Evolution created utterly fantastic masterpieces. The megafauna of the Americas grew to
enormous size, in the absence of too-clever two-legged tool addicts. Ground sloths weighed as much as elephants. Beavers were the size of bears. The Argentine roc had a 26-foot wingspan (8
m). All of them vanished between 15,000
and 10,000 years ago, about the time you-know-who arrived, with their state of
the art hunting technology.
On a damp gray dawn, the English writer George Monbiot woke
up screaming once again. He suffers from
a chronic spiritual disease that he calls ecological boredom. Living amidst endless crowds of two-legged strangers
can become unbearably unpleasant for sensitive people with minds. Human souls can only thrive in unmolested
wildness (the opposite of England). He
leaped out of bed, packed his things, and moved to the coast of Wales, where
there was more grass than concrete. He
hoped that this would exorcise his demons.
They weren’t demons. Obviously,
ecological boredom is a healthy and intelligent response to the fierce madness
of twenty-first century life, and it’s curable.
What’s needed to break this curse is a holy ceremony called
rewilding. During five years of country
living in Wales, Monbiot wrote Feral,
to explain his voyage and vision. It’s a
500-decibel alarm clock.
Humans were wild animals for millions of years. In the last few thousand years, we’ve
declared war on wild ecosystems, in our whacked out crusade to domesticate
everything everywhere, and lock Big Mama Nature in a maximum-security zoo. Rewilding is about throwing this sick,
suicidal process into reverse.
It’s about allowing long extinct woodlands to become healthy
thriving forests once again. It’s about
reintroducing the wild beings that have been driven off the land — bear, bison,
beavers — a sacred homecoming. It’s
about creating marine reserves so aquatic species have places of refuge from
the insane gang rape of industrial fishing.
Importantly, it’s about introducing our children to the living planet of
their birth.
Wales was a land of lush forests 2,100 years ago. Today, it’s largely a mix of sheep pasture
and other assorted wastelands. One day, Monbiot
climbed to a hilltop in the Cambrian Mountains, where he could see for
miles. He noted a few distant Sitka
spruce tree farms, and a bit of scrubby brush, but otherwise, “across that
whole, huge view, there were no trees.
The land had been flayed. The fur
had been peeled off, and every contoured muscle and nub of bone was exposed.”
Some folks now call it the Cambrian Desert, whilst shameless
tourism hucksters refer to it as one of the largest wilderness areas in the U.K. To Monbiot, rural Wales is a heartbreaking
sheepwreck, reduced to ecological ruins by the white plague — countless dimwitted
furry freaks from Mesopotamia that gobble the vegetation down to the roots, and
prevent forest recovery.
One day, Monbiot met a brilliant young sheep rancher, Dafydd
Morris-Jones, who had no sympathy for rewilding at all. His family had been raising sheep on this
land for ages. Every rock in the valley
had a name, and his uncle remembered all of them. Allowing the forest to return would amount to
cultural genocide, snuffing out the traditional indigenous way of life, and
erasing it forever.
I had great sympathy for Dafydd’s view. In 1843, my great-grandfather, Richard E.
Rees, was born in the parish of Llangurig, Wales — deep in the heart of sheep
country. His mother was a handloom
weaver. They lived down the road from
the wool mill in Cwmbelan. My ancestors
survived for many generations by preventing the return of the forest, deer, and
boars, by preventing an injured land from healing. Of course, for the last several thousand
years, none of my ancestors had been wild people — they suffered from the
tremendous misfortune of having been born in captivity.
Every generation perceives the world of their childhood as
the normal state, the ideal. Many don’t
comprehend that the ecosystem was badly damaged long before they were
born. What they accept as normal might give
their grandparents nightmares. Monbiot
refers to this shortsightedness as Shifting Baseline Syndrome. The past is erased by mental blinders. Each generation adapts to an ongoing pattern
of decline. Humans have an amazing
tolerance for crowding, filth, and stress.
The result is the wounded wheezing world you see around you.
Monbiot gushes with excitement when describing the amazing
changes that followed the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone Park. They promptly corrected deer overpopulation,
which led to forest regeneration, which led to healthier streams, which led to
more fish. When they reduced the
coyotes, the result was more rabbits, mice, hawks, weasels, boxes, badgers,
eagles, and ravens. Here is Monbiot enthusiastically
discussing this process in a 15 minute TED talk.
A number of European organizations are promoting
rewilding. Pan Parks has protected 240,000
hectares (593,000 acres), and is working on a million more. Wild
Europe is working to create wildlife corridors across the
continent. Rewilding Europe promotes the
reintroduction of missing species (here
is a brief video trailer). Pleistocene Park
in Siberia is reintroducing many species in a 160 sq. km. park (62 sq. mi.),
which it plans to expand to 600 sq. km. (232 sq. mi.).
In continental Europe, the rewilding movement is building
momentum. Wolves, bears, bison, and
beavers have begun the path to recovery.
Not every effort succeeds — Italy reintroduced two male lynx, and the cute
couple mysteriously failed to produce offspring. Britain and Ireland remain out to lunch. Most of the land is owned by wealthy elites
who are obsessed with preserving a “tidy” looking countryside — treeless and
profoundly dreary. They enjoy recreational
hunting, and wolves would spoil their fun.
Monbiot delights in goosing every sacred cow along his path,
and readers of many varieties are sure to foam at the mouth and mutter naughty
obscenities. For me, Feral had a few zits,
but they don’t sink the book. He leads
us to the mountaintop and allows us to view the world from above the haze of
assumptions, illusions, and fantasies.
Who are we? Where is our
home? Where are we going?
He rubs our noses in the foul messes we’ve made, hoping we’ll
learn from our accidents and grow. He
confronts us with big important issues that we’ve avoided for far too long —
the yucky stoopid stuff we’re doing for no good reason. I like that.
This is important. He recommends
intriguing alternatives to stoopid. It’s
about time.
Monbiot, George, Feral
— Searching for Enchantment on the Frontiers of Rewilding, Allen
Lane, London, 2013.
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