CONTRARIAN
ECOLOGY
Everything
now is either managed or it should be, including 'the natural
environment'. We call it that if we're planning to manage it, and, in
Australia, we rarely think 'environmental management' without
thinking 'restoration'. There is that image of Australia pre-1788,
the native bush before ferals, weeds, clearing, logging,
super-phosphate, and all that. It's an image that captivates ecology,
pop ecology and romantic environmentalism.
There's
a whole culture of ecosystem management — National Park managers,
degrees in ecological management, Catchment Management Authorities,
assorted bureaucracies, and 'out there in the community' there's
Landcare. It's civic society. It's not a media thing though. At
budget time you might hear a mention of Caring For Country or some
other government program rebranded, or axed. But it's not up there
with Tasmanian forests, the Barrier Reef, the Murray-Darling, Climate
Change, or bushfires.
Back
in 2009 I went to a conference of the Society For Ecological
Restoration in Perth, where I sat in on a session on 'novel
ecosystems'. Richard Hobbs from the University of WA spoke, so did
Eric Higgs, a Canadian ecologist who'd written a book called Nature
By Design. It was on the final morning, a time for mild
stimulation and slight unorthodoxy. 'Ecosystems are emerging that
never existed before. It is impractical to try to restore ecosystems
to some “rightful” historical state. ... We must embrace the fact
of 'novel ecosystems' and incorporate many alien species into
management plans, rather than try to achieve the often impossible
goal of eradicating them or drastically reducing their abundance.'
That was the session's theme, even though the quote itself is more
recent. It's from a June 2011 article in Nature, by the US
ecologist Mark Davis and eighteen other authors, including Hobbs.
The
stimulation was mild, the novel ecosystem thesis was not quite as
novel as I had hoped, and novel ecosystems themselves didn't seem all
that novel. I thought of subtropical forests of queen palm and
camphor laurel, riverbanks of Madeira, catsclaw and balloon vine,
seasides of bitou and glory lilly, even wheat fields, gardens and
golf greens, or the minimalism of motorways, and nuclear test sites.
I guess now was the time to 'embrace' them and tweak them into
something useful or cool or subversive by wedging in a bit of
designer biodiversity. But was the thesis any more than just hyping a
groovy response to the empirical surprises and philosophical
challenges that had puzzled and entertained restoration ecologists
and naturalists for ages?
Provide
a label and you collect a body of thought, maybe even kick off a
discipline. In the 1950s the 'ecology of invasions' was used to
gather together a set of ecological ideas that had been around since
before Darwin. Origin of Species mentions things like cattle
going feral in Australian. Twenty years earlier John Henslow, the
Cambridge biologist who had passed his place on The Beagle on
to his younger protegé,
had formulated a rudimentary theory about competition between natives
and exotics. People in Australia have long been doing what, in the
1970s, they started to call 'bush regeneration', restoring the bush
to something like its pre-invasion condition by removing exotic
weeds.
Now
we have the label 'novel ecosystems' gathering together ideas that
have also been around in some form since Darwin's day. The ideas
inspired the nineteenth century Acclimatisation Societies with their
vision of enhancing the flora and fauna of Australia and America. And
while bush regenerators have been weeding the bush since the 70s,
Permaculture designers have been trying to build self-sustaining
ecosystems from encyclopaedias of useful plants and animals. More
recently Peter Andrews became a folk prophet of novel ecosystems by
sexing up standard on-farm water management with exotic willows and
contrarian weed ecology. It was only a matter of time before the
novel ecosystem label registered in the media as breaking scientific
news. That June 2011 Nature
article
— a
summary two page manifesto that relied on references to several other
papers to do the ecology
— was enough to get
the ABC and the SMH interested. They picked it up and ran 'novel
ecosystems' as a story.
Meanwhile
in America and hence the world there was science journalist Emma
Marris with a new book to promote. And by December 2011 Michael Duffy
was interviewing her on ABC radio's
Counterpoint about
Rambunctious Garden:
Saving Nature in a Post-Wild World. It
was clear the Anthropocene — the current epoch, so called because
the big ecological changes are anthropogenic — was out and proud,
and Marris's 'Nature 2.0' was the new pristine. The header on
Marris's web site, a quote from the San Francisco Chronicle's Joe
Christensen, leaves us in no doubt that world historical events are
afoot: 'Marris is
already being compared to the greatest environmental writers and
thinkers of the past century, Rachel Carson and Aldo Leopold.'
With
a pitch like that it wasn't going to be long before someone noticed
the contrarian potential of novel ecosystems, tailor made for taking
on environmentalism. I remember the editor of a scientific journal on
restoration ecology predicting some such thing way back at the 2009
conference.
Contrarianism
is a seductive attitude. It has an unfortunate appeal for
self-promoters, because it seems to underwrite radical intellectual
originality with owlish scepticism. You can fancy yourself as Galileo
against the clergy, plain-spoken amongst the mealy-mouthed. Richard
Steele nailed contrarians three centuries ago: 'they can turn what
little knowledge they have into a ready capacity of raising doubts,
into a capacity of being always frivolous and always unanswerable.'
Michael Duffy began an essay in the SMH with the line: 'It's been
suggested that passionate environmentalism is a bit like religion. It
has its own sense of original sin, the belief that the New World was
once a pristine and stable wilderness that was defiled by Europeans'.
The rhetoric is a give away: the passive voice, the vague
'suggested', the lines 'a bit like religion' and 'original sin' to
rankle those atheistic greens. Create a straw dummy of your
opposition before you blow it down
Prompted
by Duffy on ABC's Counterpoint,
Marris noted the irony that supposedly anti-racist greens tread a
fine line between invasion ecology and xenophobia when they apply the
native/alien distinction to flora and fauna. Meanwhile in
the New
York Times she
and three co-authors
let readers know that
'in fact, humans have been changing ecosystems for millenniums' and
'we have learned that ecosystems are not — and have never been —
static entities.' They made it sound as if this were not textbook
ecology.
Maybe
I'm being too harsh. It's not easy to write one truth after another
and be scrupulous about every inference and implication. We all use
rhetoric. And it uses us. Me too now. Even the Nature
article had the straw dummy trick. When it made the point that
'nativeness
is not a sign of evolutionary fitness or of a species having positive
effects' was that supposed to imply that all those restoration
ecologists had been unable to figure out that invasive species have
the evolutionary advantage and that native species are not reliably
resilient under a regime of invasions?
And there's the claim that 'invaders do not represent a major
extinction threat to most species in most ecosystems'. Note the
casual proliferation of 'most's and 'major's, the feral 'represents'
replacing the native 'is', the implication that those misguided
restoration ecologists must think that invaders are a major
extinction threat to most
species
in most
ecosystems.
What
do they think? Why remove exotic species
from native ecosystems? It's a combination of post-Darwinian ecology
and aesthetic passion. The science is about how long-term
evolutionary processes in the absence of high rates of species
invasion — e.g. in pre-1788 Australia — create ecosystems rich in
species and varied in structure, even though they might be
susceptible to invasions. The aesthetics is in the 'rich' and
'varied'. Restoration ecologists sometimes call the Anthropocene the
Homogecene — an epoch when a few weedy and feral generalists
dominate lots of ecosystems. It's not a matter of corny primevalism,
religious environmentalism or native plant Nazis. The complex
organisation of nature fires the great aesthetic emotions of
admiration and wonder. Goethe said 'the beautiful is a manifestation
of secret laws of nature, which, without its presence, would never
have been revealed.' Those secret laws sound like what modern ecology
is about.
The
Nature
article ends soberly bureaucratically.
'We urge conservationists and land managers to organise priorities
around whether species are producing benefits or harm to
biodiversity, human health, ecological services and economies.
Nearly two centuries on from the introduction of the concept of
nativeness, it is time for conservationists to focus much more
on the functions of species, and much less on where they originated.'
Environmentalists and restoration ecologists have always argued in
the same managerial terms. Environmental politics still has 'to
organise priorities around' terms like
biodiversity and ecological services, terms that have to do the
talking for the aesthetics of nature.
But
novel ecosystem ecology has its aesthetic too. It wants to be
post-modern restoration ecology — original and avant garde. Defined
negatively it's about not restoring some authentic pristine nature.
And it's about not simply gardens and farms. The positive is mostly
imagined in examples that don't yet quite live up to the dream: theme
parks of the early Pleistocene; authentic Anthropocene wilderness
weedscapes; bioengineered ecosystems that deliver economic and
ecosystem services; meta-gardens that are wild and 'rambunctious',
with their own cool, hyper-functionality. There are whole genres out
there.
Note
however that the old romantic aesthetic about wildness is still at
work here: Let nature do its thing, but let it be the new unruly
nature of the Anthropocene, and don't try to impose your old Nature
on it. Let nature naturally move on. Even that schizoid division of
humans from nature seems to persist. But of course it makes things
very handy, almost too good to be true. Its efficient — humans can
let nature do the work. It's fun — we can tweak and play around
with ecosystems if we like. It's liberating — it replaces
melancholy with positive thinking. And when it comes to environmental
politics it's useful: any excuse for trashing a bit more of the old
nature, or winding back the culture of ecosystem restoration and
national parks. But the culture is entrenched. It remains to be seen
whether or not the novel ecosystem thesis will be a successful
invader.