There are two main levels at which we tend to think about environmental damage – the overarching global level and the individual organism level. These are the two ends of the macro-micro scale, and of course we can explore in between (for example, at the ecosystem level), but that does not happen so often. This blog focuses more on the global scale, but shouldn’t get caught up only with that level. After all, without local cases of environmental decline there would not be a global epidemic of it.
The danger of concentrating on micro cases, though, is that we miss the big picture. The draining of one small marsh or logging of one plot may not have wide impact, but it is the source – writ large due to thousands of instances around the world at the same time – of our global ecological predicament. This is the root of the saying, “Think global, act local.”
Do we pay attention to the individual losses, and stand up against them? When a forest is cut, what do the animals do? They generally have to migrate or die. Do we take note of this action, counting them as environmental refugees? The answer is usually no, partly because we are interested in things closer to our own wellbeing. But a central trope of a successful environmental movement is that human wellbeing depends on a robust environment (recall the Human Survival Project entry). A further part of the problem is that many of us are disconnected from the rest of the natural world, one result being that we cannot see the exodus we create. This is not a seasonal move to find better food or breeding grounds as birds or whales do; this is a run-for-your-furry-life emigration. And these are the lucky ones – creatures with legs or wings that are capable of escaping human intrusion. But most life forms, like plants, cannot do this and so perish. If we were to take greater note of the actions of animals it would give us clear suggestions for improvement. It would also pull at the heart strings of many and inspire them to stand up for the threatened that gallop, slither, or flap. And, in the end, if we don’t stand up for them, there will be nothing left to soften the blow when the arrow of extinction turns to us.
With that in mind, I have taken a poignant and famed poem and modified it to reflect ecological concerns. It is called First They Came. The original was by Pastor Martin Niemöller, who witnessed the Nazi Holocaust. The appropriate parallel to the term ‘nuclear holocaust’ notwithstanding, the poem illuminates the need to stand up for others being run under. This was true both in the Europe of World War II and around the world today. An immoral happening against human life in that time is reflected by an immoral happening against all life now. No one and no thing is disposable.
First they came for the trees and I did not speak out because I was not a tree.
Then they came for the fish and I did not speak out because I was not a fish.
Then they came for the minerals and I did not speak out because I was not a mineral.
Then they came for the indigenous peoples and I did not speak out because I was not an indigenous person.
Then they came for the land and I did not speak out because I was not land.
Then they came for me and there was nothing left to defend me.
Colin Doyle draws on a broad palette of experiences from his three decades, including receiving degrees in anthropology and religion from fine universities and living for a time in seven U.S. states, West and Southern Africa, Europe, and indigenous South America. He now teaches outdoor science in the mountains of Southern California during the school year and leads backpacking trips with teenagers in New Hampshire during the summer. He can be reached at cbdoyl@hotmail.com.
