Category Archives: Eco-Politics

Dingoes On My Mind

I was feeling deeply blessed as Payi got me ready for ceremony. She helped me get rubbed up with red ochre, and she painted my face with the White-breasted Sea Eagle design using white ochre she had gathered just the day before. She painted bands of yellow ochre on my lower legs – they were dingo designs. After so many years of thinking and writing about dingoes, it was a particular thrill to know that I would be wearing their marks when I danced.

Deb with White Eagle face paint.
Deb with White Eagle face paint.

The opportunity to get back into Kurrindju Country was exhilarating. The northern dry season had turned crisp, and out in the hills and floodplains of this tropical region the silky oaks were flowering. It was a short distance from Darwin, but we saw Country that had been well burnt. The new grass and cycads were vivid, and a dingo stopped to look at us before ambling off into the bush.

I have worked with the Mak Mak mob, the White-breasted Sea Eagle clan, over many years. Payi’s mother was an inspiration – an immensely strong and knowledgeable woman. Payi, also known as Dr Linda Ford, follows in her mother’s footsteps with dignity, traditional knowledge, and a successful academic career. As part of her Australian Research Council grant she brought together people from about sixteen different clans, and several dance-ceremony traditions for three days of intense bonding, sharing, and teaching.

Payi describes her action-based cultural survival research this way: ‘Ceremonial performance is a socially powerful site of exchange, transmission and transformation of relationship to country, kin and identity. The project aims to extend the power of ceremony to benefit future generations of Indigenous people’s identity and Australia’s shared history.’

Belyuen men dancing wangga in Kurrindju Country
Belyuen men dancing wangga in Kurrindju Country

I will have more to say in a future essay about the gathering Payi organised. Just at the moment my thoughts have been brutally grabbed back to the world of man-made mass-death. For while we were celebrating cultural continuities, shared histories, multi-species communities, Country, and non-human kin, dingoes were once again being vilified, tortured, and degraded.

This latest program is a doozy, and as with so much that goes wrong in the mass-killing that lurks under the label ‘conservation’, the idea of the ‘pest’ was at the core. With the objective of killing goats on Pelorus Island in the Great Barrier Reef (Queensland), two desexed male dingoes have been taken to the island. According to the news report, two more will be brought in. The idea is that the island will be better off without introduced goats, and the expectation is that the dingoes will kill the goats. The dingoes can’t breed, and each one is fitted out with a large radio collar and a capsule of 1080 poison that can be released to kill the individual once the project is complete.

Dingo, Alexandre Roux (CC)
Dingo, Alexandre Roux (CC)

Rather than use methods that may reduce suffering, such as sharp-shooting, this program uses dingoes as human proxies, hoping they’ll do the killing. The Queensland RSPCA is concerned about the suffering of goats. Questions arise: will the dingoes actually kill the goats? Lyn Watson, a dingo expert, says they are likely to kill smaller animals first, and will not turn to goats until they reach a ‘starvation situation’. It seems probable that many goats will die very stressfully and painfully, but only after the dingoes have themselves become starved and stressed.

The ramifications of the cruelty of this program are so enormous that perhaps they haven’t fully been thought through. The 1080 poison causes terrible deaths. Once the humans have no more use for the dingoes, they are condemned to the very suffering the program purports to reduce.

One suggestion is that it is cheaper to get dingoes involved than to employ humans. Such a calculus of engineered and industrialised death is appalling. It gets worse. Dingoes are social animals. They live in family groups, and they find the meaning of their lives in the context of their family responsibilities. This is the context within which they fulfil their ecological functions. Desexed males do not constitute family groups. There is no way that they can live adequate social and ecological lives. The program condemns dingoes to anxiety and suffering in life, and terminates them with an appalling death.

Evelyn Downs Dingoes (Arian Wallach)
Evelyn Downs Dingoes (Arian Wallach)

And what about the humans in this story? To treat other living beings as objects, rather than as subjects in their own right, is to step into the domain of instrumental torture. This plan extends the human capacity to cause suffering, terror, misery, and industrialised death. It draws other creatures into human designs for mass-death, shifting the blood and suffering away from the humans. The unwanted goats are to be eliminated by proxies, purportedly for the good of the island. Those proxies, the dingoes, will then be eliminated by remote control when someone in an office somewhere triggers the 1080.

According to one report, this plan is suggested to be consistent with compassionate conservation. Let’s be clear that the program is riddled with hubris and hard-heartedness; there is no compassion, and there are no clean hands. Rather, there is the old divide and conquer mentality: identify the enemy, find an efficient solution, eliminate, terminate.

The news of this program is a timely reminder that colonisation is a multi-stranded endeavour that is worked out across human and nonhuman domains. Many current conservation schemes use industrialised killing to try to control wildlife populations, and in doing so they reproduce the same hubristic, hard-hearted determination to control the land through dispossession, appropriation, replacement and slaughter.

Use a ‘pest’ to take care of a ‘pest’ seems to be the superficial logic. It is a logic of violence and self-serving justification. It draws on the rationale of cost-benefit to avoid ethics, and it draws on a history of industrialised killing; it aims to expedite death. The logic has a certain seduction: I hate to see Country lose its flourishing abundance, and many invasives have devastating effects on diversity and abundance. I agree that we settler-descended people who have brought so much damage to these lands and waters have a duty to try to curtail the damage and to enhance Country’s capacity for resilience. At the same time, Frank Egler’s great comment comes to mind: ecosystems are not only more complex than we think, they’re more complex than we can think. The power of Country to find its own resilience is beyond human engineering. I am sure we can help, but it is the worst sort of folly to think we can engineer.

The great ethical disaster is to justify the suffering of others by reference to something that has been determined to be a ‘greater good’.

Industrialised killing is not the final story. It is contested by many settler-descended people and by many Aboriginal people. And while there is no consensus on how to care for Country that has been radically impacted by colonisation and ecocide, Land Rights offers a threshold across which old ways of living generously, and new ways of living carefully can connect.

Many years ago Bruce Rose (no relation) carried out research with Aboriginal people in Central Australia, asking about their views on feral animals. He found that the question was not so much where animals had come from, but how they had managed to fit in: ‘the worth of an animal lies in its ability to live and flourish in the environment, not in its claim to being an original component of the fauna’. He found that many Aboriginal people expressed the idea the Country itself shows who belongs and who doesn’t. He concluded that ‘ethics and value judgements which support playing favourites with some species over others’ do not fit easily into the views of Aboriginal Elders.

Cattle and Dingoes at Evelyn Downs (A. Wallach)
Cattle and Dingoes at Evelyn Downs (A. Wallach)

Country decides! A recent video made by Arian Wallach using critter cams in ‘rare and remote locations’ shows animals getting about at night in an area where they are protected from lethal controls. It is thrilling for the fact that the coming and going of a range of animals takes place without their having to adjust their activities to accommodate humans. These critter cam opportunities show what technology can do when it is not being driven by deathwork. Here we have the opportunity to see others in unguarded moments of their own lives. It may cause a whisper of embarrassment to realise how pervy it is to snoop on other creatures’ lives, but at the same time, animals are in general so wary of humans, and with such good reason, that it is only through technological mediation that we may ever be able to glimpse the beauty of their autonomous, unselfconscious living.

Among the many gifts that Aboriginal people bring to what Payi calls ‘Australia’s shared history’ is the knowledge of living with, and within, Country. This is knowledge that involves humans inhabiting webs of life as participants rather than as murderous controllers. The Pelorus Island debacle shows yet again how desperately we need such knowledge.

© Deborah Bird Rose, 2016

Resources:

To learn more about Mak Mak country, see the book we co-authored: Country of the Heart is published by Aboriginal Studies Press. Dr Linda Payi Ford’s brief summary of her research can be found on facebook (visit here).

Two articles on the Pelorus Island fiasco are particularly useful, one in the Conversation (read here), and one on ABC news (read here).

To learn more about Lyn Watson’s work with dingoes at the Sanctuary and Research Centre, visit the Foundation home page (here).

Bruce Rose’s study is called Land Management Issues: Attitudes and Perceptions Amongst Aboriginal People of Central Australia (Alice Springs: Central Land Council, 1995). I have written about this study, and about the control of ‘ferals’ more generally in my essay ‘Judas Work: Four Modes of Sorrow’ (read here).  To learn more about violent-care in conservation, see Thom van Dooren’s excellent article (read here)

Arian Wallach’s video is called ‘Dingo for Biodiversity Project 2016 Field Expedition’. It was published July 29, 2016 (view here).

It is widely accepted in the field of animal ethics that animals whose lives have been put to human uses deserve to live under conditions that offer quality of life commensurate with their needs as individuals and their nature as members of a species. This is well established in relation to zoo animals, for example.

Numerous essays on this site address pests, the suffering others, and ethics of care.

 

The Rich Are Revolting

Stung! It’s a fascinating book about jellyfish by Lisa-ann Gershwin. Having read Seasick a few years ago, I was well aware that life in Earth’s oceans and seas is suffering deeply. Stung! is nevertheless a shocker – the human feeding frenzy, along with our wilful disregard of marine well-being, is turning this great source of life into a deathzone. With one big exception.

Jellyfish, Yu-Chan Chen (CC)
Jellyfish, Yu-Chan Chen (CC)

Beautiful, dangerous, prolific, and astonishingly ‘agile’ in the opportunistic sense beloved of politicians, jellyfish are thriving. Many are lethal, and they are everywhere. Here in Australia we are familiar with some of the deadliest. We share the water with wildly toxic box jellyfish, including the ghastly Irukandji whose sting leaves its victims begging to be put out of their pain and terror. And of course there are Portuguese men o’ war, including the small bluebottles that wash up on beaches in our area here in NSW. When I lived in Darwin I regretted the twist of fate that brought stingers to the coastal waters just in those months when the weather was hottest and we most wanted to swim.

At least we humans have a choice about whether to go for a dip or stay ashore. Fish aren’t so lucky. Consider the case of a fish farm in New Zealand. Gershwin describes an event that took place in 1998 and is paradigmatic of similar events all over the world. The fish cages are circular, the fish swim around and around, and they create a vortex. Jellyfish drift, and are sucked in. In this case, a swarm of Aurelia jellies drifted into a bay and got sucked up against the cage and trapped in the mesh. They struggled; what entered the cage was mucus laced with stinging cells. Salmon inhaled the mucus and it stung them as well as blocking their gills. They were frightened and in pain. They suffocated. The more they struggled the quicker they died, which may have been a mercy. About 56,000 salmon, weighing about 3 kilos each, died in about half an hour.

Aurelia, Brian Honohan (CC)
Aurelia, Brian Honohan (CC)

Jellyfish go with the flow. Give them a nice current like the intake pipes for a nuclear power plant and they float in by the millions. The Madras Atomic Power Station in India is not unusual: there have been numerous shut-downs owing to jellyfish clogging the cooling system. Staff learned that there were 4 million jellies over a 15-month period. In 1995-6 the plant was coping with 18 tons of jellies per month. Similar events are taking place all over the world.

There is something awesome about such ancient creatures disrupting technology that is so recent, as my friend the philosopher Michelle Bastian has pointed out. Research is beginning to tell us how they manage to be doing so well even as so many ocean creatures are on the edge of extinction. Not all jelly species are increasers, and not all the increasers are thriving everywhere, but the overall picture is one of massive expansion. The damage humans are inflicting on the oceans and seas turns out to be a fine thing for jellyfish.

Irukandji, Rob Williams (CC)
Irukandji, Rob Williams (CC)

Gershwin tells us that jellyfish, in all their beauty and lethality, are weeds. She defines this unexpected term in a technical way. Weeds are not just living things that thrive in places where humans don’t want them, like the prickly asparagus fern I’m always uprooting in my garden. Characteristically, weeds are versatile opportunists. They are generalists in their consumption and tolerant of a broad range of ecological conditions. They are prolific, they disperse readily, and they resist eradication. Perhaps most importantly, they thrive in disturbed habitats. In Gershwin’s words, ‘when ecosystems wobble, weeds flourish’.

As I read this description I started to shiver. There could hardly be a more perfect description of the human species.

This is us: we are generalists and opportunists. We have dispersed rapidly, we live almost everywhere and we thrive in disruption. There are two big differences between the human and jellyfish weedy ways of life. The first concerns reproductive strategies. Very briefly, there are two main types: scientists refer to them as the r and K selection strategies. One involves large parental investment and few offspring (K), the other involves large numbers of offspring and little parental investment (r). We humans are a K-selected species; jellyfish are r-selected. Human women bear one, sometimes two, children at a time. It takes years to bring an individual to maturity, nurturing, socialising and educating them. In crazy contrast, jellyfish have several modes of reproduction; they are able to hold their future offspring until conditions are right, and then release thousands or millions in a new start-up ‘bloom’.

It might be thought that K-selected species would be at a disadvantage given that their reproductive rate is relatively slow; in general they require relatively stable ecosystems. We humans are among the equilibrium-adapted species, but many of us also go for disturbance. We make up for loss of stability by our intelligence. More specifically, we have become very good at both creating disturbances which favour our opportunistic lifeway, and evading the consequences by shifting them elsewhere.

Others suffer, while we flourish, and we have systems that work to keep it that way.

Consider two recent events here in New South Wales. According to The Guardian, ‘nearly 50 new species of flora and fauna have been added without fanfare to the federal government’s list of threatened species, including nine that are critically endangered.’ Among them are mammals, lizards, birds and plants. No new funding is available to help them survive. The main cause is habitat destruction. We humans are increasing both our numbers and our patterns of consumption. Animals, plants and ecosystems suffer. At the same time, NSW is planning to abandon its legislation against land clearing. We keep ignoring connectivities, and favouring ourselves at the expense of others.

Threatened: Greater glider, David Cook (CC)
Threatened: Greater glider, David Cook (CC)

One of my favourite thinkers is the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman. He is an old man now, and while his writing sometimes seems a bit rambly, he hits the nail on the head with every book. Recently, in Moral Blindness, he turns his attention to the latest up-grade in the power of greed. He writes of the contemporary loss of moral sensibilities, and of ‘the revolt of the rich against the poor’. This revolt is generally thought to have been given a strong boost in the Regan and Thatcher eras when politicians vigorously thrashed the social contract. Their justification had a moral tenor, so let’s be clear: the hard-won laws and policies that provide safety nets for humans and protections for nonhumans are not acts of charity; they do not steal from the rich. Rather, they involve a vision of shared and mutual well-being. An ecological understanding of this vision reveals connectivities, mutualism, and the fundamental ecological fact that ‘what goes around comes around’. Laws and policies of protection promote the circulation of goods and services with the aim of shared social and environmental good. The underlying premise – that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts – accords value to all.

The revolt of the rich has been accomplished by disrupting this social ecology. They claim that a social unit is a mere sum of individuals, and that social relations involve parasites and hosts. There is no circulation: it is all take, take, take. There is no social good; there is just the self-interest of hosts who want to scrape off pesky encumbrances.

This revolt is part of Bauman’s broader analysis of western modernity in which he makes it clear that our species is very diverse; not all people in all times have lived out the practices of destruction that are so powerful today. In his book Wasted Lives Bauman writes about the will to wealth of modern capitalism, with all its excess, redundancy and waste. He notes the practice of declaring everything that can’t be used for wealth to be disposable (‘collateral casualties’). From mining to high finance and beyond, anything that gets in the way (read humans; read plants, animals, ecosystems) is best discarded. The revolt denies any moral connection between consumption and waste, and self-righteously rejects constraints on making waste.

'Plastic ocean', Kevin Krejci (CC)
‘Plastic ocean’, Kevin Krejci (CC)

It helps to pause, to take note of the fact that we are trying to imagine the unimaginable. Waste: the oceans and seas, their capacity to sequester carbon and to produce oxygen, their capacity to support webs of life that are diverse, and their regulation of Earth’s chemistry; the atmosphere, the climate, the capacity of Earth to sustain a steady state conducive to life. All this – the very foundations of both marine and terrestrial life – all this is treated as stuff to be wasted. Wreckage creates ‘disturbances’, to use the ecological term, and almost all of us humans are being dragged along in the wake even though most of know that wreckage is neither right nor good, neither smart nor sustainable.

Entangled sperm whale, Lauren Packard (CC)
Entangled sperm whale, Lauren Packard (CC)

This brings me back to jellyfish. They thrive with disturbance, and they consume voraciously. Most creatures consume ‘down the food chain’. In general, big things eat smaller things, fast things eat slower things, and smart things eat dumber things, according to Gershwin’s non-technical explanation. But consider this strange fact: jellyfish actually eat ‘up the food chain’. In Gershwin’s words, ‘small jellyfish eat big species of clams and crabs…. Slow jellyfish eat fast species of fish and squids. Jellyfish with no brains eat species of snails and crustaceans and fish with brains.’ They eat, and they out-compete. They do this primarily because they eat the larval stages of other creatures. In fact, they take over whole ecosystems, eliminating the competition and becoming top predators. They eat each other, too, so they can keep on eating long after having eliminated almost everything else. Jellyfish are also capable of de-growth. When the going gets tough they shrink and cut back on consumption.

If jellyfish could have designed a disturbance agent to make life better for themselves and worse for others, they might well have come up with humans. We’re doing a great job of making life good for them, and together, as if in collusion, we’re accelerating irreversible changes. When jellyfish take over a destabilised ecosystem, a formerly diverse body of water ‘flips’ to jellyfish domination. As other species become extinct, it becomes less likely that flips can be reversed.

Jellyfish, Doug Letterman (CC)
Jellyfish, Doug Letterman (CC)

We are a young species, only about 100,000 years old. We’ve been hugely destructive, and we’ve shifted massive amounts of suffering elsewhere. We’ve thus far managed to evade the consequences of the fact that we really aren’t very flexible. We don’t do de-growth. We need exact levels of oxygen; we need fresh, clean water and fresh, clean food and fresh, clean air. We need care and compassion.

But jellyfish – they can handle almost anything. Salty water and fresh water –  most of them are pretty adaptable. In the ocean’s dead zones where the water lacks oxygen, jellyfish manage. They handle radioactive waste, heavy metals and all the other terrible pollutants dumped or leaked into the oceans. Climate change, another great disruptor, seems to be enhancing their life prospects.

Jellyfish have been on Earth for at least 565 million years. They’ve survived all five of the great extinctions that Earth has thus far experienced. They’ve outlived the dinosaurs and many others. It looks like they’ll survive the coming extinction as well. This time round they have a bit of help from their friends; the revolting disruptors are definitely good news for jellies.

© Deborah Bird Rose, 2016

Resources:

Lisa-ann Gershwin: Stung!  Alanna Mitchell: Seasick.  Zugmunt Bauman: Moral Blindness and Wasted Lives.

I first learned about some of the amazing facts of jellyfish life from Michelle Bastian. Her article is in press. In the meantime, her website is an interesting place to visit.

For another look at reproductive strategies see my essay ‘Thinking Like a Mantis’.

The article about threatened species that I consulted is in The Guardian (here).

There is a rich literature on the social contract. I am using the term in a non-specialised way, following Bauman, to indicate the general idea that humans give up some freedom as members of society, and that in return they gain some protections. When the rich revolt against the poor they are basically saying that protection will no longer be part of the deal. (‘The age of entitlement is over’ is a classic, recent expression of this descent into willful moral blindness.)

Big Players

There’s a lot of talk about growing inequality, and often we’re confronted with the idea that this is all just natural. Shakespeare said it best, as usual. In Pericles:

Third Fisherman: Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

First Fisherman: Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones; I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful.

Killer Whale, Matthew Allen (CC)
Killer Whale, Matthew Allen (CC)

Recently I read Bill McKibben’s review of Dark Money, the new book about the Koch brothers. It offers a sober view into the lives and deeds of men of incredible greed and selfishness; men with a totalising determination to treat the whole world – social, environmental, cultural – as a standing reserve which they and their billionaire cronies can devour or discard at will. They are completely unlike whales. Their impacts are disastrous. The Koch brothers are living proof that evil is indeed alive and well, and that it plays nauseating games with U.S. and world politics.

Here in Australia, too, we are enmeshed in systems in which big fish, the wealthy bullies, rise to the top. We are witnessing the abject failure of many key politicians to take action on the urgent environmental and social justice issues that matter for the future of life on Earth. And so I am all the more grateful for the strong moral leaders we do have. Phillip Adams hosted a great panel recently with three articulate, passionate men: Bob Brown, Julian Burnside and Kerry O’Brien. Bob Brown was for many years the leader of the Greens Party in Australia; while guiding one of the west’s first and most successful Greens parties, he became, and is today, an inspiration to the nation and the world. He is breath-takingly honest, and in this recent panel discussion he excoriated the system of powerful lobbyists, describing many current politicians as ‘venal, strong, aggressive people who do what the big money wants them to do’.

Marionettes, Priit Tammets (CC)
Marionettes, Priit Tammets (CC)

Big money, big players, big politics: it all seems to fit, and from a tooth-and-claw vision of the world around us, it could all seem perfectly natural. Recent studies in ecology tell quite a different story, though. Outside the toxic domain of human avarice, living beings are inter-entangled in fascinatingly functional ecological circuits.

Take wolves, for example. There is a perception that wolves and other top predators will have a detrimental impact on other species by the very fact of their food consumption. Recent research, however, is showing a far more interesting story of direct and indirect impacts that work their way through an ecosystem in flows (trophic cascades) that are extremely beneficial.

Wolf in Yellowstone, Oregon State University (CC)
Wolf in Yellowstone, Oregon State University (CC)

Top order predators like wolves are key ecological regulators. The effects of their predation are felt all through the system among other animals, plants, and even land forms. The most accessible study concerns wolves in Yellowstone National Park. Here the re-introduction of wolves impacted first to regulate numerous animal populations, including elk. As the elk were forced to move into marginal areas where they were less exposed to wolves, the river vegetation was able to regenerate. As erosion lessened, the rivers stabilised, and species like beavers and birds were able to return. Beavers are notable for altering river flow to produce a diversity of habitats that are beneficial to many species of mammals, fish, and birds. And so it went. The wolves were few in number; they regulate themselves as well as others, and the whole system was changed in the direction of greater functionality.

These top predators brought about trophic cascades of diversity and stability.

Yellowstone by HikrChick (CC)
Yellowstone by HikrChick (CC)

Top predators are keystone species: the term concerns relationality and connectivity. A keystone species is one with a greater impact on its ecological community than would be expected given its abundance. Across the deep time of ecological relations these impacts have become mostly beneficial. All top predators are keystone species, but not all keystone species are top predators. This is to say that there are many keystone species whose impacts are large, but who are not big charismatic carnivores like wolves or killer whales.

The wonderfully insightful scientist Stephan Harding explains: ‘You never know who the big players are in the wild world.’

Dung Beetle, by Camilo Hdo (CC)
Dung Beetle, by Camilo Hdo (CC)

Harding gives the example of dung beetles in the Amazon forest. These seemingly insignificant creatures are critically significant for the whole forest. Before, when there was greater functionality, they killed off parasites, buried seeds, and facilitated quick and efficient recycling of nutrients. In forest fragments, where the connectivities are coming apart, there is less dung because there are fewer animals. Less dung means fewer dung beetles (fewer in number and fewer in species). There have been extinctions, and the reasons include lack of good quality mates, lack of good quality habitat, and changing micro-climates. The result is that remaining forest fragments are losing their ecological health: more diseases, fewer nutrients, seeds unable to germinate. Harding concludes: ‘Seemingly insignificant, the dung beetles of the Amazon are major players in their ecological community.’ One loss leads to another, leading to more: this is the downward spiral, the loss of vitality, the extinction cascade. It  is happening all over the world.

Amazon forest by Dams999 (CC)
Amazon forest , Dams999 (CC)

Among the many lessons to be gained from thinking with dung beetles, consider this: to see any living being is to know that there is a story involving others, and that behind them are still more stories. To see the luminous beauty of a forest is to see the work of many others, including insects. Indeed, every vibrant living being and biotic community is enmeshed in looping, entangled benefits, in cascades of flowing life. From a keystone point of view, many big players may barely be visible in themselves, and are best seen through the lens of the wider community whose health tells of their activity.

Australians will soon be heading into a federal election, and the U.S. will have one next year. I would love to walk into the polling booth and cast my vote for dung beetles. I am, of course, attracted to the metaphorical dimension of this fantasy. There is an awful lot of shit in political life, more than enough for an army of insect removalists.

Dung beetle 'debate', Jochen Smolka (CC)
Dung beetle ‘debate’, Jochen Smolka (CC)

More seriously, though, I would vote for beetles because I would love to vote for forests. Indeed, each biotic community has its species and relationships: I would love to vote for the giant triton snails that eat the crown-of-thorns starfish that damage the Great Barrier Reef; I would love to vote for those great Australian regulators, the dingoes; really, I would love to vote in any and every way for the future of life on Earth. Good votes, like good ecological actions, are complex, as Aldo Leopold told us long ago: ‘A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.’

There are a lot of bullies who think they’re big players, and they are very good at what they do, which is to wreck things. They have packed huge amounts of destruction into a very short time frame. They are spatially expansive: the cascades of destruction go everywhere. And yet the truth of deep ecological time remains: the wild world is greater than politics, and the big keystone players are doing their best to keep Earth vibrant and dynamic. Long may they live!

© Deborah Bird Rose (2016)

Resources:

The quote from Pericles is found online (here).

Bill McKibben’s review of Dark Money: The Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right by Jane Meyer can be read online (here).

Philip Adams on Radio National, Late Night Live, ‘Advance Australia Where?’ (listen here).

The quote from Stephen Harding is in his article: ‘Gaia and Biodiversity’ in Gaia in Turmoil: Climate Change, Biodepletion, and Earth Ethics in an Age of Crisis. E. Crist and H. B. Rinker.

For more on top order predators, see the excellent article by Ripple and colleagues (view here). I discussed some of these issue in earlier essays relating to Australian dingoes, for example, ‘Partnership ‘Rewilding with Dingoes’ (visit here). The Yellowstone video, ‘How Wolves Change Rivers’, is terrific (view here). For more on dingoes as top predators, see the essay ‘Apologising to Dingoes’ (view here).

To watch a giant triton snail eating a crown-of-thorns starfish, view here.

Flying-foxes and the G20

While we were listening to news of the G20 gathering in Brisbane and wondering how our government would respond to the major climate change initiative that the US and China have agreed to, the weather was doing its own thing.

Just a three hour drive south from downtown Brisbane, the town of Casino in northern New South Wales was experiencing a massive heatwave with temperatures up to and above 44C (111F). At those temperatures, flying-foxes start to die of heat stress. Grey-headed flying-foxes, already declared a threatened species and struggling against a barrage of perils, were dying again.

Flying-fox, courtesy of Nick Edard
Flying-fox, courtesy of Nick Edards

From the climate point of view, the timing was odd: mid-November (late spring), and already a heat wave of this magnitude. What does the summer have in store for us all? From the flying-fox point of view, the timing was disastrous. Their birthing time is October-November. The babies were still wholly dependent on their mothers’ milk, and indeed many were still dependent on their mother all the time, even when she flew out at night for food.

Mothers and babies were most vulnerable to heat stress.

Flying-fox Mum and Bub. Courtesy of Nick Edards.
Flying-fox Mum and Bub. Courtesy of Nick Edards.

The connection between heat and death is this:  when temperatures reach 43°C (109°F) these lovely flying mammals ‘start to melt from the inside out’, as one scientist vividly described it. In the words of another scientist: in extreme heat ‘flying-foxes first start fanning their wings, then they seek shade. Next they pant heavily and spread saliva on their bodies. Finally they fall out of trees, or climb down, and crawl on the ground looking for a cooler spot. At that stage they are close to death.’

The ground beneath a flying-fox camp becomes covered with flying-foxes most of whom, but not all, are dead. Mothers who die may yet have a living baby still clinging to the breast.

In the midst of all this heat and death, carers offer their dedicated labour. Systematically they sort through piles of dead flying-foxes to find any still alive. They euthanize those who can’t be saved, and they work round the clock to save those who can be rehydrated, allowed to recuperate, and released back into the bush. It is estimated that some 3000 individuals will die.

Given the time of year, there were many young orphans. Now they are now being fostered by flying-fox carers as far afield as Sydney.

 

Flying-fox pup, Paislie Hadley (CC)
Flying-fox pup, Paislie Hadley (CC)

All of this heat and mass death was taking place around the time that climate change was being discussed at the G20 gathering in Brisbane. US President Obama spoke movingly of Australia’s vulnerability to climate change. According to one report: “The science is in, he said, and Australia and the Pacific especially need to pay attention….”

“Extreme weather events, heatwaves, fires and the need to protect our beautiful Barrier Reef for generations to come make action imperative.”

By way of response, Australia’s Prime Minister Abbot rejected everything that was put to him both by President Obama and by the international community more widely. According to the Courier Mail: “Tony Abbott has rebuffed Barack Obama’s demand for increased action on climate change and openly clashed with the US President in a fiery end to Brisbane’s G20 leaders’ summit.”

“The Prime Minister muscled up to Mr Obama behind closed doors yesterday, declaring there could be no effective action on climate change without a strong economy and strongly endorsing fossil fuels.”

“He did not address calls to pay into a global Green Climate Fund backed by the US. He also refused to commit to new emissions reduction targets in the first quarter of next year, despite being urged to do so in the final G20 communique agreed by all leaders.”

Mr Abbot was in full frontal display as a master of zombie politics. The basic elements of zombie politics are fear, cruelty toward those who are vulnerable, and the vigorous defence of an ‘us-them’ boundary dedicated to the interests of the most powerful. Both at home and in the international sphere, zombie politics assert that dialogue is not really possible; all that matters is protecting one’s ’own’ against the others. The government’s ‘us-them’ commitments were clearly shown to be sick to the core: ‘us’ was implicitly defined as extractive industries, with fossil fuels at the centre. ‘Them’ included anyone who sought dialogue toward significantly reduced carbon emissions.

Back in northern New South Wales, rescue and clean-up continue. I am thinking about the two events – mass death and zombie politics – in the same frame. Along with being sickened by a federal government that revels in not caring for anyone but the powerful, I am also struck by the quality of local leadership. While Mr Abbot was refusing to lead the country on matters that affect the lives and well-being of humans and nonhumans alike, people who were experiencing the flying-fox heat death event were showing genuine and committed concern in matters of life and death.

Little red flying-foxes at Casino, Paislie Hadley (CC)
Little red flying-foxes at Casino, Paislie Hadley (CC)

Let us acknowledge these humans who show compassion, fair-mindedness and concern:

All praise to the carers. Their names have not appeared in the articles I have read, but we knew they are there, that their work is exhausting and traumatising, and that they hold fast to their commitments in the midst of it all.

All praise to public officers who have to manage the dead bodies, and who have remained grave and thoughtful. Mr John Walker of the Richmond Valley Council described the heat death event as a tragedy: “Whatever anyone’s opinion is either side of the bat debate, no one wishes this sort of tragedy on the bats.”

All praise to local residents who are experiencing the difficulties of sharing their parks and backyards with flying-foxes and never the less are able to balance inconvenience with awe and appreciation. Mr Paul Mackay of Casino spoke in an interview about the flying-foxes in his backyard. He showed himself to be an exemplary leader in multispecies co-existence and conviviality in this time when we need ever more respect across species and amongst humans.

My daughter Chantal Jackson is a mandala artist. She made this flying-fox mandala that praises the blessings of life on earth as they come forth in the mutualism of flying-foxes and  flowering trees.

Flying-fox mandala (Chantal Jackson)
Flying-fox mandala ( Chantal Jackson)

And so, with love and respect, let us yet again mourn the suffering and deaths of our fellow creatures in this time of escalating catastrophe. And let us honour the flying-fox survivors by doing all we can to assist them in their perilous lives.

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

Resources:

For information on Mr Walker’s statements, see: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-11-17/dead-bats/5896002

For the video of interview with Mr Mackay see: http://www.northernstar.com.au/news/heatwave-kills-bat-colony/2456008/

I have written about flying-foxes, mutualism, heat stress deaths, and the glories of fly-outs in several previous essays, see for example: Lethal Heat and Flying-foxes in Outback Australia.

 

 

Mister Gough Whitlam

Today Australians celebrated the life of Gough Whitlam (11 July 1916 – 21 October 2014). This towering figure for justice was the 21st Prime Minister of the nation (Dec 1972-Nov 1975), and during his brief time in office he and his party transformed Australian social life.

Gough Whitlam by RubyGoes (CC)
Gough Whitlam by RubyGoes (CC)

I first learned about Whitlam in depth from Aboriginal people in the Victoria River District where he was affectionately and respectfully known as Mister Whitlam. Both their affection and their respect recognised his strong commitment to human rights.

The iconic moment in land rights in Australia took place when the deed to a portion of the Wave Hill cattle station was returned to traditional owners. The ceremony took place in country. Mr Whitlam poured a handful of soil into the hands of Mr Tommy Vincent Lingiari. His words became a high water mark for social justice and inter-cultural respect in Australia:

On this great day, I, Prime Minister of Australia, speak to you on behalf of all Australian people – all those who honour and love this land we live in. For them I want to say to you: I want this to acknowledge that we Australians have still much to do to redress the injustice and oppression that has for so long been the lot of Black Australians.
Vincent Lingiari, I solemnly hand to you these deeds as proof, in Australian law, that these lands belong to the Gurindji people and I put into your hands part of the earth itself as a sign that this land will be the possession of you and your children forever.

Gough Whitlam, 16 August 1975

Mr Whitlam at Daguragu (Darrell Lewis)
Mr Whitlam and Mr Lingiari at Daguragu (Darrell Lewis)

It is probably well known that Mr Lingiari led the walk-off from Wave Hill station in 1966. As I wrote in an earlier essay, Aboriginal people in the Victoria River District of the Northern Territory had lived for several generations under the authoritarian rule of cattle property owners and managers. Settler Australians had taken over the traditional Aboriginal homelands, and placed a grid of cattle properties across Indigenous country. Those Aboriginal people who survived the early years of conquest became an unfree, unpaid labour force that kept the industry alive. They were not citizens of Australia, but rather ‘wards of the state’. In fact, Hobbles Danaiyarri, one of the men who taught me about the history of the region, said that during the long era from conquest to walk-off people had been ‘prisoners in their own country’. As one example, he showed us fence posts that Aboriginal workers had had to carry because the whitefellas didn’t want to waste the lives of horses in this hard work.

 

Hobbles with fence post (Darrell Lewis, 1992)
Hobbles with fence post (Darrell Lewis, 1992)

The walk-off was meant to change all this, and its impacts were far-reaching. Over the next few years the original mob was joined by Aboriginal people from most of the other properties in the region. Locally, albeit briefly, their actions brought the cattle business to a halt. The people I lived with and continue to learn from were part of that walk-off. They left Victoria River Downs and Humbert River stations, sojourning at a distance from their own traditional countries in order, they hoped, to achieve a life of freedom for their future generations.

From the walk-off camp at Daguragu people waited out the longer-term negotiations that would enable them to achieve citizenship, and to return home with the prospect of decent wages if they still had jobs. Underlying it all was the promise of land rights. The land rights issue  was central to the meaning of freedom, as was citizenship in the Australian nation.

Gurindji Freedom Day poster
Gurindji Freedom Day poster

Mr Whitlam recognised all these justice issues when he returned part of Wave Hill station to the traditional owners. In respect and reciprocity, a group from Daguragu and Kalgaringi came to Sydney for the memorial event, bringing their participatory presence into the national ‘sorry business’.

Over the decades, the Australian nation has lost a lot of Mr Whitlam’s commitment to justice and freedom. The fact that many people are weeping today is testimony not only to their love for Mr Whitlam but also to the sad fate of his empowering vision of what Australia could be and could become.

The Aboriginal people with whom I have lived and learned told many long stories about Captain Cook, colonisation, injustice, and wrong turnings. In these stories Captain Cook is the figure of injustice; the stories are emblematic of the cruel history that has defaced Australia from the beginning of colonial encounters. I have published the main version of these stories a few times, and there’s no need to repeat it here.

Deb Rose, Gough Whitlam and Nugget Coombs (Darrell Lewis, 1994, Darwin)
Deb Rose, Gough Whitlam and Nugget Coombs (Darrell Lewis, 1994, Darwin)

 

The part of the story that comes to mind as I think today about Mr Whitlam’s legacy is the reflection that things can be different.

Old Jimmy Mangnayarri concluded the Captain Cook saga with the big question: why had it all been so hard? Why wasn’t mateship offered right from the start? That was what Jimmy Mangnayarri wanted to know: ‘Why Captain Cook never say: “Oh, come on mate, you and me live together. You and me living together, mates together. You and me can work for country all the same then.”’

Deb Rose and Old Jimmy
Old Jimmy and Deb Rose (Darrell Lewis)

I am revisiting his words today, and thinking about how Old Jimmy was shifting the dynamics from conflict and opposition to shared responsibilities. Further, he was transforming the dyad of coloniser vs. Indigenous into a triad that includes country. He put country at the heart of it all: we would be mates for a purpose, and that purpose was to take care of country.

This is the absolutely crucial issue of our time: how we may work together for country.

No one has stated our current challenge more succinctly and vigorously than Old Jimmy. And when he says that the whole purpose of living together is to work for country, we might think again about that great moment when Mr Whitlam and Mr Lingiari touched each other’s lives through an exchange of soil. For while it clearly was and will always be a moment of justice and reconciliation, it can still become something more. This exchange may yet become a moment in which country starts to take its rightful place as our focus of care and as the source and meaning of the lives of all.

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

Resources:

On Kalkaringi mob in Sydney: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-11-04/whitlam-to-be-given-farewell-from-aboriginal-friends/5865826

Hobbles Danaiyarri’s great Saga of Captain Cook is published under the title ‘The Saga of Captain Cook’, Hobbles Danaiyarri (as told to Deborah Bird Rose)’ in the prestigious volume Australia’s Empire, Oxford History of the British Empire, edited by Deryck Schreuder & Stuart Ward, Oxford University Press (2008).

An article about Old Jimmy Mangnayarri is titled ‘Mates Together: Dancing with Difference’, and is published in a book edited by Vin D’Cruz, Bernie Neville, Devika Goonewardene and Phillip Darby: As Others see Us: The Values Debate in Australia, Australian Scholarly Publishing, Melbourne.

My 1991 book Hidden Histories: Black Stories from Victoria River Downs, Humbert River, and Wave Hill stations, North Australia follows the Saga of Captain Cook through the walk-off and on into the (then) contemporary land rights era. It works primarily with Aboriginal people’s own stories, and is published by Aboriginal Studies Press. I am proud to say that it won the 1991 Jessie Litchfield Award for Literature.

Dingo Nation

September 21, 2014 is the first-ever National Day of Action for Dingoes. The date is well-chosen: it is the International Day of Peace. The General Assembly of the United Nations has dedicated this day to strengthening the values of peace ‘both within and among all nations and peoples’.

Dingo, Alexandre Roux (CC)
Dingo, Alexandre Roux (CC)

Of course one assumes that ‘nations and peoples’ means human beings. But as the war against nature acquires ever more violence, and as those who practice violence become ever more intransigent, it is clear that we need to include animals, plants, ecosystems, oceans, atmosphere, soils and much more within our concept of the nations with which we (humans) need to be making peace. As Henry Beston wrote in relation to animals (and I think his point is widely relevant to all creature-worlds): ’they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.’

NDAD has taken up the challenge in relation to Australian Dingoes (Canis dingo). According to the message on the NDAD Facebook page, the National Day of Action for Dingos was born from the advice of Dr Jane Goodall DBE at a recent meeting in Melbourne with a small group of dingo protection advocates. The objective of the event is twofold:
– to unite groups and individuals with a common goal to help dingoes
– to send a clear, united message to the Australian government about dingo protection.

Dingo in Queensland,by John Murray
Dingo in Queensland,by John Murray

My role in the emerging action has been to organise and film a conversation between myself and my friend Arian Wallach, facilitated by my friend Jane Ulman. We met the studio of our mutual friend Janet Laurence to discuss the question: ‘Can the War Against Dingoes be Stopped?’ (view here) I won’t summarise the conversation; it is fascinating and deep, and well worth the investment of 27 minutes of time.

The background to any question about peace must ask: what manner of creature is trying to make peace? We know a lot about human creatures in all our diversity, complexity, and apparent lack of capacity for holding onto peace. We know less about dingo creatures and their capacities. Thankfully, scientists like Arian Wallach and others are teaching us a lot. The research consistently reveals a complex family structure (known as a pack), collaborative care of the young, cooperative hunting, territorial defence, limits on family size and structure, individual personalities, and other features that indicate highly social animals with strong loyalties and a deep sense of duties and responsibilities. Their ability to harmonise together is a lovely indicator of their sociality, as I discussed in an earlier essay (view here).

Dingoes and other canines live within kin-based family groups. A standard anthropological definition of kinship is that kin relations are bonds of enduring solidarity based on descent from shared ancestor or formed in order to produce a new generation. These bonds of enduring solidarity are emotionally complex in animals, as indeed they are in humans; amongst all kin groups there is the work of raising the young, and work of dealing with loss. Social animals in kin groups are deeply invested in each other, and so it follows that the loss of a member entails grief – that is, the experience of irreversible loss of those with whom one’s own life is entangled is both felt and shared.

Evelyn Downs Dingoes (Arian Wallach)
Evelyn Downs Dingoes (Arian Wallach)

Recently, an instance of dingoes grieving was documented in the ‘wild’. It is unlikely that anyone who knows dingoes or who understands kinship will be surprised by this fact, but apparently there has been a dearth of scientific documentation. Rob Appleby, an ecologist at Griffith University in Brisbane documented a dingo family responding to the death of one of the pups. Their behaviour was similar to that of primates and other animals that grieve, such as dolphins, according to the report  by Joseph Bennington-Castro. In his words:

“The dingo family consisted of a mother and five pups about 3 months old. When Appleby stumbled upon the family, one of the pups was dying — it was lying on the ground, where it occasionally lifted its head, whimpered and sometimes convulsed. The pup’s mother and littermates roamed around nearby, returning to the pup to sniff him and whimper every once in a while. The pup died within half an hour, but Appleby continued to periodically observe the family over the next two days.’

This report includes a brief bit of video footage of the mother moving her dead pup when Appleby got too close (view here). In Appleby’s words: ‘there was a lot of distress on the part of the mother’. She moved her pup three times, staying near it, not wanting to leave it. The surviving pups also changed their behaviour, becoming more subdued when they got close to the dead one.

Other fascinating reports about the emotional lives of dingoes show beyond doubt that it is possible to make peace with dingoes.

More than that, they show that peace actually has the potential to become precious friendship. The long history of alliance between humans and canines means that some canines may on occasion include humans in their family groups. Indeed, the Dingo Nation can be understood as a great multispecies group with many clans and families, some of whom include humans and some of whom do not.

Dingo, Bulbexpos (CC)
Dingo, Bulbexpos (CC)

A short but compelling report about John Cooper’s ‘love story’ offers a beautiful account of family interactions. John Cooper is a landowner with the duty of controlling dingoes on his property. He took the novel approach of making friends with the pack on his place, and leaving it to them to control the dingo population. The video of this extraordinary man shows him interacting with and the dingo family that allowed him to become part of the pack (view here). It includes a glimpse into the den where the mother dingo is nursing her pups, giving us a rare view of what Appleby has called ‘an enduring mother-infant bond’. Few things on the web are as totally delightful as John Cooper playing harmonica accompanied by a dingo.

Tehree Gordon also had an awesome experience of being incorporated into the family. She and her husband Hamish own the Jirrahlinga Koala and Wildlife Sanctuary – Dingo Conservation Centre, and she told her precious story on radio national’s ‘bush telegraph’ program. Shortly after the Gordons bought the Sanctuary the senior dingo died. There were about a hundred dingoes on the property at that time, and the loss of the matriarch was felt by all of them. As Tehree described the day, the dead dingo was down in the valley and the living dingoes sat quietly on a nearby ridge. Slowly, in groups of three, they went down to their dead mate and sat with her. One sat at her head, and one on each side. They stayed for about ten minutes and then, giving her a final sniff, they moved away and another group of three took their place. Tehree was not sure if she fit into the ritual at all, but she took a place further down the line, and when the time came she moved down the hill accompanied by two dingoes. She sat at the head, the other two took the sides, and they all remained there for ten minutes. Then she touched the dead dingo’s head, the others sniffed the body, and they all moved back up the hill.

It is one thing to witness rituals of grief, quite another to be included in them. And yet, as Tehree points out, there is nothing truly remarkable about all of this: ‘We all need to understand that anyone or anything who is close to something else has to grieve for the loss.’

Making peace would mean bringing an end to all the needless loss.

There can be no doubt that this is a time of immense suffering. Dingoes experience the physical pain of poisons, traps and bullets, and the survivors experience the grief and disorientation that comes with losing family and all one’s familiar ways of social and cultural life. The people who are working toward greater understanding of dingoes and a better future for them and for humans often suffer as well. I have visited some of these courageous people, and I will continue to visit and to write.

Dingo, Leo (CC)
Dingo, Leo (CC)

For now, in honour of the Dingo Nation’s canine and human members:

To all who suffer, and all who struggle to hold families together in face of on-going assault ~ Dog Bless!

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

ndad

Resources:

The NDAD Facebook page is a rich site of information and lively action on behalf of the Dingo Nation.

In 2012 I made a short home video of a dingo family at the Dingo Discovery and Research Centre in Victoria (view here). The Centre is one of numerous dingo rescue and conservation centres in Australia. Run by incredibly dedicated people who work non-stop to put an end to the war against dingoes, this and other centres are places where peace is lived out day by day in the most inspiring ways.

The ABC radio program featuring Tehree Gordon, Brad Purcell and myself can be downloaded (view here).

The Henry Beston quote is from his book The Outermost House.

 

Rock Orchids ~ Tricksters Deluxe

I’m packing my bags (yet again), this time for another trip to North America. The thought of late summer in the Pacific North West is enticing, but at the same time I hate the thought of missing out on the rock orchids here in Sydney.

D. speciosum, about to flower
D. speciosum, about to flower

This is one of those annoying times of year. From inside the house the garden looks inviting – blue sky, sun, birds, wattles and other flowers, and lots of enjoyable work to do. However, step outside and the cold wind bites, the skies cloud over, rain suddenly arrives, everything loses its charm, and one’s big desire is to get back indoors.

Just at this time of increasing annoyance, the rock orchids burst forth. These glorious, mass-flowering beauties are native to this area. They love living in sandstone. They don’t ask for a lot of sun, they’re happy enough in shade. They don’t ask for a lot of nutrients, they grow on rocks. They don’t demand much at all, and yet they manage this annual abundance of glorious flowers. When I get annoyed, I think of these orchids: how they thrive amongst the stones, and bring blessings of beauty to everyone who has ever wondered if winter would ever end!

Yesterday I was hit by a terrible thought: what if there were no more rock orchids on earth? In truth, these beautiful plants are not threatened, although their numbers in the wild are down because habitat is depleted. I wasn’t hit by fear for orchids, exactly. Rather I was jolted by that crushing realisation that we are living amongst terrible losses. The losses are cascading and we don’t know where, or if, they will stop. Almost anything could be at risk; most probably almost everything is at risk. I went rushing off to the native garden to see if the orchids were blooming yet, as they always come out first over there.

Sunpho, (CC)
D. speciosum

One of my former research colleagues, the late Frank Fenner, predicted that in a hundred years or so the human species will have driven itself to extinction. His views are extreme, but they touch on this crucial point: we are driving the earth into greater and greater loss of ecosystems; we are stimulating extinction cascades that are expanding rapidly and in many cases unstoppably and unpredictably; we are producing the most extravagant amounts of toxins, garbage and waste; and we are consuming and wasting all that lives in the most careless fashion. Whether the world goes on with us or without us, it will be a world radically disfigured by us. The kind of time that it will take for the earth to recover diversity and stability is beyond our comprehension.

Often when trying to think about what seems unthinkable I have to remind myself that answers to big questions about life do not arise from one species alone. Our lives are held within sustaining webs of life, and all our philosophy, and all our action, and all our desires unfold most effectively when we pay attention to the others.

We humans are not alone here on earth. Other creatures are in these same webs: there are no other webs.

For today I am turning to rock orchids and wondering about their lives. I don’t want to extract a moral lesson, or turn them into an allegory. I just want to cherish them more deeply by understanding them better. And what a story their lives tell!

In my area the main rock orchids are Dendrobium species: the yellow D. speciosum and the ‘pink rock orchid’ D. kingianum. They are lithophytes meaning that they live on rocks: their long aerial roots find crevices both to hold on to and from which to access nutrients.

D. kingianum
D. kingianum

These are very low nutrient creatures; they get their main sustenance from air, rain, debris and their own dead tissue. Some of what they glean they store in ‘pseudobulbs’ as a hedge against hard times, particularly dry spells. The rock orchids themselves provide habitat for others – fungi of course, and also animals and bacteria. They are home to a beetle known as the Dendrobium beetle. The stems are edible; they were eaten by Aboriginal people and are opportunistically browsed by other plant eaters.

Another side of this low nutrient story is the strong symbiotic mutualism they share with a microscopic fungus. This mutually beneficial relationship is known as a mycorrhiza. Orchid and fungus are not parasitic on each other, since both seem to flourish, but the best known fact seems to be that orchids simply could not live and reproduce without their fungi. In fact, orchid seeds are so low in nutrients that they cannot germinate without the help of these symbionts who supply the developing plant with nutrients until it is able to photosynthesize. Given the cycles of drought that characterise Australia’s ENSO-driven climate, new generations of rock orchids may have long periods of dependency.

Sunpho (CC)
Sunpho (CC)

Yet another side of this story is orchids’ relationship with pollinators. This is not symbiotic, at least as far as is now known. Botanists talk about lures and rewards: angiosperms invite or lure others through their dazzling brilliance of colour, scent and shape, and they ‘reward’ their visitors with nutrients. Rock orchids are among the tricksters in the world of lures and rewards. They produce great, showy, masses of flowers, and when the sun shines their fragrance comes forth.

DSC01895

Orchids offer up all the signs that send forth the great angiosperm message: ‘nectar’. This is explained in delightfully technical language by two orchid scientists:

‘Potential pollinators of Dendrobium speciosum are attracted to the plant by large, cream to yellow, finely segmented, aromatic inflorescences. Plants in natural populations flower synchronously, producing a massive display. Osmophores scattered over the perianth produce a strong, sweet scent in sunny weather. Nectar-seeking insects are guided to the central, reproductive area of the flower by the colour gradation of the perianth, including an area of high U.V. reflection near the centre, and a bright yellow ridge along the labellum. A tube formed by the labellum and column directs the potential pollinators.’

In the words of these scientists, this glorious invitation is akin to ‘false advertising’.

The pollinators (mainly bees) come and do the work of pollination, but they get no reward because in spite of all the showy appearance there is no nectar. Unlike the mistletoes I discussed in an earlier essay that get on in the world though abundant and promiscuous generosity, rock orchids get on through targeted deception.

These brilliant tricksters have developed fabulously enticing beauty. The human fascination with orchids is just as keen (I imagine) as that of bees. And yet the delicacy of the flowers is part of an extremely successful adaptation to harsh conditions. Their way of life is anchored at the edge of the nutrient world and is adapted to many extremes. From 45° heat in summer (115F) to winter frosts, through winds, droughts, bushfires and deluges, rock orchids hold on in their stony bastions and put forth great masses of flowers year after year except when recovering from bushfires. The great confederacy of Orchidaceae has been around for perhaps 130 million years, and the orchids here in Sydney are probably much the same as their direct ancestors who were here with the dinosaurs.

The diversity of their interactions is captivating: they are food for some creatures, including humans; they are symbionts with others. And then they are tricksters with yet others! Symbiotic, delicate, tough, fragrant and with great survival strategies, their multispecies complexities testify to the diversity of interactions that are woven into the webs of life.

All praise to orchids ~ Every leaf, every stem, every tough little kiss of life.

D. kingianum
D. kingianum

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

Resources:

Frank Fenner’s article (view here)

On symbiotic mutualism between orchids and fungi, see ‘hunter valley backyard nature

On ‘false advertising’, see ‘The Pollination Biology of Dendrobium speciosum Smith: a Case of False Advertising?’ by AT Slater and DM Calder, published in the Australian Journal of Botany 36(2) 145 – 158, 1988.

Thinking About Nature With Bonhoeffer

I read something today that reminded me of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s great words of wisdom. Bonhoeffer was a German theologian who refused to support the Nazi regime. As a Christian he could not, and as a theologian he could not. The depth and sincerity of his commitment to ‘love thy neighbour’ made it impossible for him to join the persecutors. His refusal put him at odds with the majority of German Christians who implicitly or explicitly acquiesced with the regime. His refusal went further, to acts of resistance including attempts to assassinate Hitler.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, St Johannes Basilikum, Sludge G (CC)
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, St Johannes Basilikum, Sludge G (CC)

At a time when his colleague Niemöller had been imprisoned for eight years in concentration camps as the personal prisoner of Adolf Hitler, Bonhoeffer wrote these wonderful words:

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionist, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –
because I was not a Jew.
And then they came for me –
and there was no one left to speak for me.”

In the end, Bonhoeffer too was arrested and imprisoned. Even as the Nazi regime crumbled, one of Hitler’s last acts was to require some of his loyal henchmen to ensure that Bonhoeffer be executed. And so he was hanged, just two weeks before the liberating army arrived, and three weeks before Hitler committed suicide.

Although I am not a Christian, I am inspired by the perennial question ‘who is my neighbour’. Bonhoeffer is telling us that the neighbour is not only the one who is in some way like me. The neighbour is the stranger, the ‘other’, the ones whose lives disrupt my comfortable self-enclosure. The connection I was seeing today concerns the natural world, and so I am bringing social justice and ecological justice together in thinking with Bonhoeffer.

The division between social and natural is completely arbitrary and has its roots in the idea that humans are separate from and in some ways at odds with nature. This separation is false in the way it separates humans from all the others, and it is equally false in the way it lumps all humans together.

These days many of our biggest struggles are between two main human types: those who understand themselves as part of nature and want to see both humans and nature flourish vs. those who either despise nature or see themselves as its masters and conquerors. For this latter group nature seems to be only a collection of ‘things’ that matter to the extent that they can be made profitable.

For those of us who understand ourselves to be part of nature, our neighbours are not only human, but are all those fellow participants in living systems: forests, reefs, dingoes, Tassie devils, flying-foxes and the myriad other earth creatures.

Tasmanian Devil, Jamie Muchall (CC)
Tasmanian Devil, Jamie Muchall (CC)

Bonhoeffer was not saying that we should defend others because it is in our self-interest. Rather, he is saying that we are all part of this world of life. Turn our back on any of the others and we turn our back on anyone’s claim to be part of the world of life. As a theologian he was almost certainly saying that to turn away from others is to turn away from God.

We who love the nonhuman world and want to see earth life thrive are often, I know, beset with the question: how does one keep going when the odds seem so stacked against us and all that we love? Where is hope to be found, and when it seems hopeless, what sources of inspiration keep us going?

I was inspired by an article from the  Wilderness Society concerning the Tasmanian Forests. The Tasmanian Legislature has been debating whether or not to throw out the Tasmanian Forest Agreement. This agreement brought forest activists, the timber industry, the unions, and other key groups together to work out a path that would be good for the forests and good for people. This long work of reconciliation took decades, and it set in place a legal agreement that was recognised by all the parties.

Tasmanian forest, Tatters (CC)
Tasmanian forest, Tatters (CC)

Now it is on the line. The report from  the Wilderness Society expresses the matter perfectly:

“With questions and opposition from the independent upper house and key stakeholders – including environment groups – flying thick and fast, and the novice Government amending its own legislation on the fly, the bill may yet fail or be heavily changed in the coming days.

What is clear, however, is that if the bill passes, the Tasmanian Government is lining itself up for years of pain. The Tasmanian community will hold the Government responsible for damaging the environment, hurting Tasmania’s reputation, and taking an axe to a forestry industry slowly recovering as a result of unprecedented collaboration between former adversaries….

The Tasmanian Forest Agreement has already delivered a securely-protected World Heritage area, kept the chainsaws away from half a million hectares of forest, and shown that a strong commitment to working with past adversaries can deliver for nature.

Regardless of the outcomes of the impending vote, the Wilderness Society is committed to working with the community to see Tasmania’s old growth forests and wild places protected – forever.”

Commitment as Bonhoeffer advocated recognises that ultimately we are all connected, and ultimately we must defend the world around us, even when it may seem hopeless. Over the last few years I have met many people who rescue and care for wildlife and who are activists on behalf of nonhumans. I am constantly awed by the way they keep on working with love and dedication even when the opposition is brutal and relentless.

I keep asking myself questions that resonate with Bonhoeffer and that I know trouble concerned people everywhere. This is the ‘where was I?’ question.

They came for the reef, and where was I?
They came for the flying-foxes, and where was I?
They came for the dingoes, and where was I?
They came for the forests, and where was I?

We can’t all be everywhere at once, and as we see so much that we love being trashed, it seems particularly vital to remember that we are part of a multispecies community of care. Within this widely inclusive community, it is good to remember that we humans too are creatures to be treasured. The nonhuman world needs defenders. The defenders need support from others. Who will be there?

Today it was great to read that the Tasmanian government has postponed debate on the bill to destroy the forest agreement. I love their slogan:

‘Governments come and go but my love for nature only grows’.

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

 

Resources: There is a wonderful biography of Bonhoeffer, written by Eric Metaxas, titled Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy (2010)

The full text of the Wilderness Society article is available online (view here).

The more recent announcement with the great slogan is also available (view here)

In an earlier essay and accompanying video I address the Prime Minister’s efforts to remove some of the Tasmanian forests from their World Heritage Listing (view here).

 

So Many Faces

I am reading Tim Low’s terrific new book Where Song Began. Tim Low is a renowned science writer, and in this new study he tells fascinating stories about Australia’s birds.

Pied butcherbird, Hollis Taylor
Pied butcherbird, Hollis Taylor

The birdsong of the world originated here in Australia.

It is wonderful to see the evidence piling up. For decades, though, this conclusion was resisted by many biologists who simply could not open their minds to the idea that something as significant on earth as birdsong could have evolved in a place so far from what many them liked to think of as the centre of earth-life, i.e., the northern hemisphere. And yet, DNA evidence is now showing beyond any doubt that Australia was the original home of songbirds. In Tim’s words, birdsong brought ‘a new dawn for planetary acoustics’.

Tim Low is a biologist with a strong interest in connectivity. The story of Australian birds is told in the context of soils, sunshine, trees, seeds, sugars and nesting areas. In the case of parrots, for example, primary breeding sites are tree hollows. Eucalyptus hollows can take hundreds of years to form. In one of the great understatements of the year, Low notes that ‘the demise of large trees in farmland raises concerns about future parrot success’.

Young grey-headed flying-fox in care
Land Clearing, Queensland

I visited Tim last week, and as I was driving through his neck of the woods there was a lot going on both in the country around me and in news from elsewhere. It was adding up to a pretty awful moment in the ecological life of this amazing continent that had the exuberance to bring forth birdsong.

I saw a lot of evidence for the ‘demise of large trees’, and I am moved to express myself in more vigorous language: I saw trees being killed and paddocks massacred. I know from my study of land clearing issues that a lot of dying was happening here in addition to the highly visible trees.

According to a Bush Heritage publication on Land Clearing and its Impacts, Australia is still clearing way too many trees, and the effects are not only on the trees themselves but on all the other creatures who live in and amongst trees, including those who inhabit the understory. This report does not pull its punches:

“Over 5 million parrots, honeyeaters, robins and other land birds are killed each year by land clearing. For every 100 hectares of bush destroyed, between 1,000 and 2,000 birds die from exposure, starvation and stress. Half of Australia’s terrestrial bird species may become extinct this century unless habitat destruction is rapidly controlled.

Nearly half our mammal species, including some wombats, wallabies and bandicoots, are either extinct or threatened with extinction as a result of land clearing, habitat destruction and other threats.”

Another point made in this report concerns that great ecological dictum: ‘what goes around comes around.’ Bush Heritage warns that land clearing increases the potential for salinity, adversely affecting both soils and water, and thus generating negative impacts for farms, towns and cities.

One side of the story is the lack of political will, another side is human intransigence. As it happened, I was driving past recently cleared paddocks whilst listening to reports on the radio about the funeral of Glen Turner. Mr Turner was an environment inspector in the state of New South Wales, a government employee whose responsibilities included monitoring land clearing. He was shot and killed, and a local farmer Ian Robert Turnbull has been arrested. The news reports state that Mr Turnbull had a history of conflict over land clearing. Previously he had been in court over the matter of ‘clearing’ some 3000 trees. We will learn more about it in due course. In the meantime, Mr Glen Turner, a local man who was said to have loved farming life and the rural community, is gone forever.

One of the many reasons we take death seriously is that individual death, like species extinction, doesn’t offer return tickets.

There is so much evidence about the value of trees on properties that one is left wondering why people become so intransigent. It strikes me that some people get smart when they have to figure out how to make a living that will be legal, sustainable, and ecologically inclusive.  Others, it seems, just get mean.

The human capacity for meanness was on display in Brisbane during this same week in another case that also involved clearing. According to a report ‘Bat Battle on the Bayside’, some people whose homes are adjacent to a park where the land is zoned ‘environmental reserve’ are annoyed. Apparently the fact that the environmental reserve was actually fulfilling its function as a haven for both humans and nonhumans was not appreciated. It is not clear that all residents felt equally angry about having to live in proximity to flying-foxes from time to time; what was clear was that the on-going actions of the strident residents led to a response that was euphemistically called ‘trimming vegetation under storey’.

Trees, understory, and flying-foxes, Redlands City
Trees, understory, and flying-foxes, Redlands City

The ‘trimming’ took place at night because it was anticipated that the flying-foxes would be out foraging, and thus would not be directly disturbed by the machinery and activity. The method involved a machine that bites into the understory, chomps it up, and mulches it on the spot. Plants, animals and fungi go in one end, mulch comes out the other, and everything that was alive – birds, eggs, skinks, snakes … whatever was sessile or not quick enough, was ground up and spat out.

The point in relation to flying-foxes was that they do not like camping in areas where there is no undergrowth. All the deaths in the understory would, it seems, be validated because the changes would encourage the flying-foxes to move a few meters further away from human homes.

Many grey-headed flying-foxes were camping in this area (Pteropus poliocephalus). This species is listed as vulnerable to extinction and protected under the Environmental Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act (1999). This is one of the mammal species the Bush Heritage Report was discussing in relation to vulnerability and land clearing. In addition to species vulnerability, many individuals are pregnant females, and are now or will soon enter the critical third trimester. Both they and the next generation are at risk in actions that cause shock and stress.

Young grey-headed flying-fox in care
Young grey-headed flying-fox in care

The most strident resident (at least in the news) was Annette Brown. She called the flying-foxes ‘noisy and smelly’, and said she ‘wants them gone’. Ms Brown’s televised statements encapsulate to perfection the lack of thought around these issues.

1) living in a home near land zoned for environmental reserve and deciding that nature will have to go

2) remaining indifferent to the direct and indirect suffering that has been and will continue to be caused by the ‘trimming of understory’

3) failing to connect the dots: flying-foxes lose their bush habitats through land clearing, then they are shoved from one spot to another in urban areas.

The pressure comes from everywhere, and if there is a grievance it would  more fairly be directed against other humans.

I went to visit the site on the morning after the first night of ‘trimming’. When I got there the sky was thick with flying-foxes flapping about in agitated consternation. This was in broad daylight, a most unusual event for these nocturnal creatures. I hear that some of the residents may be out there during the day harassing the flying-foxes in order further to force them away.

Mr Bill Lyon, Redlands City Council CEO, spoke of the action as a limited effort to make more space between human homes and flying-foxes. He was well aware that dispersal would just shift ‘the problem’ somewhere else, and he seemed to be hoping not to do that. Ms Brown had no such concerns. In her words: ‘I don’t care where they go. I just want them gone.’

In the same news report, Denise Wade (Bat Conservation and Rescue, Queensland), made the point that loss of habitat is pushing flying-foxes closer to humans. In her words: ‘It’s about planting alternative habitat and preserving the habitat that we have left. I see a very bleak future for bats.’

Helicoppter in Charters Towers, Photo: Adele Foster
Helicopter in Charters Towers, Photo: Adele Foster

I have been interviewing many talented and committed rescue and care volunteers, and this perception of a bleak future is widespread. Every little bit hurts, and of course much of what hurts is by no means small, as we know from the actions in numerous Queensland towns and cities in recent years (discussed here).

Over the course of those few days in Queensland I was gaining the sense of a desperately disturbing deep-time trajectory. The steps go like this: this is the continent that brought forth birdsong and enriched the whole earth; this is the continent that was inhabited by Aboriginal people for millennia under a cultural regime we now know as ‘caring for country’; this is the country that now has the highest rate of mammalian extinction in the contemporary world.

When Tim told me that another animal appears to have gone extinct I can’t say I was shocked. The only surprise was that it was a lizard. The Christmas Island Forest Skink suffered a quick and severe decline. At one point they were prevalent, then suddenly their numbers were down, and earlier this year the last known individual died. The authors of the report find that ‘In most cases, extinction can be seen as a tangible demonstration of failure in policy and management, of inattention or missed opportunities.’

If I were writing up a report card, the result would be terrible. But the failure goes way beyond reporting and assessing. There is widespread, systemic failure to consider and protect individuals, species, ecosystems, habitats, and ecological connectivities, along with the failure to cherish beauty, to prevent harm, and to show consideration for the lives of others.

This deep and exhaustive failure offers on-going evidence of a terrible wound in the biocultural fabric of Australia.

I suspect that none of us knows how, or whether, it can be healed. Our capacity for ethical action is bleeding out all over the place. The great continental philosopher Emmanuel Levinas wrote of the ‘face’ as that which interrupts my self-absorption and calls me into ethical responsibility. There has been a lot of discussion in recent years as to whether the face means ‘a human face’. What about other animals? What about trees? What about understory? The definition of face that I find most inspiring treats it as a form of action. Here face is something one does rather than something one has:  ‘facing is being confronted with, turned toward, facing up to, being judged and being called’.

The living world is filled with facings – to be alive is to live among faces, many of which are noisy and interruptive. This is good. This is life in the mode of ethics. At this time, this is also tough. There are so many facings, and often one feels so helpless.

Australian magpie, David Jenkins (CC)
Australian magpie, David Jenkins (CC)

And yet, the exuberance of living creatures continues to be inspiring. It is still possible to step outside and listen to birds. For the moment, now, I am taking myself off to the garden. It is true that these songbirds are not all equally musical to my ear, but they sure are smart and lively, and many of them sing beautifully. They have been here for a very long time, and I hope they and many of the others will continue long beyond this current regime of terror.

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

Resources: Where Song Began: Australia’s birds and how they changed the world, by Tim Low published by Viking/Penguin, 2014.

In a couple of my previous essays I have had a few words to say about ‘creature languages’ and ‘songsters’.

Bush Heritage Report on Land Clearing and its Impacts (view here).

‘Trimming vegetation understory’ (view here)

Bat Battle television story (view here)

‘Vale ‘Gump’, the last known Christmas Island Forest Skink’ (view here)

A number of terrific essays on Levinas and nature can be found in the book Facing  Nature, edited by William Edelglass, James Hatley, and Christian Diehm.

The quote is from Susan Handelman’s book Fragments of Redemption. (Indiana Uni Press, 1991)

Dingo Prayers

I have been packing my bags again, this time for a trip to the Northern Territory. Travelling with the ‘legendary bushman’ Darrell Lewis, the plan is to visit family, friends and flying-foxes in the Victoria River District. With the first National Day of Action for Dingoes (NDAD) on September 21 very much on my mind, I was also longing to see and hear a few dingos.

Dingo in Queensland,by John Murray
Dingo in Queensland,by John Murray

My hopes were not too high. Last year in the Victoria River District many of the stations had been putting out the 1080, and in 2012 the NT Parks and Wildlife Commission had spread the poison around in the Judbarra-Gregory National Park.

As it turned out, I did not hear a single dingo. The only live one I saw was a forlorn and confused young creature who seemed, to my eyes, to personify the life of the lost in the aftermath of grievous trauma. Thoughts of the young fellow continue to trouble me, and there was more to come.

Out on the Victoria Highway, the main road between the Territory and the Kimberley, we encountered the dead and desecrated body of a handsome golden dingo.

Perhaps he had been deliberately run down on the road. It happens. But there was no ‘perhaps’ about the deliberation with which he had been taped up with packing tape on the roadside sign advising travellers to stop and refresh. He had become another trophy death in the war against dingoes.

There was also no doubt about the deliberation with which the sign had been shot at repeatedly, just as there was no way of knowing whether the shots had been put there before or after the dingo. The dents were very fresh.

We stopped the truck. I had picked some flowers earlier in the day, and I laid them on the ground beneath the dead body. There was a lot of blood, and the internal organs were bulging out from a belly wound. A long string of bloody saliva hung from his mouth. The flies were there, but the scent of decay was still faint. We were witness to a very recent event.

It is true that death often brings a sense of peace, and there was in this desecrated body the aura of a finality that goes beyond trauma. The golden fur still glowed as if life could return, but of course the rest of the body told otherwise. Confronted with the actual dignity of death, the vile evidence of desecration, and one’s attempt to imagine the deranged and brutalised humans who had done this, my offering of flowers seemed utterly inadequate and yet still necessary.

I do not know how to stay in the presence of dingoes that are being killed for no good reason. Their lives are being wasted, there is endless heartbreak for dingoes and for humans, and it is all pointless and relentless. I do not know how to stay with it, and nor can I turn away.

To honour the memory of this dingo and all his kin, and as a reminder of why we need NDAD, I am reprinting part of an essay I wrote in 2005 called ‘Dingo Prayers’.

Dingo Photo: Arian Wallach
Dingo, Arian Wallach

“Often when I am in Dingo country, my thoughts stray to Old Tim Yilngayarri. His country was out in the savannah region of the Victoria River region, and he was the greatest Dingo boss I have known. He was the only person I’ve spoken with who not only told long complicated stories about Dingo Dreamings, but also spoke with dogs in daily life. As Old Tim told the stories, Dingoes made humans as humans; before that we were all one species.

They are today our closest relations on Earth, our ancestors, our contemporary kin, and the creatures who show us what it takes to be human. Tim was acutely aware of the injustices dogs and dingoes suffer at the hands of humans. In his stories the ancestral Dingoes give voice to their sense of lost reciprocity, and to current grievance: ‘”I been make them man and woman. Now you been drop me, put me in the rubbish dump'”. Old Tim called them by their kinship names: Mother and Father Dingo, and there have been times when I have too….

Across Australia there is a concerted war against dingoes.

In the Northern Territory they talk about dingo control, but in Queensland they aim for destruction. In spite of all the evidence to show that dingo baiting itself is creating the problems that it is supposed to be controlling, and in spite of evidence for the significant role dingoes play in sustaining biodiversity, the killing goes on. Discursively the war against dingoes has shifted to a war against ‘wild dogs’, as if it were more legitimate to kill dogs than to kill dingoes.

Queensland has taken the most vigorous approach to eradication. With its carefully maintained 2,500 kilometres of Dingo Barrier fence (now Wild Dog barrier fence), and its restrictions against travel along the fence, the commitment is clear. In the western regions of the state the fence runs along state borders and there are large gates that allow motorists through. You stop and get out of the truck to open the gate, and then you carefully close it behind you, and when you do that you can’t help but think of death. At each gate there are signs that read:

THIS GATE SHOULD BE CLOSED
AT ALL TIMES
IF FOUND OPEN PLEASE CLOSE
Wild Dog Destruction Board

For years I have been photographing Dingo fences, Dingo gates and 1080 signs in order to document for my own conscience the war against dingoes. Some of the Dingo fences had dead dingoes strung up near the gates or ramps, and I have photos of them too. For years, too, I have been removing the poor shattered bodies of dead dingoes from the road, tucking flowers under their bruised corpses, and saying a small farewell to them in apology for the disasters that run them down.

On a recent trip through Queensland I stopped to photograph a hand-lettered sign, white on green background, announcing that this is a Dingo Barrier Fence. Bureaucracy hadn’t gotten here yet, either to erect a formally printed sign or to change the words from Dingo to Wild Dog. On the ground in front of this homely little sign two flat rocks were set up, one on top of the other. Their placement was so casual and so unexpected that it could have meant anything.

The stones may be something or nothing, purposefully placed or just a whim. I took hold of that ambiguity and interpreted them as a prayer, and when I left, I put a round stone on top of the two flat ones. Since that day I’ve made other trips and started other prayers around sites that proclaim the war against dingoes. At Hawker Gate, Fortville Gate, Warri Gate and others, I have gathered stones and made unobtrusive little cairns. Wherever possible I add stone flakes, reminding whoever may take notice that the war against indigenous folk has been widely as well as brutally focussed.

For me, the stones are an intention, an apology, a counter-action, a visible prayer for a world in which all this killing can be stopped. I think of Old Tim and his dogs, his stories and his love: that Dingoes are our relations, our kin and co-creatures. The stones mark gratitude for him and his teaching.

Mother and Father Dingo, I say as I place yet another stone, precise words don’t exist for the heartbreak that this death work is piling up between us. Let me offer stones along with words, and pray for our fellow creatures in their torment. I mean to inscribe a human conscience that is shaped into action by Dingoes and by the people who hold and tell the stories. A human conscience that stands within, and affirms its opposition to, a world of wilful and deathful bloodshed.

But perhaps I am trying to put too many words on it.

The poet Rumi tells us ‘There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground’.

Think of it! A thousand ways –
One way, surely, is to make dingo prayers.”

© Deborah Bird Rose (2014)

 

Resources: The original version of ‘Dingo Prayers’ was published in 2005 in Island, 103, pp. 6-10.

Information on the role of dingoes in biodiversity, and the havoc wreaked by 1080 is available in several of my earlier essays (view here), and on the excellent webpage developed by award-wining scientist Arian Wallach. A recent radio program in the Freedom of Species series (listen here) addresses matters concerning 1080.

I discuss the desecration of dingo bodies in my book Wild Dog Dreaming: Love and Extinction.