustain the achievements we have made, but some of them don’t realize the importance of the páramo — they think water just comes out of the tap! So our efforts continue, to involve them in political, environmental and community work.”
Páramo preservation, Tannia adds, is most successful when everyone in a community is connected to the work being done. And keeping those connections alive is something that everyone can contribute to.
“We have to ask, what kind of leaders do we want in the future? Then, we have to train young people well — by being good examples for them to follow.”
Given the global need to care for the ecosystems that sustain us — and to keep that work going well into the future — this collective approach sets a good example for all of us.
The opinions expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or their employees.
EVs can help power homes and buildings in disasters — but only if automakers, utilities, local emergency planners and regulators start working on it now.
There were many lessons to be learned from Texas’ prolonged periods of lost power during its cold snap, which saw temperatures drop into the single digits. But one many people may not recognize is that electric vehicles, or EVs, can be part of a smart resiliency plan — not only in the case of outages triggered by the cold but in other scenarios caused by extreme weather events, from fire-related blackouts in California to hurricane-hit power losses in Puerto Rico.
A car driving in the snow in Dallas, Feb. 2021. Photo: Matthew Rader (CC BY-SA 4.0)
Experts recognize that electric vehicles are a central climate solution for their role in reducing greenhouse gas emissions. But EVs are also essentially batteries on wheels. You can store energy in those batteries, and if EVs are equipped with something called vehicle-to-grid or vehicle-to-building technology, they can also be used to keep the lights on in emergencies. The technology allows the energy being stored in an EV battery to be pushed back into the grid or into buildings to provide power.
There are hurdles: The technology is still developing, the vast majority of EVs currently on the road do not have this capability, and utilities would need regulatory approval before bringing it to scale. But done right it could be a great opportunity.
Electric car batteries can hold approximately 60 kilowatt hours (kWh) of energy, enough to provide back-up power to an average U.S. household for two days. Larger electric vehicles like buses and trucks have even bigger batteries and can provide more power. The American company Proterra produces electric buses that can store up to 660 kWh of energy. Electric garbage trucks and even big-rigs, with bigger batteries, are becoming a reality too.
Photo: MTA New York City Transit / Marc A. Hermann (CC BY 2.0)
If equipped with vehicle-to-grid or vehicle-to-building technology, those cars, buses and trucks could prove invaluable during future blackouts. People could rely on their cars to power their houses. Municipalities, transit agencies and school districts could send out their fleets to the areas most in need. We could power homes, shelters and emergency response centers — and could keep people warm, healthy and comfortable until power could be restored.
But to add this great resiliency tool to our arsenal in times of extreme weather, we must significantly increase the number of EVs on the road. In 2019 electric cars accounted for only about 2% of all light-duty vehicle sales in the country. Electric buses and trucks are becoming more common in the United States, but still only represent a tiny fraction of the fleet. As it stands now, the EVs currently on the road, even if equipped with vehicle-to-grid technology, would do little to help a broad swath of the population in need of power.
A line of electric cars at charging stations. Photo: Andrew Bone (CC BY 2.0)
There are some signs that this is changing. California and Massachusetts have both announced intentions to explore a policy that would require all new cars after 2035 be electric. General Motors is the latest major automaker to announce an intention to move toward producing only electric cars. Several major transit agencies, including in Texas, are starting to switch to all-electric buses.
To support widespread adoption of electric vehicles, we need to invest in the charging infrastructure necessary to accommodate explosive growth. We also need to make sure that as EV adoption increases, the vehicles and infrastructure are set up to use the power-transfer technology. Nissan already does this with its Leaf-to-home system. Proterra offers transit buses equipped with the technology. Dominion Energy in Virginia is working with school bus manufacturers to develop and operationalize a large-scale school bus vehicle-to-grid program.
To standardize the technology and make it accessible to everyone, utilities should seek regulatory approval to implement programs and invest in vehicle-to-grid capable infrastructure, and automakers should make it easy for consumers to install chargers that can send power both ways.
As that happens, governments at all levels should work to incorporate electric vehicles into their emergency response plans. Shelters, hospitals, emergency response centers and other buildings critical to crisis management should be equipped with the infrastructure necessary to pull power from EVs. Heavy-duty fleets like buses and trucks present particularly promising opportunities to provide power to people in need, but all the electric buses in the world won’t do any good if we’re not prepared to have them charged and ready to deploy to the areas that need them the most.
A few Tesla owners in Texas were able to draw power from their cars to stay warm and keep the lights on this month, which is great. But this valuable resource shouldn’t be limited to a few select people on a one-off basis. With more EVs on the road and careful planning and preparation, we could have millions of mobile batteries available to help keep the power on for everyone in emergencies.
The opinions expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or their employees.
Last year the United States racked up nearly $100 billion in damages from weather and climate disasters. These events are starting to take their toll on wildlife, too.
A hailstorm in South Texas. Tornadoes in Tennessee. Wildfires across the West. A barrage of Gulf Coast hurricanes. Those are among the record 22 weather and climate disasters that each topped $1 billion in damages last year in the United States.
In all, the price tag for 2020 hit a whopping $95 billion — and that’s just in the United States. Reinsurance firm Swiss Re put global economic losses at $175 billion last year, including $32 billion for floods in China and $13 billion in damages from Cyclone Amphan across India and Bangladesh.
The worst news? Our profligate burning of fossil fuels means we’re in store for more.
Studies show that climate change is supercharging some weather and climate events and will lead to more severe and longer-lasting heat waves, stronger hurricanes, an increased wildfire risk and a longer wildfire season. We can also expect more heavy rain events and severe droughts, not to mention other extreme events like February’s polar vortex.
“You can’t attribute any particular storm to climate change, but what we do know is that climate change tips the odds of making many of these events more severe,” says Bruce Stein, chief scientist and associate vice president at the National Wildlife Federation.
While experts tabulate the economic losses — homes destroyed, crops ruined, businesses shuttered — ecosystems and wildlife can also sustain damage that’s harder to quantify.
Many plants and wildlife evolved with and have adapted to dealing with large-scale disturbances, but we’re beginning to see “megadisturbances” at levels beyond what we saw in the past, says Stein.
And that can take a toll. Extreme weather can kill animals directly — or indirectly, like by destroying food sources, contaminating water or altering habitat, forcing a species to move into areas where there may be more competition, fewer resources or a greater risk of predation.
“What we begin to find when you get some of these mega disturbances is that it’s beyond the ability of a species — or their adaptive capacity — to bounce back,” says Stein.
The Research
The effects of climate change on the natural world are being felt at two speeds. One is more gradual, referred to by scientists as “ramping” — shrinking glaciers, rising sea levels. The second is quick, like extreme weather events.
Both are problematic, says Sean Maxwell, a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Queensland’s Centre for Biodiversity and Conservation Science. But, he adds, “I think the changes to acute events have the greatest potential to devastate local populations or ecosystems, and the impacts of these events are often more difficult to plan for or avoid.”
Maxwell was the lead author of a 2018 study published in the journal Diversity and Distributions that examined how changes in the frequency and intensity of extreme weather and climate events affected wildlife. The researchers looked at 519 studies of ecological responses to extreme events — including cyclones, droughts, floods, and heat and cold waves — that took place from 1941 to 2015. They found that the response was negative 57% of the time. (And in those instances where species benefited, they were mostly invasive species.)
A manatee stranded by Hurricane Irma in Melbourne, Florida. Photo: Bill Greer, FWC (CC BY-ND 2.0)
“Some of the negative responses we found were quite concerning, including more than 100 cases of dramatic population declines and 31 cases of local population extinction following an extreme event,” says Maxwell. “Populations of critically endangered bird species in Hawai’i, such as the palia, have been annihilated due to drought, and populations of lizard species have been wiped out due to cyclones in the Bahamas.”
Plant species, the researchers found, had the highest number of negative responses to extreme events, followed by reptiles and amphibians.
“Collectively, the studies in our review suggest that extreme weather and climate events have profound implications for species and ecosystem management,” the researchers concluded.
The Most Vulnerable
Species that are already threatened or endangered are of course especially at risk.
Take the Attwater prairie chicken. A million of these birds once ranged across the prairies of Texas and Louisiana.
Today fewer than 100 remain in the wild and scientists have sought to bolster their populations with captive breeding programs. But when Hurricane Harvey walloped Texas with 130-mile-per-hour winds and record rainfall in 2017, the birds were right in harm’s way.
“The Attwater Prairie Chicken National Wildlife Refuge tracked 29 individual birds, mostly hens. Post-hurricane, staff confirmed only five of them still alive,” Texas Climate News reported. “The hurricane also killed roughly 80% of a prairie chicken population on private property in Goliad County.”
Other species with limited ranges, like those on islands, also face big threats.
“If a species is well distributed, then if one part of its range gets hit, there’s the ability for it to recover,” says Stein. “But if essentially all its eggs are in one basket, and that particular place gets hit by one of these big disturbances, that’s when you have a real concern.”
In 2017 Hurricane Maria cut the population of just 200 Puerto Rican parrots in half. The year before, Hurricane Matthew was believed to have wiped out the last Bahama nuthatches (Sitta insularis). It took two years before a few of the birds were found — and then Hurricane Dorian struck in 2019, making their survival unlikely, according to Diana Bell, a professor of conservation biology at the University of East Anglia.
“In fact, Dorian may have not only sealed the fate of the nuthatch but also severely impacted other birds endemic to these islands, particularly the Bahama warbler and the Abaco parrot,” Bell wrote in an essay for The Conversation. “Also known as the Bahama Amazon parrot, this subspecies uniquely nests in limestone cavities on the ground which are likely to have been flooded by the storm surge.”
Damage in the Bahamas from Hurricane Dorian. Photo: Seaman Erik Villa Rodriguez, U.S. Coast Guard
Compounding Crises
The risk to wildlife from extreme storms can be compounded by the ramping effects of climate change, too.
“If you have increasingly severe hurricanes where you’ve also got sea-level rise essentially providing a higher lodge point for the storm surge, then you start seeing impacts beyond the historical record,” says Stein.
In other places, extreme weather is an extra blow to species already struggling with other environmental pressures, like habitat loss, invasive species or pollution.
Last year the world watched in horror as land-use management, climate change and drought helped push Australia’s bushfires to a terrifying new level, killing 34 people and burning 37,500 square miles.
A study published in Nature Ecology and Evolution found that the fire impacted the critical habitat of 832 native species, with 70 species losing more than 30% of their natural range. Twenty-one of those were already at risk of extinction.
Those that survived could find themselves hard-pressed in future climate disasters. “Multiple extreme events are likely to act in synergistic ways to exacerbate risk of species’ extinction,” wrote Maxwell and the other researchers of the 2018 study.
Australia already has one of the highest extinction rates, and the wildfires could limit the capacity of some species to recover — like the endangered Kangaroo Island dunnart and the long-footed potoroo — and threaten others. Australia’s record blazes last year could push the number of endangered species in the country up by 19%, the study in Nature Ecology and Evolution found.
Kangaroo Island, the only habitat of the endangered Kangaroo Island dunnart, after the 2019-2020 Australia wildfires. Photo: StephenMitchell, (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0).
Solutions
When Hurricane Irma sacked the Florida Keys in 2017, the storm tossed boats ashore, destroyed more than 1,000 homes and left a trail of debris across the islands.
It also endangered one of the region’s beloved endemic species, the tiny Key deer, which today primarily live on Big Pine Key. Some deer were killed in the storm, and surviving animals faced threats to their already limited freshwater supply as the storm surge dumped saline ocean water into freshwater pools.
Island residents responded the way folks often do after a disaster — they offered help to their neighbors.
“What you saw during and shortly after Irma is that these Key deer were coming up to houses looking for fresh water,” says Stein. “And people were putting out kiddie pools of water for them.”
Key deer after Hurricane Irene. Photo: Carol Lyn Parrish, (CC BY-ND 2.0).
Following Australia’s bushfires last year, the country’s government jumped to the aid of wildlife by dropping 4,000 pounds of carrots and sweet potatoes to starving brush-tailed rock-wallabies who lost their food source in the blazes.
“There’s a lot of things that we can do to help human communities as well as wildlife after these acute disturbances,” says Stein.
But beyond immediate food and water relief, there’s a much bigger task ahead: reducing greenhouse gas emissions to address the ongoing dangers of climate change and the ability of ecosystems to adapt. Key deer, for example, also face a long-term threat to their drinking water supply from rising seas, something no number of kiddie pools can repair. And more severe hurricanes are likely in their future, too.
“As climate change continues to ensure extreme climate and weather events are more and more common, we now need to act to ensure species have the best chance to survive,” says Maxwell. “Wherever possible, high-quality and intact habitat areas should be retained, as these are the places where species are most resilient to increasing exposure to extreme events.”
If such intact habitat doesn’t exist, ecological restoration efforts can be used to help species adapt, his study found.
And the more we know, the better.
“Incorporating extreme events into climate change vulnerability assessments and adaptation plans will be challenging,” the researchers of the 2018 paper concluded. “But by doing so we have a greater chance of arriving at conservation interventions that truly address the full range of climate change impacts.”
And that could give more species a fighting chance in a changing climate.
A power crisis in Texas caused by severe winter weather exposed the need for a climate-resilient system.
The rolling blackouts in Texas were national news. Texas calls itself the energy capital of the United States, yet it couldn’t keep the lights on. Conservatives were quick to blame reliance on wind power, just as they did last summer when California faced power interruptions due to a heat wave. What really happened?
It’s true that there was some loss of wind power in Texas due to icing on turbine blades. Unlike their counterparts further north, Texas wind operators weren’t prepared for severe weather conditions. But this was a relatively minor part of the problem.
The much bigger problem was loss of power from gas-fired power plants and a nuclear plant. The drop of gas generation has been attributed to freezing pipelines, diversion of gas for residential heating and equipment malfunctioning.
Texas faced a wave of very unusual cold weather, just as California faced an unusual heatwave last summer. What’s notable, however, is that in other ways the two systems are quite different. Texas has perhaps the most thoroughly deregulated electricity system in the country.
California experimented with its own deregulation, abandoned much of the effort after a crisis, and now has a kind of hybrid system. California and Texas are in opposing camps on climate policy. Yet both states got into similar trouble.
What happened in these states points to three pervasive problems.
The first is that we haven’t solved the problem of ensuring that the electricity system has the right amount of generating capacity. In states with traditional rate regulation, utilities have an incentive to overbuild capacity because they’re guaranteed a profit on their investments. Since there’s no competition, they have no incentive to innovate either. Iinstead, they have an incentive to keep old power plants going too long, contributing to air pollution and carbon emissions.
In other states, where utilities generally buy their power on the market, the income from power sales is based on short-term power needs and doesn’t necessarily provide enough incentive for long-term investments. That could be part of the problem in both California and Texas.
Some regional grid operators have established what are called capacity markets. At least judging from its record in the largest region (PJM), this has resulted in excess capacity and has encouraged inefficient aging generators to stay in the market. In short, we’ve got too little generation or too much, but we haven’t found the Goldilocks point of “just right.”
The second problem is that we haven’t made the power system resilient enough.
The heatwave that interfered with the California grid has been linked to climate change. It’s not clear whether the exceptionally cold weather in Texas was also linked to climate change, although climate change does seem to be disrupting the polar vortex that can contribute to severe winter conditions.
Power lines in Webster, TX. Photo: BFS Man (CC BY-NC 2.0)
In Texas, the weather didn’t just impact the electrical system: the natural gas system suffered from frozen pipes, reducing gas supply to power generators.
Climate change is throwing more and more severe weather events at energy systems from Puerto Rico to California, yet our planning has not come to grips with the need to adapt to these risks. Microgrids, increased energy storage and improved demand response may furnish part of the answer.
The third problem relates to the transmission system.
Among the causes of the California blackouts, a key transmission line to the Pacific Northwest was down for weather-related reasons. This is another example of the broad failure to make the grid resilient enough for an era of climate change. Texas has deliberately shackled itself by cutting the state off from the national power grid in order to avoid federal regulation.
This leaves it unable to draw on outside resources in times of crisis. This is all part of a much larger problem: The United States badly needs additional transmission, but political barriers have stymied expansion of the transmission system.
The term “wake up call” is over used but seems applicable here. If we don’t wake up to the need for a climate-resilient power system, we will face even bigger trouble ahead.
The opinions expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or their employees.
New research shows that oceanic shark and ray abundance has declined by nearly three-quarters since 1970, and industrialized fishing is
to blame.
Oceanic sharks and rays live so far from land that the average person is unlikely to ever see them. But these species, which live in the vast open ocean, are also among the most revered, and include the great white shark and the giant manta ray. For millennia, their remoteness has allowed these species to largely avoid humans. But since the early 1950s, industrial-scale fishing fleets have been able to reach distant waters and gradually spread to exploit the entire global ocean.
Rising demand over the same period for shark and ray meat, as well as fins, gill plates and liver oil, has caused catches of the 30 or so oceanic species to soar. Marine biologists have been raising the alarm for several decades now, but their warnings were often limited to what regional trends showed. Now, new research has brought together disparate threads of data into a single, global analysis of shark and ray populations in the open ocean.
Worldwide, oceanic shark and ray abundance has declined by 71% since 1970. More than half of the 31 species examined are now considered to be endangered, or even critically endangered. Compare this with 1980 when only one species, the plankton-feeding basking shark, was thought to be endangered. These are stark statistics, and they indicate that the future for the ocean’s top predators is fast deteriorating.
Nose Dive
To arrive at the first global perspective on oceanic shark and ray population trends, the study synthesized a huge amount of data. The researchers calculated two separate indicators of biodiversity, using indexes established by the Convention on Biological Diversity to track progress towards international targets. They used state-of-the-art modeling to estimate trends in the relative abundance of species. One of the indicators combined assessments of 31 species by the IUCN Red List over a 38-year period.
The results revealed huge declines in the abundance of sharks in the Atlantic, Indian and Pacific oceans. Once abundant species such as the oceanic whitetip shark have declined by 75% globally in just the past half-century, while populations of the endangered shortfin mako shark — valued for its meat and fins — have shrunk by about 40%. Manta ray populations have suffered even greater losses.
The study attributes these declines to overfishing. The researchers documented a greater than twofold increase in fishing pressure from longline fisheries for instance, which use lines stretching 100km and bearing 1,200 baited hooks. These lines are deployed each day by any one of the thousands of longlining vessels worldwide, snaring sharks in the open ocean either intentionally or as bycatch while targeting other marine life.
The study also found increases in the proportion of sharks that are being fished beyond sustainable levels. But it’s particularly worrying that unreported catches weren’t included in the study’s analyses. This means the number of sharks and rays killed by fishing boats is likely to be an underestimate and the actual declines of these species may be even worse. Unlike most species of bony fish, sharks and rays produce few offspring and grow slowly. The rate at which they reproduce is clearly no match for current levels of industrialized fishing.
Shortfin Makos. Photo: José Antonio Gil Martínez, (CC BY 2.0).
Regulating the High Seas
Immediate and far-reaching action is needed to rebuild these populations. It’s clear that the rate of overfishing has outstripped the implementation of fisheries management measures and trade regulations. Since most oceanic sharks and rays are caught in the high seas — areas beyond national jurisdictions — agreements between fishing nations within management organizations are needed for conservation measures to work.
But, as this new study details, fishery limits imposed by management organizations of regional tuna fisheries — bodies tasked with managing oceanic sharks and ray populations — have been largely inadequate in following scientific advice. As recently as November 2020, the European Union and United States blocked a catch retention ban for North Atlantic shortfin mako sharks, despite scientific evidence clearly indicating that it was the first rung on a ladder to restoring this population of an endangered species.
To begin the recovery of oceanic shark and ray populations, strict measures to prohibit landings of these species and to minimize their bycatch in other fisheries are needed immediately. This must be coupled with strict enforcement.
Reducing the number of sharks and rays caught accidentally will be crucial but challenging, especially for longline fishing, which is not very selective and inadvertently catches lots of different species. This currently means that bans on intentional fishing are unlikely to be effective on their own. One solution would include modifying fishing gear and improving how fishers release sharks and rays after capture, to give them a better chance of survival.
An equally important measure, noted in the current study, would be banning fishing fleets from hotspots of oceanic sharks and rays. Research published in 2019 highlighted where these areas in the global ocean overlap with fishing vessels most. Led by the United N, negotiations are underway for a high seas treaty which would create no-take marine reserves to protect threatened species in the open ocean. This new study should urge the international community to take such action while there’s still time.
The Biden-Harris administration must act quickly to reverse and repair Trump’s environmental destruction. Here’s how to do it.
(Originally published Jan. 20, 2021. Updated.)
The period of the 45th presidency will go down as dark days for the United States — not just for the violent insurgency and impeachment that capped off Donald Trump’s four years in office, but for every regressive action that came before.
It’s been said that Trump was the worst environmental president in history, and that’s easy to see from his administration’s record. They rolled back decades of environmental progress by slashing protective regulations, strangled the agencies tasked with enforcing the regulations that remained, pushed corporate agendas damaging to wildlife, human health and the climate, and stoked the flames of right-wing extremists — including people whose radical agendas often attack public-land protections or climate science.
That barely covers it all, of course. It would take an entire book — a whole library — to fully convey the environmental damage done under Trump.
And now it’s up to a new administration — and the work of a lot of people on top of it — to undo the damage and hopefully make up for four lost years of potential progress.
President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris, together with the Democratic majorities in the House and Senate, have a tough task ahead of them.
Make that many tough tasks. They’ll need to rebuild the ranks of government workforces while reinforcing the trust in government and the trust in America on the world stage. They’ll need to pass and restore regulations that don’t just return us to the status quo but radically improve on it — taking the world forward at a time when the effects of climate change and the extinction crisis continue to worsen. 2020 tied for the hottest year on record, and Trump added fewer species to the Endangered Species Act than any other president while slashing protections for those already on the list. They’ll need to address environmental justice at a time when white supremacy is at its most vocal point in decades and firmly entrenched in some areas of government. They’ll need to resist the usual corporate influence that could slow things down along the way.
And they’ll need to do it all while helping the country stabilize and recover from the COVID-19 pandemic and Trump’s botched response to the crisis, not to mention the continued threat from seditious domestic terrorists.
That’s a lot on one plate, but they’re already off to a good start. Biden and Harris ran on a strong climate platform and have assembled an experienced climate team. Neither the platform nor the team is perfect — progressives think they can do much better — but they’re light years ahead of anything we saw under the previous administration.
And of course, now that the Democrats have won the Senate, Biden’s cabinet picks are more likely to be confirmed and the country will no longer face the obstruction ever-present under the majority leadership of Mitch McConnell.
But at the same time, Republicans have risen to power in cities and state legislatures around the country, and many of them are still fueled by MAGA Trumpism and unhinged conspiracy theories. The right-wing media, meanwhile, continue to shape and mold millions with their unique brand of misinformation and discord. Both trends will present a barrier to progress at every level.
So what’s the agenda for moving forward under the Biden-Harris administration? Below, you’ll find a series of articles and expert commentaries from The Revelator’s archives addressing key steps the incoming team can take to restore the EPA, protect key species, address the COVID-19 pandemic in a just and climate-focused manner, and more.
We’ll continue to add to these roadmaps as the administration gets its footing, and we invite any insiders and experts to contribute their own voices.
Wild plants related to our main agricultural crops are important to future food security. But more than half are endangered, a new study finds.
For 10,000 years we’ve relied on domesticated plants for our staple foods. But it’s the wild relatives of those crops that are becoming increasingly important to our future food supply.
Over hundreds of thousands of years, these wild foods have adapted to pests, diseases, extreme climates and other inhospitable conditions. That makes their genes particularly important for plant breeding, especially when we’re looking for foods that can withstand a changing climate. Some varieties are still key food and cultural resources today, too.
In a new study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, researchers have taken stock of these wild foods and the conservation threats they face. They inventoried and modeled the distribution of 600 native wild taxa in the United States, including the relatives of barley, beans, grapes, hops, plums, potatoes and other foods.
What they found was concerning: More than half of the wild relatives are endangered in their native habitats. And that poses a threat to our future.
“The contributions of crop wild relatives to food security depend on their conservation and accessibility for use,” the researchers wrote. With mounting extinction threats, the researchers recommended that three quarters of the taxa be deemed an “urgent priority” for collection to boost conservation.
To do that we need a multipronged approach.
“Given the diversity of U.S. native crop wild relatives prioritized for action, ambitious collaborative conservation efforts are needed among gene banks, botanical gardens, community conservation initiatives, and organizations focused on habitat conservation,” they wrote.
So far ex situ conservation — in gene banks and botanical gardens — is insufficient. The study showed 14% of the plants were entirely absent from these repositories, and another 33% were found in fewer than 10 locations. That leaves us with “relatively limited genetic variation for research and education,” the researchers concluded.
Crop Wild Relatives seed bank at the International Potato Center, Lima Peru. Photo: Michael Major, Crop Trust, (CC BY-ND 2.0)
Better collaboration with botanical gardens, hobby gardeners and citizen conservationists can help close that gap, they recommend.
Outside of seed banks and gardens, protecting the habitat where these species grow naturally is also important.
Based on the researchers’ mapping of the potential distribution of the plants, some are likely to be found in areas that are already protected — such as the Patuxent Research Refuge, the Grand Canyon, Olympic National Park, the Indiana Dunes, Gulf Islands, Yellowstone and other areas.
But more habitat conservation efforts are needed, and that may include the widening of current protected areas or the establishment of new protected spaces, they write.
That can be tough to do with competing demands on land, but it will also provide additional benefits.
Conserving these natural habitats, the study finds, will help safeguard ecosystems and other species, providing both “known as well as currently unrecognized benefits to society.”
Beyond the work of scientists and land managers, the fate of these wild foods may come down to better public awareness. And for that, botanical gardens could be the best champions.
“While all involved organizations will need to enhance their public outreach around native crop wild relatives,” the researchers conclude, “botanical gardens, which receive more than 120 million visitors a year in the United States, could play a particularly pivotal role in introducing these species to people, communicating their value and plight, and better connecting the concepts of food security, agricultural livelihoods, and services provided by nature for the public.”
Collecting runoff from rain and other precipitation to aid water supply has great potential, but its many benefits are often overlooked.
Climate change and other environmental pressures are already putting the pinch on water resources in California, the Southwest and other arid parts of the world. Over-tapped groundwater, rivers and lakes are forcing water managers to find new supplies.
Some of these can be costly, like treating wastewater for drinking water. Or they can come with a hefty price tag and outsized environmental footprint, like desalination or new dams.
There’s another option on the table, though: stormwater. If we do the accounting right, runoff from precipitation is a cost-effective supplementary water resource, experts say. But it’s often overlooked because we don’t know how to fully assess the economics of its many benefits, finds a report by Sarah E. Diringer, Morgan Shimabuku and Heather Cooley of the global water think-tank the Pacific Institute.
The water that runs off hard surfaces like streets and roofs has typically been considered a nuisance. It can result in flooding and cause water-quality concerns. Usually it’s directed into storm drains in urban areas and funneled to treatment plants or, in coastal communities, dumped into the ocean.
But in our water-constrained world, stormwater can be a benefit and not a burden. For example, a 2014 report found that urban communities in the San Francisco Bay Area and Southern California could get up to 10% of their water supply from stormwater.
Stormwater projects vary in size, scale and scope. Some can be small-scale harvesting projects that can collect rainwater from rooftops before it flows across city streets. Others are large aquifer-recharge efforts where stormwater (or sometimes floodwater outside urban areas) is infiltrated back into the ground to boost overdrafted groundwater.
Construction of the underground storage tanks at Edison High School in Minneapolis to capture stormwater runoff to irrigate the nearby athletic fields. Photo: Mississippi Watershed Management Organization, (CC BY-NC 2.0)
Many stormwater projects can provide additional benefits besides just supplementing the water supply. Experts have found they can also reduce flood risk, improve habitat, reduce urban temperatures and energy use, create recreational space, and increase property values.
For their study, the Pacific Institute researchers looked at dozens of proposed projects in California. They found that properly accounting for all these additional benefits can be difficult and is often overlooked as water agencies and municipalities compare the economics of different options to boost water resources.
If stormwater doesn’t appear cost-competitive, it’s much harder to get the capital necessary to build and scale new projects. That can cause municipalities to miss out on a potential source of water — and its other associated benefits.
The researchers say including stormwater projects’ economic benefits in the way those projects are presented to community decision-makers could help make runoff capture and use more widespread.
“By including the economic value of co-benefits provided by stormwater capture, projects can be more fairly compared, and the full benefits of these projects can more easily be realized by water agencies and the public they serve,” the researchers wrote.
As climate change brings both bigger storms and bigger droughts, harnessing the potential of stormwater capture could become a crucial tool for resilience.
A groundbreaking program at the University of British Columbia draws from Indigenous knowledge and western science to develop the best tools for helping fisheries and communities.
Andrea Reid grew up surrounded by water on Canada’s Prince Edward Island with fish “very much just in my blood,” she says. When she went to college, she realized that fish could be a career, too.
The shape of that career began to form when she worked as a biologist on fish and fisheries in Uganda, Indonesia, the Philippines and the Solomon Islands. “I really began to see just how much fishers know,” she says. “And I started bringing that thinking home.”
Last month Reid, a citizen of the Nisga’a Nation, helped launch the Centre for Indigenous Fisheries at the University of British Columbia, where she’s an assistant professor in the Institute for the Oceans and Fisheries.
The center aims to work on culturally significant fish and fisheries “through community-based approaches that put Indigenous needs, priorities and voices at the center of all our projects, research and outreach,” explains Reid, who serves as its principal investigator.
The Revelator spoke with her about how this approach to research differs from Western methods, how it can expand scientific processes and the challenges Indigenous fisheries face.
It seems like the work the center aims to do would break new ground. How do you think it could change research and the way fisheries science is conducted?
Andrea Reid, principal investigator at the Centre for Indigenous Fisheries. Photo: Alex Sarna
There’s nothing else that we know of that centers on community-based research and creating a space for Indigenous fisheries knowledge and methodologies in the university space in this country. We’re trying to fill a pretty critical gap.
At its core, it’s really about employing key principles of respect, responsibility, relationality, reciprocity — building those elements that are foundational to many Indigenous world views into how we move through the research process.
A lot of Indigenous research methodologies are deeply community centered and are trying to move us away from the model that has pervaded in Western science for a long time, which is researchers coming into communities, extracting data and using it for their own needs and purposes.
Putting Indigenous knowledge and communities at the forefront of research has the potential to change outcomes, but I think it can also change the way that we even ask questions. It certainly changes the way we go about answering them and how much difference the work actually makes. In the fisheries world there’s this slogan, “Bring fishers on board or miss the boat.” And the same applies to communities, right?
If we want to have people buying into these recommendations that we’re putting forward as scientists, we need to engage them in that process, have them understand what it is that we’re talking about and what the research is intended to achieve. If you do that, you can get a lot more buy-in and credibility in the work. It’s a whole different way of operating in many respects.
What threats do Indigenous fisheries face?
The Indigenous fisheries in which I have done a lot of my work on the Pacific Coast of Canada have been extremely long standing. They date back millennia and have really been shaped by the knowledge systems that have been passed down generation to generation.
Indigenous fisheries systems are often very well matched to the environment in which they’re set, where certain gear types or the times of year that you’re fishing or how you fish all match that environment.
There’s a great diversity in Indigenous cultures around the world so I don’t want to paint with too broad a brush, but a lot of Indigenous fisheries adhere to worldviews that center on relationality. Many see the fish as an extension of our lives. On the Pacific Coast, we identify as salmon people and we see salmon as relatives, not necessarily as commodities or resources.
That view really changes the way that one might operate in the fishery — whether you take everything that you can get your hands on, or maybe you take a small amount and leave some for the next family, the next person that comes along.
But Indigenous fisheries along the Pacific coast, but also around the world, share a lot of parallels in terms of colonial processes and their dispossession and displacement through colonization. In many cases Indigenous fishery systems have been placed in pronounced bounds where they can only operate in certain ways and under certain conditions. A lot of Indigenous fishery practices have been outlawed, banned or totally criminalized.
That’s the focus on one of your upcoming projects called “Fish Outlaws,” right?
Yes. That’s a new National Geographic Society-supported project that centers on telling stories around dispossession and criminalization, and how, in many cases, what we see here in Canada quite frequently today is that simply exercising constitutionally protected fishing rights can be deemed illegal in certain circumstances, with people getting heavy fines and even facing jail time for practicing what our constitution protects.
A big part of this project is aimed at bringing this to light to understand the histories of what we call “fish outlaws” — people who’ve been criminalized for simply participating in the fishery that has been passed down across generations and to which they have clear well-defended rights.
Where do you see the center’s work going as it develops? Will you start by focusing on Canada?
Taylor Wale, Andrea Reid and Collin Middleton on board the Ocean Virtue in 2016 where they were tagging and tracking Pacific salmon on BC’s North Coast. Photo: Katrina Cook
To begin we are focusing on British Columbia First Nations and partnering with communities and nations here. But I am also on the front end of developing a partnership in the Great Lakes of North America with nations and tribes on either side of the border looking at invasive sea lamprey.
There are also budding partnerships with fisheries in other contexts and communities. There’s a lot of parallels with Aboriginal fishers in Australia, with Māori fishers in New Zealand and native Hawaiian fishers. But again, we are focusing local and then overtime building into more of that trans-local community.
We’re starting as a small group of principally Indigenous scholars. And over time we really hope to grow what we’re doing so that this becomes a space for community members, fishers and managers — that they feel welcomed and see room for themselves in [academia, which] historically, has not been very kind to underrepresented groups. And there are not many Indigenous students in post-secondary education. There’s not many Indigenous students typically in science.
And so I hope that the creation of the Centre for Indigenous Fisheries doesn’t ask students to leave part of themselves at the door or to depart from their worldview in order to gain access. But that instead it creates a space for them and that over time it can really help to build strong partnerships with communities and grow beyond the confines of the university.
There is a Mi’kmaw teaching called Etuaptmumk or “two-eyed seeing.” And it’s carried by a specific elder currently, Dr. Albert Marshall, who’s doing a lot of work to bring it forward into the literature but also into public spaces as well.
It’s defined as learning to see from one eye with the strengths of Indigenous knowledge and ways of knowing, and from the other eye with the strengths of Western dominant or mainstream knowledge and ways of knowing. And learning to use both these eyes together for the benefit of all.
In our fisheries and in biodiversity at large, we’re facing so many big crises where we need all of the tools that are available at our disposal. And those can equally come from Indigenous knowledge systems as well as Western scientific ones. So it’s really about bringing together the best tools for the job.
