The Natural Patriot

A few months ago the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting was awarded to Kenneth Weiss and Usha Lee McFarling of the Los Angeles Times for their excellent, and sobering, series on the deteriorating ocean environment, “Altered Oceans“.   If you haven’t already read it, I strongly recommend this series (which is also available on DVD).  But be warned — it’s not a heart-warming story of majestic whales and beautiful fishes — the series captures vividly the accelerating and multifaceted crisis afflicting the last frontier, from toxic algal blooms to the acres of plastic trash swirling slowly in the mid-ocean gyres, to the acidification of the open sea.  Not for the faint at heart, but deeply necessary news for all thoughtful citizens.

Hearing about the award of the Pulitzer for this series was an added kick for me, having met Ken a few years ago at the National Center for Ecological Analysis and Synthesis in Santa Barbara and shared a beer or two and some great conversations about the state of the world while looking out over the ethereal view of the channel islands as dusk came up over the Pacific. 

But wait, there’s more: Now these authors have also been awarded the Grantham Prize for Excellence in Reporting on the Environment.  According to the Environmental News Network:

The public response to the series . . . has been overwhelmingly positive. Leaders of the bipartisan House Oceans Caucus distributed copies to every member of the House. In their cover letter, Caucus members warned that ocean conditions described in the series constitute a threat to national security, the economy and the environment, and called for action to prevent lasting damage.   

Hear hear! Congratulations (again) Ken and Usha – and thanks for the first-rate reportage in bringing this critical issue to the wide public attention that it deserves. 

If I wasn’t moderatng this contest, I’d be tempted to nominate Ken and Usha as “Natural Patriot(s) of the Year“!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The summer solstice is now behind us, meaning — paradoxically — that summer is here, and yet, that the days have begun their gradual decline.  But let’s not dwell on that now.  For those of us in the middle of North America, we are approaching Independence Day.  The day when we celebrate patriotism.  Fly the flag, grill in the back yard, burn stuff that makes big explosions, that sort of thing.

So, here at the Natural Patriot, we will be celebrating Natural Patriotism.  To do so (cue the drum roll please), we begin with a contest.  I am asking for nominations from the field, from you, my teeming legions of faithful readers, for the first annual NATURAL PATRIOT OF THE YEAR. (Making the optimistic assumption that this blog survives another year, we can make it an annual event). The goal is to recognize an individual who has contributed substantively, preferably within the last year, to showing us how to live harmoniously and happily within our limited natural means. That contribution may be in the realm of business, creative arts, science, education, service, or elsewhere.  The photo at right is of Aldo Leopold, one of the original natural patriots, and author of the seminal Sand County Almanac.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, consists of providing the following parts of the nomination:

1) Name of nominee, with a short summary of why s/he represents a model of natural patriotism and what s/he has done to deserve recognition. The more compelling this summary, the greater the chance of winning the fabulous first prize (see below).

2) Digital photo of the nominee, if available, or a link to a website where such can be found.  This is not required but would be helpful.

3) Nomination processing fee of $99.95 . 

Just kidding about the third one.  Please send your nomination(s) to me at jeduffy[at]vims[dot]edu.  In the header line write NATURAL PATRIOT NOMINATION. Or you can enter your choice as a comment below.  All nominations must be received by Midnight Greenwich Mean Time on Monday 2 July 2007. 

The criteria:

1.  The nominee need not be famous, so long as a compelling case can be made for her/his worthiness as a natural patriot.  In fact, we prefer ordinary citizens who have done something creative or made a difference.  

2. The nominee need not be an American. Any citizen of planet earth is eligible.

3.  You may nominate as many individuals as you like, since this will create the favorable impression that more people read this blog than actually do.

The lucky winner will be announced on American Independence Day, July 4th 2007.  In the event that I receive more than one nomination, all candidates will be listed in the announcement of the winner. 

First prize: The individual who nominated the eventual winner will receive the fame, prestige, and good karma of having your name mentioned on the Natural Patriot blog! (or, if this gives you the urge to flee in the opposite direction, a promise of anonymity).  

Vote early and often! Only five days left! Operators are standing by!

[Cross-posted at the Earth Forum] 

To many individuals, it seems intuitively obvious that communion with nature is beneficial to body and soul. Two decades ago E.O. Wilson memorably articulated this association as biophilia – humans’ “innate tendency to focus on life and lifelike process.”  He argued that “To an extent still undervalued in philosophy and religion, our existence depends on this propensity, our spirit is woven from it, hopes rise on its currents.”

This is a pretty bold claim.  But while Wilson’s argument for biophilia is primarily poetic and personal, there is also some intriguing scientific evidence consistent with it.  Some years ago, researchers famously showed that hospital patients recovered more quickly and needed less pain relief when their rooms looked out on trees compared with brick walls.  And subsequent studies have shown that the availability of “greenspace” (parks and areas of vegetation within urban areas) enhances various measures of human well-being — including general health, social interaction, recovery from mental fatigue, and opportunities for reflection.  

Although these benefits of greenspace are now widely recognized, the association usually has been considered in a fairly generic way.  But all greenspaces are, of course, not created equal.  In a fascinating new research paper, Richard Fuller and colleagues show for the first time that the psychological benefits of greenspace increase with the biological diversity of that space. The team used standard ecological techniques to measure diversity of plants, butterflies, and birds in 15 urban greenspaces in the English city of Sheffield.  Then they interviewed 312 people strolling through the parks about their feelings of psychological well-being, using standard approaches based in psychology and social science research.  The questions involved reflection (ability to think and gain perspective), distinct identity (feelings of uniqueness or difference associated with a particular place), continuity with the past (sense of identity across time), and attachment (emotional ties with the greenspace).  Finally, they also asked the strollers about their perceptions of species diversity within the parks. 

In a nutshell, the researchers found that several psychological benefits increase with diversity (number of species) within the greenspaces.  Specifically, reflection and perceptions of identity both increased with the diversity of plants in the space and – surprisingly – this positive influence of diversity was stronger than the expected effect of greenspace area.  In other words, people’s sense of well-being was more affected by the variety of the vegetation than by park size.  Similarly, the park users’ feelings of attachment and continuity with the past were greater in areas with more species of birds present (perhaps harking back to those idyllic days of childhood filled with birdsong).  Finally, the interviewees’ perceptions of plant and bird diversity within the parks reflected the scientifically measured species diversity more or less accurately, showing that regular folks strolling through the park indeed had a good intuitive sense of the biodiversity therein.

The new study provides some quantitative data that corroborates what many nature-lovers, hunters, and fisherfolk already sensed intuitively, and supports Wilson’s concept of biophilia, that is, that maintaining a variety of living things around us does a body (and mind) good.  And they didn’t even have to climb the mountain to ask the wise man the secret of inner peace!

Original source:

Fuller, R.A., K.N. Irvine, P. Devine-Wright, P.H. Warren, and K.J. Gaston. 2007. Psychological benefits of greenspace increase with biodiversity. Biology Letters 2007 May 15.

[Photo is from Central Park, New York City]

The life of a marine biologist turns out to involve a lot of time sitting in front of a computer screen, writing and editing papers and proposals so other people can get out in the field (though I do get my share from time to time), academic intrigues, bureaucracy, and so on.  Still I wouldn’t trade it for anything else . . .

But last week, I remembered why I got into this business in the first place. We met three old (I mean former) college buddies and families and our ringleader Professor from Spring Hill College for a few days of snorkeling, fishing, music, merrymaking and general loafing in the Florida Keys.  This was a memorable reunion since three of us (along with one compatriot who, alas, could not make it) had our introduction to the underwater world of the reef on a long, Kerouacian pilgrimage to the Keys in 1980, roughing it all the way through Florida from Mobile, Alabama in an uncovered pickup truck, with sleeping bags and guitar, surviving on peanut butter, generic beer, maybe ten bucks a day, uphill both ways — you get the picture.  

Fortunately, we could afford a few more creature comforts this time, what with kids and all.  Dave hauled his boat down from Baton Rouge so we were able to get out into the deep blue.  We ran out through the low mangrove scrub of Largo Sound across the lagoon to Molasses Reef, skipping over the turquoise sand patches in the fresh morning air, great cumulus masses of white over the tropical ocean, the Sea to ourselves on a Monday morning.  Just sitting next to my boy, watching the sun playing on the waves, and dappling the bottom.  Now and then a flying fish launching away from the approaching boat and sailing away glittering into the distance.  A turtle’s head breaks the surface briefly, then slides back in.  Watching a small squall on the distant horizon.  I was suddenly struck by the sense of being in a magical, important moment that I will remember for a long time.  Sitting next to the boy, surrounded by the tropic Sea that has been my muse for all of my adult life.  “Now”, I said to him,” you can see why I became a marine biologist, why I come out to these places again and again, to see these animals and study them.”  And I think he did see. 

Into the drink.  The water over the reef was sparkling and clear, excellent visibility. The boy held his own, taking to snorkeling like, well, a fish to water.  On the rising tide and with an offshore wind, the reef was a wonderland — fantastic visibility.  Right off the bat, at the base of the buoy line, a hawksbill turtle, just lying on the bottom.  We watched it for several minutes.  A small barracuda, a school of midnight parrotfish.  And another dive: the startling apparition of a four-foot tarpon, schools of chub and yellowtail snapper swirling around us, nearly colliding with our masks.  A nurse shark cruising the bottom.  He had been looking forward to this for weeks and, somewhat unexpectedly, it was everything he hoped it would be.  Kudos to the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary for making sure there are still some big ones around here.

The next day, skittering over a glassy sea, we got out beyond the reef into the deeps of the straits of Florida –  a magical, hypnotic day of luminous blue as far as the eye can see, above and below.  Sundrenched, windless, nothing moving but the occasional distant terns dropping into the water, signalling big fish below driving up the minnows. We trolled for an hour or so, lolling through the becalmed Sea till bang!  The one and only hit of the day, which brought up a dolphin (mahi-mahi, if you prefer) big enough to feed the whole group.  Forty-two inches stem to stern, and 23 pounds. A beautiful creature (and, I’m happy to say, a fast-growing fish whose commercial harvest is considered sustainable).

Motoring back through the clear blue morning, brilliant clouds towering on the horizon, I allowed myself to think that, yes, there is hope for the Ocean.  There is certainly plenty of serious bad news.  But being out in the deep blue adds a little perspective. The corals will not survive, in all probability, and the reefs that we dove in 1980 will not long be recognizable as we knew them.  But there are still fishes and turtles and clear blue water and sun.  We can save at least the fish — their abundance here in the protection of the Sanctuary is a hopeful sign — and if we can keep the water blue and clean and clear, I’m hopeful that one day my son’s children, or grandchildren, or perhaps their children, will see this again, after the difficult transition to a new energy regime and a new economy of materials, perhaps in boats powered by biodiesel or even electricity generated by a technology we haven’t even dreamed of yet.  May it be so.  May they one day bring their own kids to this place to see these fish and remember how it was the same when they came with their parents when they were young. 

[In recognition of World Ocean Day today, and the inaugural Carnival of the Blue: a journal entry from March 2004, Carrie Bow Cay, on the Belize Barrier Reef]

Sitting in the soft sand behind the back reef, waiting for the sun in the cloud bank as the reef comes to life – a fish ruffling the surface of the pool behind the reef, a lone grackle breaking the silence.  A surreal quality of light and atmosphere: air very calm, heavy dark clouds massed to northeast, a mackerel pink breaking through to the east. Very quiet and still.  For the first time in many weeks, I’m acutely conscious. 

0600 exactly, while staring absent-mindedly at the horizon, the sun rises above the line.  Bright low light dispersing the heavy clouds.  It strikes me that I am not a born scientist, as I’ve sometimes fancied myself.  I was not one of those children who instinctively wonders about how things work, who is constantly taking things apart.  No, I think I was born more of a mystic, mesmerized by the mere basic fact that things – and particularly animals – exist at all, that they work, more than how they work.  Perhaps this is true of children generally, who enter the world without rational reasoning or logic but with a wide-eyed wonder.  It is this that draws me again and again to this small, particular patch of sand, facing the rising sun, among the hunting pelican silhouettes, the lone turnstone, bobbing intently along the waterline, the struggling mangrove seedling and sand spurge, the spreading metallic pool of the back reef, the breathtaking drama of the gathering morning clouds.  What captures me and holds me here, paradoxically, is the blank unfathomability of this scene from a scientific perspective. 

We often think of the human soul, in our characteristically self-centered way, as the highest flowering of organic consciousness, even the pinnacle of evolution.  But I wonder if it is not, in a way, exactly the opposite, if it is not instead the thread that still connects us to our animal heritage – not the base instincts and physiological drives, but the organic connection to the environment that has birthed and sustained us, changing, through millions of years of birth and death, change, continents splitting and colliding, jungles drying, oceans freezing, plains flooding, and all through this process, some fraction of the life before us survived and has passed down, through the ages, its heritage to us: its wits.  Its ability, surely largely unconscious, to survive, its familiarity and identification with the milieu in which it must survive to continue itself.  Its consciousness of the universe,  which, as we’ve become increasingly complex and subtle organisms, manifests itself increasingly complexly and subtly: There is a bird — it means that fish are schooling below, where I can’t see.  Here is a quickening of the breeze, and cooling – rain is coming.  Here is a waving expanse of tall grass – game will be abundant.  Here is a certain type of tree, were we can escape from predators.  All of these things, blended into our animal human bond to the rest of the universe around us, the absolutely crucial essence of our survival throughout our history, and expressed in a way we barely comprehend, in a feeling of peace at calm daybreak in good weather, in contentment and fullness at the prospect of abundant and diverse animals — is this the soul? 

So perhaps science and mysticism are not so far apart.  Not in object, even if in method.  My lean was toward the mystical sense of nature.  And this, I think, may explain my attraction to systematics and taxonomy, which to my mind are in essence a celebration of the bounty of nature rather than an attempt to understand it.  Of course these fields are important to understanding how nature works, critically so, and articulating their specific role in that regard is a mandatory foundation of grant proposals and justifications of our existence as practitioners.  But if the truth be told, these things are secondary to the very fundamental, instinctual drive: biophilia.  Literally, love of life. It’s a cliché that variety is the spice of life.  This is understood by everyone, and it has many consequences, ranging from marital infidelity to hobby collecting, general human restlessness, and so on.  Surely this is a deep and fundamental part of human nature.  And the taxonomic impulse is a natural extension – the joy and excitement of discovering something entirely new.  After this, after training, after cultivation of the rational scientific method, natural science becomes a tool for understanding larger questions about the history of life and the world.  But it starts from the same place that draws a small child to pick up a colorful shell and explore it with wide eyes.

“I was like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”

Isaac Newton

[Starfish photo copyright 2004 Richard Ling.]
 

Several weeks ago, Chris Mooney and Matthew Nisbet published a perspective piece in Science on “Framing Science“, that is, on communicating science effectively to non-scientific audiences (see also their Outlook piece in the Washington Post).  They recognized that many issues of central concern to society – including hot-button political issues like evolution, stem cell research, and climate change — have important scientific elements and that scientists are not explaining the science behind them very well to the general public whose votes guide fundamental policy related to these issues.  Mooney and Nisbet’s essential point was:

“Without misrepresenting scientific information on highly contested issues, scientists must learn to actively ‘frame’ information to make it relevant to different audiences . . . Frames organize central ideas, defining a controversy to resonate with core values and assumptions. Frames pare down complex issues by giving some aspects greater emphasis. They allow citizens to rapidly identify why an issue matters, who might be responsible, and what should be done “  

This message generated a vigorous discussion that is still going on.  It’s been brought home to me by Jarrett Byrnes’ post at “I’m a chordata, urochordata” (I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him to explain the name of the blog) in which he raises some important points about how the message of our paper on ocean biodiversity was lost in the media coverage and controversy about the projected collapse of seafood by 2048. Read the rest of this entry »