We humans have prospered as a species for a number of reasons, but one is certainly the marvelous inventions that have allowed us to relax selection. Agriculture and medicine, buildings and heating systems, and traffic signals and bike helmets-all allow us to thrive. Our problem now is that many of these inventions and our resulting abundance increases the pressure on the rest of nature, rupturing ecosystems and driving other species to extinction.
And the abundance itself doesn't even nurture everyone within our own species, with some so wealthy they have gold toilets and others so poor they squat in ditches. We need to relax our pressure on the rest of nature, guided by new metaphors for our relationships with other species-metaphors that will hopefully spill over into our relationships with each other. We need to be sweeter.
This was a beautiful book in many ways, and one I got in hardcover from the library so I was able to appreciate the paper and photos; the paper is sustainably made from post-consumer waste, 100% with no new wood. The pictures varied from just illustrating a point in the text in a journalistic way to true art.
From cities to old-growth forests, from ranches reforming their practices to renew the landscape to microscopic organisms, the author lays out the case for rejecting the metaphor of the survival of the fittest in a competitive, cutthroat way, to “survival of the friendliest.” A lot of this has been covered by other ecological thinkers and writers, but I loved the juxtaposition of coffee growing in the rain forest to creating vertical gardens in cities. Perfect, relevant, interesting storytelling here that could find a wide audience and make change.
After years of working to support and expand nature in Singapore, Lena Chan has come up with her own set of down-to-earth metrics. She says that a city becomes more biophilic when the area of green cover and tree canopy increases every year; when more natural and human-created habitats are enhanced and restored with native species; when the known number of native species escalates due to discovery of new species and rediscoveries of species thought to be extinct; when the participation rate of citizen scientists expands; and when more than 50 percent of the residents can name and recognize at least ten native plants, birds, and butterflies.
Chan's final point about the importance of humans having their heart in this movement-you can't help but care about other species if you recognize them and know their names-was made over and over at the conference. Honestly, I hadn't thought of this before. I assumed that if urban areas created the conditions for the rest of nature to thrive, humans would eventually notice and be jazzed by it. Instead, many of the visionaries at the conference talked about taking active steps to jolt public interest and build a constituency for nature in their midst.
Facts and dire predictions about the bleak state we'd be in without the rest of nature don't necessarily motivate, but a bunch of cute otters on Facebook or some great storytelling or fabulous art might help. One of the first presenters, in fact, showed how a group in New York has brilliantly incorporated the arts into their campaign to have a Bronx waterway called Tibbetts Brook "daylighted" -a term that refers to the various ways people around the world are uncovering and unleashing creeks and other waterways buried by decades of urban development.
Most cities were built on top of thriving ecosystems near rivers, lakes, or oceans, lush confluences of land and water that have long attracted communities of living things. In his marvelous book Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City, ecologist Eric W. Sanderson recounts just how richly biodiverse the island once was. "If Mannahatta [the name given to the island by the Lenape people who lived there when Henry Hudson's Dutch and English sailors arrived in 1609] existed today it would be a national park-it would be the crowning glory of American national parks," Sanderson writes. "Mannahatta had more ecological communities per acre than Yellowstone, more native plant species per acre than Yosemite, and more birds than the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Mannahatta housed wolves, black bears, mountain lions, beavers, mink, and river otters; whales, porpoises, seals, and the occasional sea turtle visited its harbor."
Sanderson goes on listing the wonders of the island's flora and fauna, and later notes that "... Mannahatta was copiously well-watered, with over twenty ponds, sixty-six miles of streams, and, it has been estimated, three hundred springs." The nearby Bronx-and most other cities-was also well-watered with ponds, creeks, streams, brooks, and springs that squiggled and squirted through the greater watershed and later became inconvenient to the burgeoning settlement of humans. Tibbetts Brook was one of these. Water from twenty-five hundred acres drain into the brook, which back then meandered toward the Harlem River. But in the early twentieth century, the last mile of the brook was diverted into the city sewers. Now, up to five million gallons of fresh water from Tibbetts passes daily through the Wards Island water treatment plant. Every time there's a heavy rain, Tibbetts' fresh water overflows its underground confines and floods streets.
But what if we're applying Darwin's insights wrongly to the world and thus missing the generosity and cooperation that exist in the natural world? That's what Simard's research suggested to me.
And if we are missing the generosity and cooperation in the greater world, we are likely also missing these harmonious connections in ourselves. Because we are part of nature, of course. We exist because of complex, vibrant, creative relationships with the rest of nature and are as much a part of it as the raccoon lounging in the tree near my front door or the grasses growing along the highway. How might our behavior change if we understood the extent to which cooperation within and among species undergirds the natural world and makes it thrive? If we looked for that cooperation, just as I was instructed to look for the blue things in that gallery? Could we begin to see ourselves as partners and helpers, part of a greater fabric of giving, instead of exploiters and colonizers and wreckers?
“Mutualism is very puzzling, because it's easy to see how partners could exploit each other," Bronstein explained. "It's costly for plants to make nectar, and they could make less of it and still get as much attention from bees-so why do they make so much nectar? And the bees we're studying can just chew a hole through the plant to get nectar-it's sometimes faster than entering through the floral opening. Why don't they all just cheat? Why do they cooperate as much as they do when it doesn't seem to be in their interest?" But most mutualist partners persist in offering the goods, even when their counterparts fail to reciprocate. That appears to fly in the face of mainstream scientific thinking, which has cleaved to a belief in competition and selfishness ever since the time of Darwin.
We Need Better Metaphors of life, much more important than competition because it happens at all levels, all the time, from minuscule intracellular spaces to grander ecosystems, instantaneously as well as over evolutionary time. Your body is made of billions and billions of cells that have to interact for a common cause, and I would call that cooperation. Without that, you wouldn't be a multicellular organism." Certainly, some members of species fail to survive because they are ill-suited to withstand the demands of their environment, but Weiss and Buchanan call this the "failure of the frail'-meaning that an organism doesn't have to be the fittest to survive and repro-duce. In fact, organisms in the same species can have a range of variation and all still be fit enough to survive and reproduce.