Julia Whitty
April 2007
By the end of the century half of all species will be extinct. Does that matter?
In the final stages of dehydration the body shrinks, robbing youth from
the young as the skin puckers, eyes recede into orbits, and the tongue
swells and cracks. Brain cells shrivel and muscles seize. The kidneys shut
down. Blood volume drops, triggering hypovolemic shock, with
its attendant respiratory and cardiac failures. These combined assaults
disrupt the chemical and electrical pathways of the body until all systems
cascade toward death.
Such is also the path of a dying species. Beyond a critical point, the
collective body of a unique kind of mammal or bird or amphibian or tree
cannot be salvaged, no matter the first aid rendered. Too few individuals
spread too far apart, or too genetically weakened, are
susceptible to even small natural disasters: a passing thunderstorm; an
unexpected freeze; drought. At fewer than 50 members, populations
experience increasingly random fluctuations until a kind of fatal arrhythmia
takes hold. Eventually, an entire genetic legacy, born in the beginnings of life on earth, is removed from the future.
Scientists recognise that species continually disappear at a background
extinction rate estimated at about one species per million per
year, with new species replacing the lost in a sustainable fashion.
Occasional mass extinctions convulse this orderly norm, followed by
excruciatingly slow recoveries as new species emerge from the remaining
gene-pool, until the world is once again repopulated by a different
catalogue of flora and fauna.
From what we understand so far, five great extinction events have reshaped
earth in cataclysmic ways in the past 439 million years,
each one wiping out between 50 and 95 per cent of the life of the day,
including the dominant life forms; the most recent event killing off the
non-avian dinosaurs. Speciations followed, but an analysis published in
Nature showed that it takes 10 million years before biological diversity
even begins to approach what existed before a die-off.
Today we're living through the sixth great extinction, sometimes known as
the Holocene extinction event. We carried its seeds with us
50,000 years ago as we migrated beyond Africa with Stone Age blades, darts,
and harpoons, entering pristine Ice Age ecosystems and changing
them forever by wiping out at least some of the unique megafauna of the
times, including, perhaps, the sabre-toothed cats and woolly
mammoths. When the ice retreated, we terminated the long and biologically
rich epoch sometimes called the Edenic period with assaults from our newest
weapons: hoes, scythes, cattle, goats, and pigs.
But, as harmful as our forebears may have been, nothing compares to what's
under way today. Throughout the 20th century the causes of
extinction - habitat degradation, overexploitation, agricultural
monocultures, human-borne invasive species, human-induced
climate-change - increased exponentially, until now in the 21st century the
rate is nothing short of explosive. The World Conservation Union's Red List
- a database measuring the global status of Earth's 1.5 million
scientifically named species - tells a haunting tale of unchecked,
unaddressed, and accelerating biocide.
When we hear of extinction, most of us think of the plight of the rhino,
tiger, panda or blue whale. But these sad sagas are only small pieces of the extinction puzzle. The overall numbers are terrifying. Of the 40,168
species that the 10,000 scientists in the World Conservation Union have
assessed, one in four mammals, one in eight birds, one in three amphibians,
one in three conifers and other gymnosperms are at risk of extinction. The
peril faced by other classes of organisms is less thoroughly analysed, but
fully 40 per cent of the examined species of planet earth are in danger,
including perhaps 51 per cent of reptiles, 52 per cent of insects, and 73
per cent of flowering plants.
By the most conservative measure - based on the last century's recorded
extinctions - the current rate of extinction is 100 times the background
rate. But the eminent Harvard biologist Edward O Wilson, and other
scientists, estimate that the true rate is more like 1,000 to 10,000 times
the background rate. The actual annual sum is only an
educated guess, because no scientist believes that the tally of life ends at
the 1.5 million species already discovered; estimates range as
high as 100 million species on earth, with 10 million as the median guess.
Bracketed between best- and worst-case scenarios, then, somewhere between
2.7 and 270 species are erased from existence every day. Including today.
We now understand that the majority of life on Earth has never been - and
will never be - known to us. In a staggering forecast, Wilson predicts that
our present course will lead to the extinction of half of all plant and
animal species by 2100.
You probably had no idea. Few do. A poll by the American Museum of Natural
History finds that seven in 10 biologists believe that mass extinction poses a colossal threat to human existence, a more serious
environmental problem than even its contributor, global warming; and
that the dangers of mass extinction are woefully underestimated by almost
everyone outside science. In the 200 years since French naturalist Georges
Cuvier first floated the concept of extinction, after examining fossil bones
and concluding "the existence of a world previous to ours, destroyed by some
sort of catastrophe", we have only slowly recognised and attempted to
correct our own catastrophic behaviour.
Some nations move more slowly than others. In 1992, an international summit
produced a treaty called the Convention on Biological Diversity that was subsequently ratified by 190 nations - all except the unlikely
coalition of the United States, Iraq, the Vatican, Somalia, Andorra and
Brunei. The European Union later called on the world to arrest the decline
of species and ecosystems by 2010. Last year, worried biodiversity experts
called for the establishment of a scientific body akin to the
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change to provide a united voice on the
extinction crisis and urge governments to action.
Yet, despite these efforts, the Red List, updated every two years, continues
to show metastatic growth. There are a few heartening examples of so-called
Lazarus species lost and then found: the wollemi pine and the mahogany
glider in Australia, the Jerdon's courser in India, the takahe in New
Zealand, and, maybe, the ivory-billed woodpecker in the United States. But
for virtually all others, the Red List is a dry
country with little hope of rain, as species ratchet down the listings from
secure to vulnerable, to endangered, to critically endangered, to extinct.
All these disappearing species are part of a fragile membrane of organisms
wrapped around the Earth so thinly, writes Wilson, that it "cannot be seen
edgewise from a space shuttle, yet so internally complex that most species
composing it remain undiscovered". We owe everything to this membrane of
life. Literally everything. The air we breathe. The food we eat. The
materials of our homes, clothes, books, computers, medicines. Goods and
services that we can't even imagine we'll someday need will come from
species we have yet to identify. The proverbial cure for cancer. The genetic
fountain of youth. Immortality.
Mortality. The living membrane we so recklessly destroy is existence itself.
Biodiversity is defined as the sum of an area's genes (the building blocks
of inheritance), species (organisms that can interbreed), and ecosystems
(amalgamations of species in their geological and chemical landscapes). The
richer an area's biodiversity, the tougher its immune system, since
biodiversity includes not only the number of species but also the number of
individuals within that species, and all the inherent genetic variations -
life's only army against the diseases of oblivion.
Yet it's a mistake to think that critical genetic pools exist only in the
gaudy show of the coral reefs, or the cacophony of the rainforest.
Although a hallmark of the desert is the sparseness of its garden, the
orderly progression of plants and the understated camouflage of its
animals, this is only an illusion. Turn the desert inside out and upside
down and you'll discover its true nature. Escaping drought and
heat, life goes underground in a tangled overexuberance of roots and burrows
reminiscent of a rainforest canopy, competing for moisture, not light. Animal trails criss-cross this subterranean realm in private
burrows engineered, inhabited, stolen, shared and fought over by ants,
beetles, wasps, cicadas, tarantulas, spiders, lizards, snakes, mice,
squirrels, rats, foxes, tortoises, badgers and coyotes.
To survive the heat and drought, desert life pioneers ingenious solutions.
Coyotes dig and maintain wells in arroyos, probing deep for water.
White-winged doves use their bodies as canteens, drinking enough when the
opportunity arises to increase their bodyweight by more than 15 per cent.
Black-tailed jack rabbits tolerate internal temperatures of 111F. Western
box turtles store water in their oversized bladders and urinate on
themselves to stay cool. Mesquite grows taproots more than 160ft deep in
search of moisture.
These life-forms and their life strategies compose what we might think of as
the "body" of the desert, with some species the lungs and
others the liver, the blood, the skin. The trend in scientific investigation
in recent decades has been toward understanding the interconnectedness of
the bodily components, i.e. the effect one species has on the others. The
loss of even one species irrevocably changes the desert (or the
tundra, rainforest, prairie, coastal estuary, coral reef, and so on) as we
know it, just as the loss of each human being changes his or her
family forever.
Nowhere is this better proven than in a 12-year study conducted in the
Chihuahuan desert by James H Brown and Edward Heske of the University of New
Mexico. When a kangaroo-rat guild composed of
three closely related species was removed, shrublands quickly converted to
grasslands, which supported fewer annual plants, which in turn supported
fewer birds. Even humble players mediate stability. So when you and I hear
of this year's extinction of the Yangtze river dolphin, and think, "how
sad", we're not calculating the deepest cost: that extinctions lead to
co-extinctions because most living things on Earth support a few symbionts,
while keystone species influence and support myriad plants and animals. Army
ants, for example, are known to support 100 known species, from beetles to
birds.
A European study finds steep declines in honeybee diversity in the past 25
years but also significant attendant declines in plants that depend on bees
for pollination - a job estimated to be worth �50bn worldwide. Meanwhile,
beekeepers in 24 American states report that perhaps 70 per cent of their
colonies have recently died off, threatening �7bn in US
agriculture. And bees are only a small part of the pollinator crisis.
One of the most alarming developments is the rapid decline not just of
species but of higher taxa, such as the class Amphibia, the
300-million-year-old group of frogs, salamanders, newts and toads hardy
enough to have preceded and then outlived most dinosaurs. Biologists first
noticed die-offs two decades ago, and, since then, have watched as seemingly
robust amphibian species vanished in as little as six months. The causes
cover the spectrum of human environmental assaults, including rising
ultraviolet radiation from a thinning ozone layer, increases in pollutants
and pesticides, habitat loss from agriculture and urbanisation, invasions of
exotic species, the wildlife trade, light pollution, and fungal diseases.
Sometimes stressors merge to form an unwholesome synergy; an African frog
brought to the West in the 1950s for use in human pregnancy tests likely
introduced a fungus deadly to native frogs. Meanwhile, a recent analysis in
Nature estimated that, in the past 20 years, at least 70 species of South
American frogs had gone extinct as a result of climate change.
In a 2004 analysis published in Science, Lian Pin Koh and his colleagues
predict that an initially modest co-extinction rate will climb alarmingly as
host extinctions rise in the near future. Graphed out, the forecast mirrors
the rising curve of an infectious disease, with the human species acting all
the parts: the pathogen, the vector, the Typhoid Mary who refuses
culpability, and, ultimately, one of up to 100 million victims.
"Rewilding" is bigger, broader, and bolder than humans have thought before.
Many conservation biologists believe it's our best hope for
arresting the sixth great extinction. Wilson calls it "mainstream
conservation writ large for future generations". This is because more of
what we've done until now - protecting pretty landscapes, attempts at
sustainable development, community-based conservation and ecosystem
management - will not preserve biodiversity through the critical next
century. By then, half of all species will be lost, by Wilson's calculation.
To save Earth's living membrane, we must put its shattered pieces back
together. Only "megapreserves" modelled on a deep scientific understanding of continent-wide ecosystem needs hold that promise. "What I
have been preparing to say is this," wrote Thoreau more than 150 years ago.
"In wildness is the preservation of the world." This, science finally
understands.
The Wildlands Project, the conservation group spearheading the drive to
rewild North America - by reconnecting remaining wildernesses (parks,
refuges, national forests, and local land trust holdings) through corridors
- calls for reconnecting wild North America in four broad "megalinkages":
along the Rocky Mountain spine of the continent from Alaska to Mexico;
across the arctic/boreal from Alaska to Labrador; along the Atlantic via the
Appalachians; and along the Pacific via the Sierra Nevada into the Baja
peninsula. Within each megalinkage, core
protected areas would be connected by mosaics of public and private lands
providing safe passage for wildlife to travel freely. Broad, vegetated
overpasses would link wilderness areas split by roads. Private landowners
would be enticed to either donate land or adopt policies of good stewardship
along critical pathways.
It's a radical vision, one the Wildlands Project expects will take 100 years
or more to complete, and one that has won the project a special enmity from
those who view environmentalists with suspicion. Yet the core brainchild of
the Wildlands Project - that true conservation must
happen on an ecosystem-wide scale - is now widely accepted. Many
conservation organisations are already collaborating on the project,
including international players such as Naturalia in Mexico, US national
heavyweights like Defenders of Wildlife, and regional experts from the
Southern Rockies Ecosystem Project to the Grand Canyon Wildlands Council.
Kim Vacariu, the South-west director of the US's Wildlands
Project, reports that ranchers are coming round, one town meeting at a time,
and that there is interest, if not yet support, from the insurance
industry and others who "face the reality of car-wildlife collisions daily".
At its heart, rewilding is based on living with the monster under the bed,
since the big, scary animals that frightened us in childhood, and
still do, are the fierce guardians of biodiversity. Without wolves,
wolverines, grizzlies, black bears, mountain lions and jaguars, wild
populations shift toward the herbivores, who proceed to eat plants into
extinction, taking birds, bees, reptiles, amphibians and rodents with them.
A tenet of ecology states that the world is green because carnivores eat
herbivores. Yet the big carnivores continue to die out because we fear and
hunt them and because they need more room than we preserve and connect. Male
wolverines, for instance, can possess home ranges of 600 sq m.
Translated, Greater London would have room for only one.
The first campaign out of the Wildlands Project's starting gate is the
"spine of the continent", along the mountains from Alaska to Mexico, today
fractured by roads, logging, oil and gas development, grazing, ski resorts,
motorised back-country recreation and sprawl.
The spine already contains dozens of core wildlands, including wilderness
areas, national parks, national monuments, wildlife refuges, and private
holdings. On the map, these scattered fragments look like debris falls from
meteorite strikes. Some are already partially buffered by surrounding
protected areas such as national forests. But all need interconnecting
linkages across public and private lands - farms, ranches, suburbia - to
facilitate the travels of big carnivores and the net of biodiversity that
they tow behind them.
The Wildlands Project has also identified the five most critically
endangered wildlife linkages along the spine, each associated with a
keystone species. Grizzlies already pinched at Crowsnest Pass on Highway
Three, between Alberta and British Columbia, will be entirely cut off from
the bigger gene pool to the north if a larger road is built. Greater sage
grouse, Canada lynx, black bears and jaguars face their own lethal obstacles
further south.
But by far the most endangered wildlife-linkage is the borderland between
the US and Mexico. The Sky Islands straddle this boundary, and some of North
America's most threatened wildlife - jaguars, bison, Sonoran pronghorn,
Mexican wolves - cross, or need to cross, here in the course of their life's
travels. Unfortunately for wildlife, Mexican workers cross here too. Men,
women, and children, running at night, one-gallon water jugs in hand.
The problem for wildlife is not so much the intrusions of illegal Mexican
workers but the 700-mile border fence proposed to keep them out. From an
ecological perspective, it will sever the spine at the lumbar, paralysing
the lower continent.
Here, in a nutshell, is all that's wrong with our treatment of nature. Amid
all the moral, practical, and legal issues with the border fence, the
biological catastrophe has barely been noted. It's as if extinction is not
contagious and we won't catch it.
If, as some indigenous people believe, the jaguar was sent to the world to
test the will and integrity of human beings, then surely we need to
reassess. Border fences have terrible consequences. One between India and
Pakistan forces starving bears and leopards, which can no longer traverse
their feeding territories, to attack villagers.
The truth is that wilderness is more dangerous to us caged than free - and
has far more value to us wild than consumed. Wilson suggests the time has
come to rename the "environmentalist view" the "real-world view", and to
replace the gross national product with the more comprehensive "genuine
progress indicator", which estimates the true environmental costs of
farming, fishing, grazing, mining, smelting, driving, flying, building,
paving, computing, medicating and so on. Until then, it's like keeping a
ledger recording income but not expenses. Like us, the Earth has a finite
budget.
Reprinted with permission from Mother Jones magazine. � 2007, Foundation for
National Progress. The Fragile Edge: Diving and Other Adventures in the South Pacific by Julia Whitty is published by Houghton
Mifflin on 7 May
Disappearing World
More than 16,000 species of the world's mammals, birds, plants and other
organisms are at present officially regarded as threatened with
extinction to one degree or another, according to the Red List.
Maintained by the Swiss-based World Conservation Union (usually known by the
initials IUCN), the Red List is one of the gloomiest books in the world, and
is set to get even gloomier.
Since 1963 it has attempted to set out the conservation status of the
planet's wildlife, in a series of categories which now range from
Extinct (naturally), through Critically Endangered, Endangered,
Vulnerable and Near-Threatened, and finishing with Least Concern. The
numbers in the "threatened" categories are steadily rising.
Taxonomists at the IUCN regularly attempt to update the list, but that is a
massive job to undertake - there are about 5,000 mammal species
in the world and about 10,000 birds, but more than 300,000 types of plant,
and undoubtedly well over a million insect species, and perhaps many more.
Some species, such as beetles living in the rainforest canopy, could become
extinct before they are even known to science.
The last Red List update, released in May last year, looked at 40,168
species and considered 16,118 to be threatened - including 7,725 animals of
all types (mammals, birds, reptiles, fish, insects etc) and 8,390 plants.
MICHAEL MCCARTHY
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