Sometimes I feel like it’s a byproduct of my hearing impairment. Those moments when people visibly shift in their stance, glance around the room as if checking for an exit or loudly parrot what I’ve just said feel so similar to it.
It’s not always my lack of hearing causing the discomfort. There are other times when it’s what I’m saying that triggers a wave of dread…or panic.
I haven’t been so immersed in animal conservation long enough to forget the, “uh-oh…he’s one of ‘them,’” feelings. It usually comes with an uncomfortable desire to extricate oneself before the “All Humans Are EVIL” diatribe starts. The more-polite folks nod knowingly and quietly feign attentiveness. Those whose social etiquette is less accommodating will simply walk away. The hardest ones to watch are those who stand petrified, frozen in place, like a deer in a set of on-coming headlights.
Now, I can tell when someone feels uncomfortable when I talk about manatees and the on-going die-off. In the beginning I couldn’t understand why anyone who heard the facts - who had learned of the crisis - could feel anything but concern and a willingness to help. Yet, here they are…people who stare at me like I was wearing a tinfoil hat and carrying a sign that reads, “The End is nigh!”
Actually, maybe I understand those folks more than I care to admit.
When confronted with dire news, human nature and psychology can create several different styles of absorbing the upsetting information. Some people try to bury it immediately and not have to digest the harder, deeper meaning. There are some who react to fear – and “fear” is really the catalyst – with anger. Then there are those who are confounded by the disparity between what they’ve been taught (or heard on the news) and the more difficult, convoluted information I throw at them.
To those people I am simply “Chicken Little,” telling them the sky is falling.
I get it because that true sentiment behind all of those reactions is that people just don’t want the truth to be that bad. They want the facts to be “wrong” because it means there’s more hope, more future and less responsibility and guilt. I was those same folks just seven months ago.
But seven months has drastically changed the landscape of the destiny for the Florida manatee. The algal bloom that’s taken record numbers of the marine mammals didn’t evaporate and go away. Another bloom just has taken its place and the die-off continues.
The “sky” is falling…and there aren’t enough tinfoil hats in the world to stop it from falling. There’s only a small window of opportunity in which to act. Replenishing sea grass beds, eradicating pollution and completely stemming the effluent from nitrate-rich chemicals can save the manatees. That’s a fact.
It’s not an easy fix, though. To do this right and have a lasting mitigating effect, the measures taken would have to be massive and supported statewide. It would require a collective effort – no politics, no self-centered interests. “We” would have to mean ALL of us…working together.
And there “it” is… that’s where the shifting and nervous glances come in.
I finally figured out that what makes people the most uncomfortable is that, in their hearts, they know that talking about saving a species – about wholesale extinction – is ultimately a plea for sacrifice. Intrinsic, personal and costly sacrifice to save an animal we can’t eat, ride, own as pets or put into circuses. In essence, it means making a sacrifice based solely on faith.
It’s not easy to hear but it is very true. Apathy is a tacit signature on the death warrant for manatees. We must decide (and quickly) to take action or accept the fate we manufactured for them. There is no “middle ground.” If we have any chance; it is right now.
That’s as far as I get. By the time we get to the root of it, I’m left with the same audience… a bunch of deer in on-coming headlights. But... stand still, move forward or go back, the car continues to barrel down on us.
It’s not always my lack of hearing causing the discomfort. There are other times when it’s what I’m saying that triggers a wave of dread…or panic.
I haven’t been so immersed in animal conservation long enough to forget the, “uh-oh…he’s one of ‘them,’” feelings. It usually comes with an uncomfortable desire to extricate oneself before the “All Humans Are EVIL” diatribe starts. The more-polite folks nod knowingly and quietly feign attentiveness. Those whose social etiquette is less accommodating will simply walk away. The hardest ones to watch are those who stand petrified, frozen in place, like a deer in a set of on-coming headlights.
Now, I can tell when someone feels uncomfortable when I talk about manatees and the on-going die-off. In the beginning I couldn’t understand why anyone who heard the facts - who had learned of the crisis - could feel anything but concern and a willingness to help. Yet, here they are…people who stare at me like I was wearing a tinfoil hat and carrying a sign that reads, “The End is nigh!”
Actually, maybe I understand those folks more than I care to admit.
When confronted with dire news, human nature and psychology can create several different styles of absorbing the upsetting information. Some people try to bury it immediately and not have to digest the harder, deeper meaning. There are some who react to fear – and “fear” is really the catalyst – with anger. Then there are those who are confounded by the disparity between what they’ve been taught (or heard on the news) and the more difficult, convoluted information I throw at them.
To those people I am simply “Chicken Little,” telling them the sky is falling.
I get it because that true sentiment behind all of those reactions is that people just don’t want the truth to be that bad. They want the facts to be “wrong” because it means there’s more hope, more future and less responsibility and guilt. I was those same folks just seven months ago.
But seven months has drastically changed the landscape of the destiny for the Florida manatee. The algal bloom that’s taken record numbers of the marine mammals didn’t evaporate and go away. Another bloom just has taken its place and the die-off continues.
The “sky” is falling…and there aren’t enough tinfoil hats in the world to stop it from falling. There’s only a small window of opportunity in which to act. Replenishing sea grass beds, eradicating pollution and completely stemming the effluent from nitrate-rich chemicals can save the manatees. That’s a fact.
It’s not an easy fix, though. To do this right and have a lasting mitigating effect, the measures taken would have to be massive and supported statewide. It would require a collective effort – no politics, no self-centered interests. “We” would have to mean ALL of us…working together.
And there “it” is… that’s where the shifting and nervous glances come in.
I finally figured out that what makes people the most uncomfortable is that, in their hearts, they know that talking about saving a species – about wholesale extinction – is ultimately a plea for sacrifice. Intrinsic, personal and costly sacrifice to save an animal we can’t eat, ride, own as pets or put into circuses. In essence, it means making a sacrifice based solely on faith.
It’s not easy to hear but it is very true. Apathy is a tacit signature on the death warrant for manatees. We must decide (and quickly) to take action or accept the fate we manufactured for them. There is no “middle ground.” If we have any chance; it is right now.
That’s as far as I get. By the time we get to the root of it, I’m left with the same audience… a bunch of deer in on-coming headlights. But... stand still, move forward or go back, the car continues to barrel down on us.