On extraction.

On extraction.

The womb-suckers are trying to eat your children. Poke a soda straw into the future and sluuurp, away they go.  Hopes and dreams, metabolized today into so many dollar bills.

I spend a fair bit of time with drug dealers. Most are ethical people – they wanted to ingest drugs, and they knew some other people who wanted to ingest drugs, so they started selling.

But there’s an unethical way to push – some dealers focus on getting new users hooked.  That way they’ll have a steady income stream.  Most of the guys in my poetry class, if somebody talks about getting clean, congratulate and encourage the dude.  But some dealers would see rehab as a threat to their own livelihoods.

The future-eaters are like the second type of dealer.  They’re trying to kill babies – including babies who haven’t even been conceived yet – while proffering incredibly cynical rationalizations.


Yup, you’re right, kid.  Earth is beautiful. 
I’m sorry the grown-ups aren’t trying very hard to keep Earth beautiful.

Here’s the deal: regions of the Earth’s crust that lie beneath territories claimed by the United States contain rich deposits of hydrocarbons.  These could be dug up and combusted to power our factories, our automobiles, our giant arrays of computer servers that enable the internet.  The average person’s lifestyle in the U.S.gobbles energy, and deep below our lands is solar energy that photosynthesizing plants captured millions of years ago.

But we now know that there is only a limited amount of ancient stored sunlight beneath us.  The world’s oil reserves will eventually be depleted.  And so a smart investor, even if that investor believed that all the hydrocarbons beneath us should be combusted, bringing our planet closer to the hellhole that runaway climate change allowed Venus to become, would decide to wait.  Right now, the price of oil is low.  The total supply of oil is decreasing.  The population is rising.  If oil really is the best energy source, then the price will obviously rise. 


Venus was habitable once, but after atmospheric carbon dioxide levels got too high, climate change spiraled out of control.  I certainly wouldn’t want to live there now. Artist rendition from NASA.

I believe this relationship, lower supply = higher price, is taught within the first two lectures of any undergraduate economics course.

Since we’re rich enough to do it, we would make more money by buying oil now from those foolish countries who need cash right away and are currently selling their buried wealth, then extracting our own oil later when the total supply is lower and each barrel is worth more money.

The womb-suckers love money.  So why isn’t this their plan?

After all, we as a nation are wealthy enough to invest.  Throughout the ages, that’s what people blessed with current prosperity have done. By socking away money now – maybe by lending it to a neighbor and charging interest – you gain a constant source of income for the future.

The usual stereotype is that it’s foolish poor people who eat the future.  When you’re starving, you might eat seeds from the granary.  That’ll help you survive another winter, but next year the famine will hit even worse.  Methamphetamines let you trade away future health to do more today.  So do cigarettes.

The womb-suckers rarely pull drags of nicotine into their own bodies.  But they’ll happily light one for our planet.

The president of the U.S. wants to drill for oil beneath the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.  The president of Brazil wants to cut down the Amazon rain forest for gold mines and hamburgers.

But there is a framework in which their urgency to eat the future is rational.  If people will notice what’s happening and stop them later, they need to get it done now. The window for personal gain is closing: slash and burn while you can.

And there is, of course, the comparison to an unethical drug dealer.  You have to keep selling even when the heat is closing in because otherwise your customers could get clean and then you can’t make money off your product anymore.

We’ve reached a point where many people have realized that the future is in peril –most people who get their news from any source other than the state-endorsed propaganda network – but, let’s face it, people are lazy.  I’m lazy too.  Even though I know that disposable diapers are wasteful to manufacture and then ship off to landfills, my family resorts to them during weeks when we’re too overwhelmed to wash another load of excrement-encrusted rags.

Similarly, everyone knows that a vegan diet is better for the planet. But most people still eat meat. The Republican party’s big-government subsidies make hamburgers cheap … and those burgers are already cooked, waiting at the drive through, chock full of delicious fat, salt, and MSG. Being vegan takes more effort.

But we’re well-meaning, most of us.  And lazy, well-meaning people just need a little nudge to start doing the right thing.

The womb-suckers are justifiably worried that a small hiccup in the rate of extraction now might be the final nudge necessary to get the world to change.  Switch to renewable energy.  Recycle and re-use more of what we’ve already dug from the ground.

The womb-suckers need to flood the market, get what money they can before the rest of us sober up.  It’s the best thing for a murderous hedonist to do; with enough money, they can soar the skies in gold-plated airplanes.  With enough money, even boorish, ugly men have a shot at having sex with pornographic film stars.

The future eaters see no contradiction, calling themselves “pro-life” while they frantically strive to make billions of unborn children die.

On naked mole-rats.

On naked mole-rats.

When Radiohead first toured, their audiences just wanted to hear “Creep.”  They were invited to play a show in Israel – everyone just wanted to hear “Creep.”  They were invited to tour America – everyone just wanted to hear “Creep.”  At festivals, people walked away after they played it.  By then the song was several years old.  The dudes in Radiohead were sick of it.

To be fair, Pablo Honey was a pretty weak album.  “You” is a fine song, but the proffered singles – “Anyone Can Play Guitar” (more ironic in retrospect than it was at the time) and “Stop Whispering” – aren’t very compelling.  At the time, nobody knew their new material.

Now, of course, Radiohead is many people’s favorite band – mine too (tied with The Marshall Cloud and anything else my brother makes).

The essayist Eliot Weinberger has also toured on the strength of a hit single.  From Christopher Byrd’s 2016 profile in The New Yorker:

EliotWeinbergerBW350In person, Weinberger is genial and self-contained; he smiles frequently and is prone to wisecracks.  When I asked him about the essay [“Naked Mole-Rats,” from his 2001 collection, Karmic Traces], he said “In Germany, I’m sort of like one of those bands that had one hit record, and so I give readings and people ask me to read ‘Nacktmull,’ which is the naked mole-rat.  It’s their favorite one.  This pretty girl said, ‘Last night, I was in bed reading it to my boyfriend.’  And I said, ‘Don’t you have anything better to read?’”

Yet, like Radiohead, Weinberger has released new work every few years – he seems to have been writing constantly ever since he dropped out of college circa 1970 and began translating the poetry of Octavio Paz – and much of it is better than the hit everybody knows.  Over the past two months, I’ve had the pleasure of reading all his books – many are stunning.  The Ghosts of Birds discuses Adam & Eve, the dreams of ancient Chinese poets, and the authorial voice of George W. Bush’s “autobiography.”  I’ve written previously about What Happened Here, a collection of Weinberger’s essays about the Bush years.  And Weinberger has written extensively about the political value of poetry.  From “The T’ang” (in Oranges and Peanuts for Sale):

…[I]n the last years of the dynasty, warlords ravished the country.  One of them, Huang Ch’ao, a salt merchant who had failed the civil service exams, captured Ch’ang-an in 881.  A satiric poem was posted on the wall of a government building, criticizing the new regime.  (As, eleven hundred years later, the Democracy Movement would begin with the poems that Bei Dao and other young poets glued to the walls in their capital, Beijing.)  Huang Ch’ao issued orders that everyone capable of writing such a poem be put to death.  Three thousand were killed.

When dudes ask what we’re doing teaching a poetry class in jail, it’s great to have stories like this to relate … or to toss out a quote from Norman Dubie, my co-teacher’s advisor, who says, “If Stalin feared poetry, so should you.

And yet, I have to admit: Weinberger’s “Naked Mole-Rats” really is a lovely essay.

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During the 1970s, evolutionary biologist Richard Alexander gave a series of lectures describing conditions that might spawn eusocial vertebrates.  Alexander was a bug guy – the term “eusocial” refers to bees, ants, and termites, where individuals are extremely self-sacrificing for the good of the colony, including an abundance of non-breeding members helping with childcare.

Alexander proposed that a eusocial species of mammal could evolve if they lived in relatively safe underground burrows that could be expanded easily and defended by a small percentage of the colony.  The animals would need to be small compared to their food sources, so that a stroke of good luck by one worker could feed many.

thebioofnakedAn audience member at one of Alexander’s lectures mentioned that this “hypothetical eusocial mammal” sounded a lot like the naked mole-rat and connected Alexander with Jennifer Jarvis, who’d studied the biology of these critters but hadn’t yet investigated their their social structure.  The collaboration between Alexander and Jarvis led to the textbook The Biology of the Naked Mole-Rat.

Eliot Weinberger combed through this 500-plus page textbook to produce his 3-page essay.  In Weinberger’s words:

As many as three hundred inhabit a colony, moving a ton of dirt every month.  They have a caste system

The medium sized are the warriors, who try to fend off the rufous-beaked snaked, the file snakes, the white-lipped snakes, and the sand boas that sometimes find their way in.When, by chance, two colonies of naked mole-rats tunnel into each other, their warriors fight to the death.

Interbred for so long, they are virtually clones.  One dead-end branch of the tunnel is their toilet: they wallow there in the soaked earth so that all will smell alike.  They are nearly always touching each other, rubbing noses, pawing, nuzzling.

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Like us, naked mole-rats are both good and bad.  They are cooperative.  They are affectionate.  They are always touching.  Encountering outsiders, they fight to the death.  When a breeding female dies, many other females regain fertility and the colony erupts into civil war.

Naked mole-rats care for others.  Naked mole-rats are callous toward others.

[The breeding female, of which each colony has only one] has four or five litters a year of a dozen pups.  The babies have transparent skin through which their internal organs are clearly visible.  Only a few survive, and they live long lives, twenty years or more.  The dead babies are eaten, except for their heads.  At times the live ones are eaten too.

These details are drawn from innumerable experimental observations.  We humans have spent decades investigating the naked mole-rats.  But Weinberger ends his essay with the reverse.  Naked mole-rats observe us, too:

Sometimes a naked mole-rat will suddenly stop, stand on its hind-legs, and remain motionless, its head pressed against the roof of the tunnel.  Above its head is the civil war in Somalia.  Their hearing is acute.

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Naked mole-rats “are continually cruel in small ways.”  But they are outdone by naked apes.  After all, the cruelty of naked mole-rats is invariably directed to others of their own kind.  Our cruelty embraces ourselves as well as them.

For a research paper published in 2008, Park et al. discovered that being pinched by tweezers causes naked mole-rats pain, but the injection of caustic acid does not:

We tested naked mole-rats in standard behavioral models of acute pain including tests for mechanical (pinch), thermal, and chemical pain.  We found that for noxious pinch and heat, the mole-rats responded similarly to mice.

In contrast to the results using mechanical and thermal stimuli, there was a striking difference in responses to strong chemical irritants known to excite nociceptors [these are sensory receptors that detect noxious inputs, like pain].  Indeed, the two chemicals used – capsaicin and low-pH saline solution – normally evoke very intense pain in humans and other animals.  Injection of either irritant into the skin rapidly evoked intense licking and guarding behaviors in mice.

(In case you’re worried that acid-resistant naked mole-rats might conquer the world: a form of kryptonite exists.  Injection of an 11-amino-acid signaling peptide allows acid to hurt naked mole-rats just as much as it hurts mice.  Half a dozen animals were subjected to each treatment.)

So, naked mole-rats are selectively resistant to pain.  This has inspired some envy in human researchers – after all, chronic pain is miserable, and most of our strategies to dampen pain have a few unwanted side-effects.

But what really gets us humans jealous is that naked mole-rats seem not to age.

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Naked mole-rats almost never develop cancer.  They should get cancer.  After all, their cells, like ours, copy themselves.  Over time, each copy is a copy of a copy of a copy… any errors are compounded.  And some errors are particularly deadly.  Our cells are supposed to stop growing when they touch each other, and they are supposed to commit suicide when their usefulness has run its course.  But the instructions telling our cells when and how to kill themselves can be lost, just like any other information.  Too many rounds of cell division is like making photocopies of photocopies… eventually the letters melt into static and become unreadable.

So I don’t quite understand why naked mole-rats don’t get cancer … but, in my defense, no one else does either.  Tian et al. found that naked mole-rats fill the space between their cells with a particular sugar that acts as an anti-clumping agent.  This contributes to their cancer resistance, because cells that can’t clump can’t form tumors… but, although many types of deadly human cancers form tumors, others, like leukemia, do not.

Lung_cancer_cell_during_cell_division-NIH.jpgOf course, “cancer” cells – mutant versions of ourselves that would kill us if they could – appear all the time.  Usually, our immune system destroys them.  Most chemotherapy agents do not kill cancer.  Chemotherapy involves pumping the body full of general poisons that stop all cells from reproducing, with the hope being that, if the spread of cancer can be slowed, a patient’s immune system will sop up the bad cells already there.

In addition to anti-clumping sugars, naked mole-rats must have other (currently unknown) virtues that enable their remarkable tenacity.

And, although the little critters seem not to age – they have “no age-related increase in mortality” and remain fertile until death – they do die.  The oldest naked mole-rat lived for 27 years in captivity, and seems to have been at least a year old when first captured, based on his size.

He was rutting and eating normally until April, 2002… but then, seemingly without cause, he died.  Writing for Scientific American shortly after this duder’s death, David Stipp described him (and naked mole-rats in general) as “a little buck-toothed burrower [who] ages like a demigod.”

But it’s worth noting that he had aged.  He had accumulated extensive oxidative damage in his lipids, proteins, and, presumably, his DNA… which is to say, his cells were noticeably rusted and falling apart.  He just didn’t let it slow him down.  Not until he keeled over.

They live with gusto, the naked mole-rats.

For as long as they energy, that is.  Several researchers have proposed that naked mole-rats have all these powers because they starve often in the wild.

Caloric restriction – which means, roughly, intentional starvation – is known to extend lifespan in a wide variety of species.  It’s been tested in monkeys, mice, flies, and worms.  Between two- and ten-fold increases in lifespan have been observed.  There are some unpleasant side effects.  Hunger, for instance.  Caloric-restricted mice spend a lot of time staring at their empty food bowls.

Many humans who attempt caloric restriction on their own find it difficult.  Hunger hurts, especially when there’s food nearby.  Plus, it’s a rare diet that provides adequate nutrition while still limiting calories.  Malnutrition makes people die younger, which defeats the point… unless your goal is simply to make God uncomfortable.  Maybe you’ll get a wish!

But naked mole-rats have no choice.  Workers tunnel outward, searching for tuberous roots.  When they find one, they’ll gnaw it carefully, attempting to keep the plant alive as long as possible, but the colony invariably consumes roots faster than a plant can grow.  Although naked mole-rats try to be good stewards of their environment – they are compulsive recyclers, eating their own excrement to make sure no nutrients are lost – their colonies plunge repeatedly into famine.

And they sleep in mounds, hundreds of bodies respiring underground.  Anyone sleeping near the center probably runs out of oxygen.

But they survive.

We would not.  Most mammals, deprived of oxygen, can no longer fuel their brains.  Our brains are expensive.  Even at rest our brains demand a constant influx of energy or else the neurons “depolarize” – we fall apart.  This is apparently an unpleasant experience.  It’s brief, though.  At Stanford, my desk was adjacent to a well-trafficked gas chamber.  A mouse, or a Chinese-food takeout container with several mice, was dropped in; a valve for carbon dioxide was opened; within seconds, the mice inside lost consciousness; they shat; they died.

A naked mole-rat would live.  Unless a very determined researcher left the carbon dioxide flowing for half an hour.  Or so found Park et al. – a graph from their recent Science paper is shown below.  Somewhere between three and twelve animals were used for every time point; all the mice would’ve been dead within a minute, but perhaps as few as three naked mole-rats died in this experiment.

survival curves

Human brains are like hummingbirds – our brains drink up sugar and give us nothing but a fleeting bit of beauty in return.  And our brains are very persnickety in their taste for sugar.  We are fueled exclusively by glucose.

Naked mole-rats are less fussy than we are – their minds will slurp fructose to keep from dying.

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Naked mole-rats: the most cooperative of all mammals.  Resistant to cancer.  Unperturbed by acid.  Aging with the libidinous gracelessness of Hugh Hefner.  Able to withstand the horrors of a gas chamber.

And yet, for all those superpowers, quite easily tormented by human researchers.

On human uniqueness and invasive species.

On human uniqueness and invasive species.

We like to see ourselves as special.  “I am a beautiful and unique snowflake,” we’re taught to intone.

Most of the time, this is lovely.  Other than the U.S. Supreme Court, hardly anyone thinks you should be punished for being special.  Of course, the Court’s opinion does matter, since the ignorant claims of five old rich white men have an inordinate sway in determining how U.S. citizens will be allowed to live.  And they, the conservative predecessors of our lockstep quartet (soon to return to a quintet) of hate machines, oft feel that the beautiful snowflakes should melt in prison.  In McCleskey v. Kemp, the court decided that statistical evidence of injustice should not be admissible as evidence; they would only consider documentation of deliberate bias in individual cases.

snowflake
Unique when you are on trial, now orange & a number.  Photo by Joel Franusic on Flickr.

Which means, for instance, that if a police force decides to systematically harass black drivers, and winds up stopping hundreds of black drivers and zero white drivers each month, they’re in the clear as long as each black driver stopped was violating some portion of the traffic code.  At that point, each black driver is a unique individual lawbreaker, and the court sees no reason why their experiences should be lumped together as statistical evidence of racial injustice.  Adolph Lyons, after being nearly choked to death by an L.A. police officer, could not convince the courts that the L.A. police should stop choking innocuous black drivers.

Lovely, eh?

So it can hurt if others see us as being too special.  Too distinct for our collective identity to matter.

At other times, we humans might not feel special enough.  That’s when the baseless claims get bandied about.  For instance, K recently received a letter from Stanford’s Graduate School of Education pontificating that “Only humans teach.”  A specious example is given, followed by the reiteration that “Only humans look to see if their pupils are learning.”  Which simply isn’t true.

But people feel such a burning desire to be special – as individuals, as fans of a particular sports team, as people with a particular skin color, or as people who follow a particular set of religious credos – that an ostensibly very-educated someone needed to write this letter.

That’s why the occasional correctives always make me smile.  For instance, research findings showing that other animal species have some of the skills that our sapiens chauvinists oft claim as uniquely human, or other data indicating that humans are not as exceptional as we at times believe.

Consider our brains.  For many years, we thought our brains were anomalously large for the size of our bodies.  The basic rationale for this metric was that more brain power would be needed to control a larger body – this seems tenuous if you compare to robots we’ve created, but so it goes.  Recently, a research group directed by Suzana Herculano-Houzel counted how many actual neurons are in brains of different sizes.  Again comparing to human creations, computer scientists would argue that more neurons allow for more patterns of connections and thus more brainpower, somewhat comparable to the total number of transistors inside a computer.

As it happens, no one knew how many neurons were in different creatures’ brains, because brains are very inhomogeneous.  But they can be homogenized – rather easily, as it happens.  I did this (unfortunately!) with cow brains.  These arrived frozen and bloodied; I’d smash them with a hammer then puree them in a blender till they looked rather like strawberry daiquiri.  For my work I’d then spin the soupy slushy muck so fast that all the cell nuclei pelleted on the bottom of centrifuge tubes, ready to be thrown away.

brains
After a spin in the blender, all brains look the same. Photo from Wikipedia.

Alternatively, one could take a sample of the soup and simply count.  How many nuclei are here?  Then stain an equivalent sample with antibodies that recognize proteins expressed in neurons but not the other cell types present in a brain: what fraction of the nuclei were neurons?  And, voila, you have your answer!

Gabi et al. did roughly this, publishing their findings with the subtly anti-exceptionalist title “No relative expansion of the number of prefrontal neurons in primate and human evolution.”  We have more neurons than smaller primates, but only as many as you’d expect based on our increased size.

zombie-starfish(Perhaps this leaves you wondering why gorillas rarely best us on human-designed IQ tests – as it happens, the other great apes are outliers, with fewer neurons than you would expect based on the primate trends.  Some of this data was presented in a paper I discussed in my essay about the link between “origin of fire” and “origin of knowledge” myths.  In brief, the idea is that the caloric requirements of human-like brainpower demanded cooked food.  The evolutionary precursors to gorillas instead progressed toward smaller brains – which happens.  The evolutionary precursors to starfish also jettisoned their brains, making themselves rather more like zombies.)

Perhaps all these brain musings are an insufficient corrective.  After all, humans are very smart – I’m trusting that you’re getting more out of this essay than the average hamster would, even if I translated these words into squeaks.

So let’s close with one more piece of humility-inducing (humiliating) research: archaeologists have long studied the migration of early humans, trying to learn when Homo sapiens first reached various areas and what happened after they arrived.  Sadly, “what happened” was often the same: rapid extinction of all other variety of humans, first, then most other species of large animals.

All the Neanderthal disappeared shortly after Homo sapiens forayed into Europe.  There are reasons why someone might quibble with the timeline, but it seems that Homo erectus disappeared from Asia shortly after Homo sapiens arrived.  The arrival of Homo sapiens in Australia brought the extinction of all large animals other than kangaroos.  The arrival of Homo sapiens in South America presaged, again, a huge megafaunal extinction.

On evolutionary timescales, we are a slow-moving meaty wrecking ball.

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Bad as we are, we can always get worse. My country! Picture by DonkeyHotey on Flickr.

And our spread, apparently, resembles that of all other invasive species.  This is slightly less derogatory than the summation given in The Matrix – “[humans] move to an area and … multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way [they] can survive is to spread to another area.  There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern.  Do you know what it is?  A virus.  Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet.” – but only slightly.

Upon the arrival of Homo sapiens in South America, we quickly filled the entire continent to its carrying capacity, and then, after the invention of sedentary agriculture – which boosts food production sufficiently for an area to support more human farmers than hunter gatherers – resumed exponential population growth.  Although the switch to an agricultural lifestyle may have been rotten for the individual actors – the strength needed to push plows makes human sexual dimorphism more important, which is why the spread of agriculture heralded the oppression of & violence against women throughout human history – it’s certainly a great technology if our goal is to fill the world with as many miserable humans as possible.

We’ll be passing eight billion soon, a population inconceivable without modern farming technologies.  And likely unsustainable even with.

Not, again, that this makes us unique.  Plenty of species are willing to breed themselves into misery & extinction if given half the chance.  Almost any species that follows r-type population growth (this jargon signifies “quantity over quality”) – which oft seems to include Homo sapiens – is likely to do so.  My home town, wolf-less, is currently riddled with starving, sickly deer.

On deer, wolves, and Sean Carroll’s ‘The Serengeti Rules.’

On deer, wolves, and Sean Carroll’s ‘The Serengeti Rules.’

I’m a mediocre gardener. I like plants okay. And I do know the basics about what they need: water, air, sunlight, affection. But I dole out too little of that last ingredient. I’ll plant some tomatoes or lettuce or swiss chard, then just let ‘em be unless I notice something I want to eat.

Shouldn’t you water them?” K will ask after several days without rain. Or, “Shouldn’t you weed? They look cramped.”

Naw,” I say. “I want ‘em to grow up tough. I don’t wanna coddle ‘em.”

Besides, it’s never long before a half-starved deer sneaks into our yard and gnaws everything to the ground. Strips our saplings bare. Masticates flowers that were a day or two from bloom.

We’ve been trying to grow fruit trees, with the idea that our yard could be a happier place for critters of all sorts. There’d be more shelter, more shade, more to eat…

9781101874936… and those are just the local benefits. There’d also be more oxygen for everyone to breathe: in Lab Girl, Hope Jahren writes, “Every single year, at least one tree is cut down in your name. Here’s my personal request to you: if you own any private land at all, plant one tree on it this year. If you are renting a place with a yard, plant a tree in it and see if your landlord notices. If he does, insist to him that it was always there.

Every time our twiggy little tree-lets put out new shoots, though, a deer will munch them away.

Deer are like us that way. Sacrificing the future — which would benefit everyone — for a bit of ease today. Nobody wants to pay an extra couple bucks in tax for gasoline, so we might all get wrecked by climate change.

This can be frustrating. Stepping into the yard to appraise the wreckage yet again. But I’m not interested in deer kills. I want to bring back wolves.

From Carl Safina’s Beyond Words:

carl_safina“There is no peace for prey in a land without predators,” Doug Smith tells me. “There are only alternate sufferings.” Either predation makes them die or starvation makes them die. Predation is dramatic and awful, but starvation causes more widespread suffering, is more prolonged.

As the Yellowstone elk populations irrupted in the absence of wolves, wildlife managers started killing elk or shipping them to places as far-flung as Arizona and Alberta, whose elk had been completely shot out. From about 1930 to 1970, Yellowstone National Park shipped and killed thousands of elk. When that stopped, the elk again surged.

Famished elk and deer so thoroughly scrounged Yellowstone’s willows and aspen seedlings that everything from fish to birds had their lives reordered. No wolves meant too many elk; too many elk meant almost no food for beavers, which meant almost no beaver ponds for fish, which meant…

As elk fear wolves, one might say that trees and rivers fear elk. In this classic essay “Thinking Like a Mountain,” Aldo Leopold observed, “I have lived to see state after state extirpate its wolves. I have watched the face of many a newly wolfless mountain, and seen… every edible bush and seedling browsed… to death… every edible tree defoliated to the height of a saddlehorn… Too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run… Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf, long known among mountains, but seldom perceived among men.” He offered, with memorable resonance, “Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.”

Environments, just like animals, can be sick. An environment in which humans have murdered all the large predators? Where prey species flourish, overbreeding & overeating (as a population) till they stumble around rib-jutting and delirious from hunger? Where there’s little food left over for less voracious herbivores, who soon starve in turn…?

That environment is ill.

k10661In The Serengeti Rules, Sean Carroll explains the similarities between environmental illness and the cellular or physiological disruptions that cause human disease. For instance, if your body starts cranking out too much of one thing — like Bloomington’s deer or Yellowstone’s elk — you should have that checked out. You’ve got cancer.

Our local deer probably wouldn’t be happy if they knew I’d compared them to cancer cells. But the analogy (used in Carroll’s book) works pretty well. For instance, nearly all of us have cancerous cells in our body. We rely on our immune systems to find these and snuff them out. It’s when our immune system fails that a burgeoning mass of cells will form a tumor, and that is when doctors recommend knives and poison.

Nobody wants chemotherapy. It’s not fun. Doctors only use it because, if cancer cells evade your immune system and go berserk, there’s no other cure.

Similarly, I’d prefer we not have human hunters creeping through the night & putting down deer with guns. I want wolves.

A zoologist named Robert Paine designed the first experiment to measure the harms caused by the absence of a key predator — just like humans are more likely to develop cancer while immunocompromised, environments without predators more often get sick. Carroll provides a charmingly accessible description of this experiment:

Dr. Sean Carroll, HHMI

Twice a month every spring and summer, and once a month in the winter, Paine kept returning to Mukkaw to repeat his starfish-throwing ritual. On one twenty-five-foot-long by six-foot-tall stretch of rock, he removed all the starfish. On an adjacent stretch, he let nature take its course. On each plot, he counted the number and calculated the density of the inhabitants, tracking fifteen species in all.

. . .

The results of this simple experiment were astonishing. They showed that one predator could control the composition of species in a community through its prey — affecting both animals it ate as well as animals and plants that it did not eat.

This initial experiment has been repeated many times. In each case, whether the apex predators are starfish, or sea otters, or fish, or ants, or wolves, when the predator is removed, ecological diversity plummets. Carroll includes some revealing numbers:

While on sabbatical in New Zealand, Paine investigated another intertidal community at the north end of a beach near Auckland. There, he found a different starfish species called Stichaster australis that preyed on the New Zealand green-lipped mussel, the same species exported to restaurants around the world. Over a period of nine months Paine removed all starfish from one 400-square-foot area and left an adjacent, similar plot alone. He saw immediate and striking effects. The treated area quickly began to be dominated by mussels, which extended their range by about 40 percent down toward the low tide mark. Six of twenty other species initially present vanished in just eight months; within fifteen months the majority of space was occupied solely by the mussels. Interestingly, this expansion occurred despite the abundance of another large mussel predator (a sea snail).

I don’t think anyone is counting plant & animal species in my home town — suburbs aren’t known for their ecological diversity even in the best of times, and there are constant small-scale perturbations as people sculpt their lawns and gardens — but our deer population has almost certainly caused a variety of harm.

My tomatoes get eaten, sure, but so what? After all, I can buy more at the grocery store. But groundhogs and beavers don’t have that option. The diversity of plants in our parks must be falling, too. We’ll accumulate more and more of those few trees that deer don’t like to eat.

And our deer population changes the way people think about nature. This worries me most, and is something that I’ve watched happen for high school students over the course of a year. Our zombie-like hordes of stumbling, emaciated, voracious deer give people the idea that nature is something that should be conquered. Why not trammel the whole world into a manicured English garden?

Wolves would fix that.

Morning_Howl,_Howling_Wolf

The distribution of plant and animal life in our town would grow healthier. When people chanced to see the now-more-fearful deer, they’d behold more majestic specimens — human hunters cull the biggest, baddest bucks, but wolves go for the weakest. And the deer themselves would not be subject to such a miserable existence, aching and delirious from incipient starvation until suddenly stung by the bullet of a silenced gun.

Of course, wolves are scary. I get that. I have two small children. But the very dangerousness of wolves could bring other beneficial changes. My town, home to a major state university, has more than its fair share of alcohol-fueled misadventure.

After the first few drunken frat dudes get eaten by wolves, I have to imagine the others would show more restraint.