Source: Inequity In the Global Village: Recycled Rhetoric and Disposable People, by Jan Knippers Black, 1999
Synopsis: Indigenous people the world over have been marginalized since…well, kind of since forever. They typically represent the poorest people on earth (as measured by GDP) and have either been ignored when considering questions of global importance, or recognized as an obstacle to progress. At risk is loss of cultural heritage, and because they have such close ties to their ancestral lands, the unique ecosystems in which they live.
Reflection:
Several years ago, when my existential crisis and I were in full embrace, I took a job presenting educational programs at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument (ORPI). My interests are varied, so I developed programs on geology, astronomy, and the philosophy of conservation. My program “To Save a Species” was about the latter.
Within the boundaries of ORPI lies Quitobaquito, which is a microecosystem consisting of a spring-fed pond of around an acre, some wetlands, and the normal riparian zone you’d expect around water, all plunked down right in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. In the water you can find the Sonoran Desert Pupfish, which can be found nowhere else on Earth. The pupfish is as indigenous a species as you can find, occupying that little pond and nowhere else, and like indigenous peoples, it has developed a host of adaptations that allow it to survive in the singular conditions of Quitobaquito.
There is a sort-of critical mass, population-wise, when talking about a species. Below a certain number of individuals, there is not enough genetic diversity to keep the species viable and hearty. 10,000 years ago, cheetahs dipped below this critical mass so that today, all cheetahs are very similar genetically. You can take skin from any cheetah, graft it on to any other, and it will not be rejected. It’s called a genetic bottleneck, and it makes a species more vulnerable. Biological staff at ORPI feared, at best, a genetic bottleneck, and at worst, extinction, of the pupfish, so serious conservation efforts were under way, including the construction of an artificial pond in which another population of pupfish could be cultivated. At this point in the program, I opened it to questions, hoping that some skeptic out there would ask the ultimate one: why? Why go to such great lengths to save such a small and insignificant organism?
Indulge me for just a moment. Let’s pretend we’re detectives, and we’re investigating a crime of such a despicable nature that failure is out of the question. If solving the case depends on knowing every nook and cranny of the house in which the crime was committed, to whom do we talk? We’d probably want talk to the person who’d lived there longest, maybe the boy who was born and raised there, spent his Saturday afternoons playing hide and seek in the attic. What if we want to know every alley and alcove in the neighborhood? We talk to the woman who’s owned the corner drugstore for the last 40 years, who’s been a fixture in the neighborhood for longer than anybody else can remember. What if we need to know the city in which the crime was committed? We talk to the beat cop who’s been watching those streets longer than any other officer. This isn’t rocket science or brain surgery. Who has more knowledge about an environment than the people who’ve been there the longest?
There is not a species on earth better adapted to the conditions at Qitobaquito than the Sonoran Desert Pupfish. In fact, it is so well adapted that to think of it as an entity apart from Quitobaquito is to view that environment superficially. The pupfish is as much Quitobaquito as the water, trees, and cattails. Such is the nature of indigenous species, human or otherwise.
We understand very well the value of organisms as they relate to us. We value things that are beautiful, or delicious, or that yield some material that is warm, comfortable or beautiful. Don’t misunderstand me. I cannot and will not pass judgment on our behavior. It is a system that has worked so well in our past that you might say it was essential for our survival. But consider for a moment the number of variables in an environment like Quitobaquito.
We can’t do it.
The known unknowns are too numerous to count, and by definition, we cannot begin to understand the unknown unknowns. Again, indulge me, because this analogy isn’t perfect, but in “A Leader’s Framework For Decision Making,” by David Snowden and Mary Boone, the authors identified four contexts in which leaders are asked to make decisions, from simple to chaotic, depending on things like patterns, knowns and unknowns, and cause and effect relationships. Any environment must fall into the complex context, in which there is flux and unpredictability, unknown unknowns, and no right answers. In such a context, a leader’s priorities are to keep the problems from getting worse, and manage in such a way that patterns can emerge.
Respecting indigenous people, protecting indigenous species and their environments is important because we just don’t know. We cannot predict the effect of losing them. Never mind moral and ethical considerations, even from the most selfish of perspectives, we don’t know if the knowledge of indigenous people or the information written in the genetic code of the pupfish, that most intimate knowledge of an environment, will be useful to us someday. But once it’s gone, there’s no getting it back, and we’ve already lost a lot.
OK, if you’ve made it this far, stick with me for just one more paragraph. You’ll note that nowhere above have I used the terms “right” or “wrong” in reference to a behavior. If possible, you won’t find those terms used in this blog. The problem with using labels such as “right” and “wrong” is that somebody, somewhere, inevitably, will disagree with you. Right and wrong have no non-subjective basis. So, what happens when the person who is “wrong” is smarter than you? What if she is stronger than you? What if he has an army and more powerful weapons? I believe there are systems that work, and systems that do not. Time may show that a behavior we labeled “wrong” is part of a system that isn’t sustainable, and that behavior goes away. It is plausible that a repugnant behavior, like eating oysters on the half-shell, is part of a system that works. But, what if you’re smarter, stronger, and control an army, and it’s you who turns out to be part of a system that is not sustainable? How do we know which systems work and which don’t? The best we can hope for right now is to keep the problems from getting worse, and wait for patterns to emerge. Thanks for stopping by.
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Great post, great thought and insight. I look forward to reading more from you.
ReplyDeleteGunnar - thanks for stopping by. I won't promise any revelations, but a lot of food for thought.
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