22/11/2020

A Lesson For Humanity From 17 Million Doomed Creatures

New York Times

If this pandemic has taught us anything it’s that we cannot escape the world we have shaped.


Credit...Ole Jensen/Getty Images

Author
Margaret Renkl is a contributing opinion writer who covers flora, fauna, politics and culture in the American South. She is the author of the book Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss.”
It was the photo of the mink in Denmark, soon to be slaughtered, that hit me the hardest. In it, the animals peer from their cages with open curiosity, ears pricked forward, clever fingers grasping the wire of the cage doors as they study their surroundings. They are clearly trying to figure out what is happening. 

What’s happening, it turns out, is that mink can catch Covid-19 from human beings and from each other. Several other species — dogs, cats, hamsters, tigers, monkeys and ferrets — have contracted the virus from people, but only mink, so far, have passed the virus back to us.

Mink are native to North America, but they are farmed by the millions around the world, including here in the United States. (Let’s be clear: “Farmed,” in this context, means the animals are kept in cages until they are killed and skinned for the fur industry.) Few people come into contact with mink, so the news about Covid-19 on mink farms hasn’t elicited the kind of public terror that would no doubt ensue if dog parks became potential superspreaders.

What makes the news from Europe so alarming is that Covid-19 can mutate as it jumps between humans and mink and back again. So far these mutations have not made the virus more easily transmissible or more likely to cause severe infection. But because one set of mutations in one variant of the virus has the potential, at least theoretically, to limit the effectiveness of a Covid-19 vaccine, Danish officials made the extraordinary decision to kill every mink in the country — some 17 million animals.

It’s a heart-wrenching story of mass slaughter and mass graves. The outcry in Denmark, the world’s largest producer of mink pelts, has focused largely on the shaky legal framework for the government’s order, and on its financial devastation to fur farmers. The real question is why such farms exist in the first place.

It’s not news that life on earth is out of balance. We already know that human behavior — not just in burning fossil fuels but also in food production, wilderness fragmentation, habitat degradation and overpopulation, among other planetary depredations — has imperiled everything from global biodiversity to the actual weather. In the general public, however, warnings from scientists and environmental activists have fallen mostly on deaf ears, even when those depredations come with a cost to us.

We have known for decades what happens when we put pressure on wild animals by degrading their habitats, interrupting their ecosystems, keeping them in cages or otherwise failing them. H.I.V., Lyme, bubonic plague, anthrax, Ebola — all are among the many animal pathogens that now infect human beings. The coronavirus pandemic is just the most recent example of what nature has been telling us all along.

“When diseases move from animals to humans, and vice versa, it is usually because we have reconfigured our shared ecosystems in ways that make the transition much more likely,” Ferris Jabr wrote in The New York Times Magazine back in June. “Deforestation, mining, intensive agriculture and urban sprawl destroy natural habitats, forcing wild creatures to venture into human communities. Excessive hunting, trade and consumption of wildlife significantly increase the probability of cross-species infection.”

The conversation around conservation traditionally pits people who care about the natural world against people who say that nature is great so long as it doesn’t interfere with their plans to build a new subdivision or buy a cheap hamburger or drive a giant SUV or eat raspberries year round. So long as it doesn’t inconvenience them in any way.

The earth is paying the price for our convenience. Headlines of the last few weeks have included reports of the United States officially leaving the Paris climate agreement (followed by a record high temperature of 83 degrees Monday here in Nashville); the continuing decline of coral reefs; a devastating hurricane season; coastal plastic pollution caused by Americans; and the Trump administration’s decision to remove gray wolves from the protected species list.

Our mistake was only partly in believing that the natural world was ours for the taking. Our mistake was also in failing to understand that we ourselves are part of the natural world. If this pandemic has taught us anything it’s that we cannot escape the world we have shaped. We must begin right now to make preserving biodiversity a priority, to make protecting wildlife habitats a priority, to make living in closer harmony with our wild neighbors a priority. Keeping ourselves safe from a future of ever-renewing pandemics will mean completely reframing the way we think about the natural world.

“Animals don’t exist in order to teach us things, but that is what they have always done, and most of what they teach us is what we think we know about ourselves,” the British naturalist Helen Macdonald writes in her transcendent new essay collection, “Vesper Flights.” For far too long, human beings believed they’d been given dominion over all the Earth. Now the slaughtered minks in Denmark — and all the creatures who are dying in this human-wrought and rapidly accelerating extinction — are teaching us what we need to do to save them and ourselves, too: We must change our lives.

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It’s Kids Vs. Parents In This Award-Nominated Climate Novel

Grist
Grist / Nola Millet / W. W. Norton & Company



To any young person alarmed by the climate crisis — and frustrated with their parents’ generation for not doing enough to avert it — Lydia Millet’s latest novel may hit eerily close to home.

A Children’s Bible begins with a group of kids and their parents who are vacationing at an oceanside summer home. The adults are languorous — they spend their days dulling their senses with booze, gambling, and waiting for mealtime to roll around. Even when a summer storm causes a flood of biblical proportions, the parents turn out to be more or less useless; after some initial attempts to storm-proof the house, they quickly retreat into the numbness of their usual vices. Specifically: Ecstasy, bourbon, and sex.

A world-changing flood isn’t the only biblical theme in the book. Early on, one of the youngest kids, Jack, finds a literal children’s Bible and begins making connections between its symbols and the surrounding world. In the wake of the flood, he becomes a modern-day Noah, rescuing animals in pairs. Later on, a baby is born in a barn. There’s even a crucifixion.

W.W. Norton
After the flood, Jack and the other children set off on their own, fleeing to find a safe haven. The book’s 12 angsty teens and tweens are exasperated with their parents — with their hedonism, their denial, the way they cling to the status quo even in the face of catastrophe. “Had they had goals once?” the teenage narrator, Eve, wonders. “They shamed us. They were a cautionary tale.”

“I do feel that there has been something stuporous with my generation’s response to the life-support crises that we’re seeing,” Millet told me. “Something really dulled — a kind of stunned, passive fatalism.”

Communicating the climate crisis can be difficult, but with her latest novel, Millet deftly rises to the occasion. She has plenty of experience, having written often about climate change and mass extinction in previous works of fiction, in op-eds to the New York Times, and for conservation groups. She has a master’s degree in environmental policy and spent more than 20 years with the Center for Biological Diversity, first as a staff writer and now chief editor.

A Children’s Bible is one of five finalists for the National Book Award for fiction. Before a winner is announced on November 18, I spoke with Millet to hear her thought process behind the book. Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Q. What inspired you to write about the tension between parents and children?

A. It’s something I had been observing in children and young people. There was just this sort of righteous rage about climate and extinction and other matters of monolithic stature that I hadn’t really observed in my own generation at their age, or even now. People of my general age bracket, we just had this kind of complacency to us. For as long as I can remember, we’ve been willfully turning away from anything that seems overly dramatic, overly earnest, overly serious. I wanted to write about the way that might play out in this particular scenario, where I populate a summer house with this group of families.

Q. You have two kids. Did your role as a mother shape the way you wrote the book?

A. Yeah, I mean they’re both smart and aware, as you can’t really help being when you’re growing up with this stuff. They’re 16 and 12. But I wouldn’t say that either of them is distinctive for their anger. But I have seen it in some of their friends.

The dynamics in the book aren’t based on my personal life, but I think that if I were a kid now, I would be part of that rage. I am part of it, even as a middle-aged person. I like that there seems to be so much solidarity in the rage among the young, a kind of a community.

Q. Denial is also a big theme in your book. I think when people usually imagine climate denial, they think of the really hardcore deniers rejecting science on one side, and then the climate activists on the other side. But you add some more nuance to the idea of denial — it’s about inaction, rather than the rejection of science.

A. I think that’s what we’ll be facing with the next administration, that sort of middle-ground denialism. It’s not anti-science, it’s just a sort of slow, compromise-based grappling with incremental change, where no powerful interests are threatened. It’s about all cars turning electric or something like that — turning away from the notion that radical social transformation is needed from the top down to prevent extraordinary chaos from occurring.

I really think we’re more used to seeing this than the radical denial of President Trump or some GOP members of Congress. What we’re used to seeing is the middle-of-the-road denial that we can sort of slowly and politely talk our way into salvation. But actually we can’t, and the science tells us very clearly that we can’t. Really what we need is a profound shift away from our habits of being in this culture and in cultures across the world. Normally, the denial that we practice is a much softer, gentler denial, but it will probably take us to the very same place if we let it.

Q. Where did you get the idea to incorporate biblical allusions into your novel, and then to literally insert a children’s bible into the book?

A. I have lived with the greatest hits of the Bible for a long time. I was raised in a very secular home, but both my brother and I proved to be interested in religious myths. I’m really interested in how religions persist and don’t persist in the modern American mainstream, in the psyche. And this particular book seemed to lend itself to a kind of Old Testament narrative because I knew that I wanted to have this flood at the beginning. And I just thought, why not peg it to the greatest hits, you know? Genesis and Exodus, and then forward toward Revelation.

I didn’t want it to be any kind of literal mapping — I just wanted it to include these parallels and coincidences. I certainly didn’t build the whole structure on it. Frankly, I don’t have the biblical expertise to do that. I’m only very selectively interested in scripture. I won’t sit down and just read through Leviticus with great joy or anything like that. I’m interested in the melodrama of the Bible, and I just wanted a piece of that melodrama for myself.

Q. I know in the past you’ve written about the extinction crisis, and you have a particular interest in animals. Did that play into your decision to bring in Noah’s Ark?

A. I’ve always been transfixed by that story. I am so obsessed with animals, although not in the way that a biologist would be. I’m constantly fascinated by just the being-ness of animals. As I get older, I just find them more and more enrapturing. I can stare at them now in a way that would have bored me even 10 years ago. I think also that I’m worried for them. When I see birds or lizards or deer or many other creatures, it’s more emotional for me than it used to be. Their existence seems to be vested with the possibility of demise, you know? They seem to almost flicker before my eyes whenever I look at them.

Q. Toward the end of the book, one of the youngest characters, Jack, has this revelation where he makes a connection between science and Jesus. Do you think that’s the kind of revelation we need more of?

A. Yeah, it’s a playful little series of parallels, but I do actually think that that is the kind of symbolic meaning-making we need to engage in more. For example, many of us who are Christian in this country — and even those who don’t share my politics — believe that Christ died for our sins. He died to save us, making a sacrifice for the good of the people, for the common good. And I think it would be very appropriate for many of us to look at those sacrifices and to say, “We need to make that kind of sacrifice in our lives for our children, to redeem them and to and to save them.” That kind of story, I think, needs to be told around matters of climate change and social transformation.

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Why Scientists Are So Worried About Antarctica's Doomsday Glacier

Discover -Leslie Nemo

Thwaites Glacier in western Antarctica is in serious danger. It's swiftly melting, and a collapse could cause a dramatic increase in sea level rise.

(Credit: NASA/Wikimedia Commons)

Glaciers everywhere might be melting, but only one has earned the most terrifying nickname: the Doomsday Glacier.

Officially called the Thwaites Glacier, this mass of ice nestled into the western edge of Antarctica is melting at an alarming rate. A look at maps of the region's ice loss makes this clear, says Nick Holschuh, a geologist at Amherst College.

“If you were to zoom out and look at the whole picture, there's just this bright red spot to the edge of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet where Thwaites and [neighboring glacier] Pine Island are thinning like crazy.”

The rate at which Thwaites is slipping away and contributing to sea level rise is only half the reason researchers are concerned about its loss. Behind the glacier lies an even larger body of ice that, for as long as Thwaites is intact, is protected from contact with too-warm waters.

If Thwaites melts away, that much-larger ice block will add water to our oceans as well, further driving up sea level rise. If and when this might happen, however, is what researchers are trying to learn.

“We do know that Thwaites Glacier is quite important,” says Atsuhiro Muto, a polar geophysicist at Temple University. “But still, how much and how fast that is going to increase into the decades and centuries is still uncertain.”

Sending in the Scientists

Getting answers to these critical questions about Thwaites is driving a multiyear, international research expedition. Called the International Thwaites Glacier Collaboration, the mission brings scientists (including Holschuh and Muto) down to the glacier to inspect how it’s changing through a barrage of studies.

The project is a collaboration between the National Science Foundation and the U.K. Natural Environment Research Council, which independently recognized that Thwaites was a crucial but under-scrutinized glacier when it comes to understanding future sea level rise.

The concern over the fate of this particular patch of ice dates to the 1970s, when scientists published some of the first papers explaining how the very shape of Thwaites and the continent it connects to makes for precarious melting conditions.

Like other glaciers, Thwaites has a long, thin tongue of ice that sticks out into seawater. If you were to dive into the water beneath the protruding, visible ice and swim downward, you’d eventually see that Thwaites makes contact with rock. This interface is called the grounding line.

Britney Schmidt, a geophysicist at Georgia Tech, has, in a way, dove down to give the junction a close look. As part of the international Thwaites mission, Schmidt and her team navigated a robot submarine down to the grounding line to get a detailed understanding of the ice shape and conditions, as this is where the most important melting action is happening.

Human-caused climate change has warmed ocean waters that swirl around the grounding line. The water, which now sits above the freezing temperature of ice, melts the glacier faster than new ice can form. As the ice disappears, the grounding line retreats and less of Thwaites sits on the rock.

So long as Thwaites connects with the earth beneath it, the glacier will block warm waters from creeping up to the broader, thicker ice — the Western Antarctic Ice Sheet — sitting behind it. But if Thwaites melts enough that it lifts off, the ice sheet will be exposed, too.

And unlike the currently melting glacier, the ice sheet extends into a pit in the Earth’s crust that gets as deep as 1.5 miles below sea level in some places. When exposed ice sits lower than the water, there’s no stopping the melt, Schmidt says. “The water will flow in, the ice will thin rapidly, and then the whole thing that's been stable and sitting on a continent for thousands of years will go away.”

How Will It Turn Out?

To be clear, Thwaites melting is concerning on its own. The glacier is big and disappearing faster than others in the region. If completely liquified, Thwaites would raise sea levels by 1.5 to 3 feet. Beach shorelines would be three feet shallower than they are now — and storm surges during severe weather events would reach farther and deeper inland than ever before.

But researchers still don’t know exactly how much of the glacier will melt or when, which makes it difficult to know if the ice sheet sitting beyond Thwaites will wash away, too.

“Because it’s uncertain, Thwaites has the potential to really be the Doomsday Glacier. It also has the potential to not be so bad,” Muto says. “But as long as we still have that potential for it to be bad, we need to be doing something about it so that we don’t actually tend towards that worst-case scenario.”

By “do something,” Muto means addressing climate change, the force pushing Thwaites to melt. But we also have to prepare for some of the inevitable sea level rise that is coming our way. To behave accordingly — like put up sea walls or move out of low-lying areas — policymakers need to know how much and how fast the waterline will encroach.

“Those kinds of questions are really important because understanding the problem is only one piece of figuring out how we all respond to it," Schmidt says.

It would be nearly impossible to predict how much sea levels will rise down to the exact inch, day, or year. But researchers are keeping close tabs on what's happening to the glacier, which will give them a much better shot at providing specific indications about where the situation is headed.

Their ability to learn more than ever before about the glacier puts a slightly positive spin on the Doomsday Glacier.

“It has really kind of been an incredible exercise, bringing together an extremely diverse range of scientific expertise,” Holschuh says. “It has really allowed us to look at this system in a totally new way. Which makes me optimistic that we're going to learn a lot.”

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