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Why the kookaburra’s iconic laugh is at risk of being silenced

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Wednesday, April 17, 2024

Linda Robertus/ShutterstockOnce, while teaching a class of environmental science students in China’s Hebei University of Science and Technology, I asked who knew what a laughing kookaburra was. There were many blank faces. Then I tilted my head, much like a kookaburra does, and opened my mouth: “kok-kak-KAK-KAK-KAK-KOK-KAK-KOK-kook-kook-kok, kok, kok”. I became the “bushman’s alarm clock”. Students burst out laughing. Hands waved in the air. They knew. They all knew. The call of the kookaburra is known worldwide. Why do kookaburras “laugh”? It’s a declaration of territory. “I am here. This is my space.” The laughing kookaburra is native to eastern mainland Australia and was introduced to Western Australia and Tasmania. Wikimedia Commons How long has it been part of the Australian landscape? Indigenous Kamilaroi/Gamilaraay and Wiradjuri people named the “guuguubarra”, so for at least 65,000 years. Genetic analysis suggests its ancestors can be traced back roughly 16.3 million years. So we can be sure kookaburras have been laughing for a very, very long time. It is shocking, then, that the laughing kookaburra is now in trouble. A combination of human-driven factors – climate change, bushfires and land clearing – is rapidly driving down numbers of this iconic kingfisher species across its range along Australia’s east coast. The laughing kookaburra’s call is one of the iconic sounds of Australia. Read more: Citizen scientists count nearly 2 million birds and reveal a possible kookaburra decline Why are kookaburra numbers falling? In 2003, the New Atlas of Australian Birds listed the laughing kookaburra as abundant. By 2015, The State of Australia’s Birds report noted them as being in major decline. What changed? Recent research shows worsening fires are adding to the woes of kookaburras, on top of land clearing, removal of old trees with nesting hollows, state permits to control local numbers and being regarded as an exotic species in Western Australia and Tasmania, where they were introduced more than a century ago. The tree hollows kookaburras need to breed can take a hundred years to develop. Every forest patch felled means hollows are lost. Over the past 200 years, nearly 50% of our forest cover has been felled. Urban development all along Australia’s east coast has continued. The laughing kookaburra depends on old tree hollows for nesting. Ken Griffiths/Shutterstock Read more: Dozens of woodland bird species are threatened, and we still don't know what works best to bring them back Fire is a growing threat Increasing fire frequency and severity due to climate change are having damaging impacts on kookaburras across south-eastern Australia. Megafires – those that burn more than 10,000 hectares – used to occur about once a decade. Now they are happening more often. The 2019-2020 “Black Summer” fires were not confined to one state or season. From September 2019 through to March 2020 they burnt more than ten million hectares of native vegetation. The impacts on wildlife were huge. In the years after fire, the dense regrowth of vegetation gives many birds a flush of abundant resources for food, nesting, cues for breeding and protection from predators. However, dense new ground growth could hinder the kookaburra’s hunting by making it harder to spot prey. This species sits high in a tree from where it pounces on its prey, which is mostly taken on the ground. Research has also shown dense post-fire vegetation has less prey, such as basking lizards, a vital part of the kookaburra’s diet. Research shows laughing kookaburras leave areas of dense post-fire growth. They prefer areas that haven’t burnt for decades. Kookaburras also compete for prey with other birds, such as the currawong. A currawong forages both on the ground and in the canopy. In denser vegetation, this gives it a competitive advantage over the kookaburra. If trees with hollows are burnt down, kookaburras also cannot nest. Kookaburras forced to move to new unburnt or uncleared areas must compete for hollows with other highly territorial kookaburras and species such as parrots, owls and possums. Kookaburras may struggle to survive in areas where fire has destroyed tree hollows and caused dense regrowth. Aldo Manganaro/Shutterstock Read more: 200 experts dissected the Black Summer bushfires in unprecedented detail. Here are 6 lessons to heed State policies aren’t helping The Victorian government has issued permits to remove kookaburras from their territories in certain areas. These included three “Authorities to Control Wildlife” by lethal means in 2022 and another in 2023. The government website says these permits can be issued when wildlife causes damage to property, poses a risk to human health and safety, or is harmful for biodiversity. It is hard to imagine which of these categories justifies permits to kill kookaburras in their native habitat. The maximum number for lethal control across 2022 was four, and three in 2023. However, kookaburras are highly social birds. They live in family groups of about a dozen individuals with a dominant pair, juvenile helpers and young. If the dominant pair has been dealt with “by lethal means”, it’s devastating for the group. Two Australian states, Tasmania and Western Australia, treat the laughing kookaburra as an introduced species. In Tasmania (but not WA), the species is unprotected because of its status as an exotic species. Anecdotal evidence suggests the “first pair” to breed successfully was taken to Tasmania around 1906. But this assumes kookaburras, which are found on other Bass Strait islands, were not already there and could not fly across Bass Strait. In Tasmania, kookaburras are much maligned and it’s legal to kill them – despite this being the one state where the species isn’t in trouble. One concern is that, as a carnivorous bird, its impact on small reptiles and birds is immense. But other birds, such as the two species of currawong on the island, hunt the same prey as kookaburras. The laughing kookaburra isn’t the only species to prey on small animals such as reptiles and birds. Ken Griffiths/Shutterstock Read more: We rely on expert predictions to guide conservation. But even experts have biases and blind spots We can no longer take common species for granted As climate change results in more bushfires and we continue to clear-fell old habitat trees, the fate of the laughing kookaburra – our icon of the ages – could be sealed. That once-ubiquitous call will be heard no more. While considerable resources necessarily go to threatened species programs, it is imperative, too, to give more resources and attention to species we have long thought of as common. If species such as kookaburras and koalas are disappearing, then the threatened species have no hope. Diana Kuchinke does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

We think of laughing kookaburras as common in Australia and their call certainly lets us know when they’re about. But several factors are driving down their numbers.

Linda Robertus/Shutterstock

Once, while teaching a class of environmental science students in China’s Hebei University of Science and Technology, I asked who knew what a laughing kookaburra was. There were many blank faces. Then I tilted my head, much like a kookaburra does, and opened my mouth: “kok-kak-KAK-KAK-KAK-KOK-KAK-KOK-kook-kook-kok, kok, kok”. I became the “bushman’s alarm clock”.

Students burst out laughing. Hands waved in the air. They knew. They all knew. The call of the kookaburra is known worldwide.

Why do kookaburras “laugh”? It’s a declaration of territory. “I am here. This is my space.”

Map of Australia showing the distribution of the laughing kookaburra.
The laughing kookaburra is native to eastern mainland Australia and was introduced to Western Australia and Tasmania. Wikimedia Commons

How long has it been part of the Australian landscape? Indigenous Kamilaroi/Gamilaraay and Wiradjuri people named the “guuguubarra”, so for at least 65,000 years.

Genetic analysis suggests its ancestors can be traced back roughly 16.3 million years. So we can be sure kookaburras have been laughing for a very, very long time.

It is shocking, then, that the laughing kookaburra is now in trouble. A combination of human-driven factors – climate change, bushfires and land clearing – is rapidly driving down numbers of this iconic kingfisher species across its range along Australia’s east coast.

The laughing kookaburra’s call is one of the iconic sounds of Australia.

Read more: Citizen scientists count nearly 2 million birds and reveal a possible kookaburra decline


Why are kookaburra numbers falling?

In 2003, the New Atlas of Australian Birds listed the laughing kookaburra as abundant. By 2015, The State of Australia’s Birds report noted them as being in major decline.

What changed? Recent research shows worsening fires are adding to the woes of kookaburras, on top of land clearing, removal of old trees with nesting hollows, state permits to control local numbers and being regarded as an exotic species in Western Australia and Tasmania, where they were introduced more than a century ago.

The tree hollows kookaburras need to breed can take a hundred years to develop. Every forest patch felled means hollows are lost.

Over the past 200 years, nearly 50% of our forest cover has been felled. Urban development all along Australia’s east coast has continued.

A kookaburra sits at the entrance of its nest hollow in a tree
The laughing kookaburra depends on old tree hollows for nesting. Ken Griffiths/Shutterstock

Read more: Dozens of woodland bird species are threatened, and we still don't know what works best to bring them back


Fire is a growing threat

Increasing fire frequency and severity due to climate change are having damaging impacts on kookaburras across south-eastern Australia. Megafires – those that burn more than 10,000 hectares – used to occur about once a decade. Now they are happening more often.

The 2019-2020 “Black Summer” fires were not confined to one state or season. From September 2019 through to March 2020 they burnt more than ten million hectares of native vegetation. The impacts on wildlife were huge.

In the years after fire, the dense regrowth of vegetation gives many birds a flush of abundant resources for food, nesting, cues for breeding and protection from predators.

However, dense new ground growth could hinder the kookaburra’s hunting by making it harder to spot prey. This species sits high in a tree from where it pounces on its prey, which is mostly taken on the ground.

Research has also shown dense post-fire vegetation has less prey, such as basking lizards, a vital part of the kookaburra’s diet.

Research shows laughing kookaburras leave areas of dense post-fire growth. They prefer areas that haven’t burnt for decades.

Kookaburras also compete for prey with other birds, such as the currawong. A currawong forages both on the ground and in the canopy. In denser vegetation, this gives it a competitive advantage over the kookaburra.

If trees with hollows are burnt down, kookaburras also cannot nest. Kookaburras forced to move to new unburnt or uncleared areas must compete for hollows with other highly territorial kookaburras and species such as parrots, owls and possums.

A kookaburra sits on a branch in a fire-blackened landscape
Kookaburras may struggle to survive in areas where fire has destroyed tree hollows and caused dense regrowth. Aldo Manganaro/Shutterstock

Read more: 200 experts dissected the Black Summer bushfires in unprecedented detail. Here are 6 lessons to heed


State policies aren’t helping

The Victorian government has issued permits to remove kookaburras from their territories in certain areas. These included three “Authorities to Control Wildlife” by lethal means in 2022 and another in 2023.

The government website says these permits can be issued when wildlife causes damage to property, poses a risk to human health and safety, or is harmful for biodiversity. It is hard to imagine which of these categories justifies permits to kill kookaburras in their native habitat.

The maximum number for lethal control across 2022 was four, and three in 2023. However, kookaburras are highly social birds. They live in family groups of about a dozen individuals with a dominant pair, juvenile helpers and young. If the dominant pair has been dealt with “by lethal means”, it’s devastating for the group.

Two Australian states, Tasmania and Western Australia, treat the laughing kookaburra as an introduced species. In Tasmania (but not WA), the species is unprotected because of its status as an exotic species.

Anecdotal evidence suggests the “first pair” to breed successfully was taken to Tasmania around 1906. But this assumes kookaburras, which are found on other Bass Strait islands, were not already there and could not fly across Bass Strait.

In Tasmania, kookaburras are much maligned and it’s legal to kill them – despite this being the one state where the species isn’t in trouble. One concern is that, as a carnivorous bird, its impact on small reptiles and birds is immense. But other birds, such as the two species of currawong on the island, hunt the same prey as kookaburras.

A laughing kookaburra sits on a tree branch with a snake in its beak
The laughing kookaburra isn’t the only species to prey on small animals such as reptiles and birds. Ken Griffiths/Shutterstock

Read more: We rely on expert predictions to guide conservation. But even experts have biases and blind spots


We can no longer take common species for granted

As climate change results in more bushfires and we continue to clear-fell old habitat trees, the fate of the laughing kookaburra – our icon of the ages – could be sealed. That once-ubiquitous call will be heard no more.

While considerable resources necessarily go to threatened species programs, it is imperative, too, to give more resources and attention to species we have long thought of as common. If species such as kookaburras and koalas are disappearing, then the threatened species have no hope.

The Conversation

Diana Kuchinke does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Wondering what Australia might look like in a hotter world? Take a glimpse into the distant past

The fossil record suggests Australia may be much wetter, and look far different, in centuries and millenia to come.

ShutterstockCurrent concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO₂) in Earth’s atmosphere are unprecedented in human history. But CO₂ levels today, and those that might occur in coming decades, did occur millions of years ago. Wouldn’t it be useful to go back in time and see what Australia looked like during those periods in the distant past? Well, scientists – including us – have done just that. These studies, which largely involve examining sediments and fossils, reveal a radically different Australia to the one we inhabit. The continent was warmer and wetter, and filled with unfamiliar plant and animal species. It suggests Australia may be much wetter, and look very different, in centuries and millennia to come. Studying fossils helps us understand past climates. Shutterstock Then and now: measuring CO₂ Atmospheric CO₂ is measured in “parts per million” – in other words, how many CO₂ molecules are present in each million molecules of dry air. The concentration of CO₂ influences Earth’s climate. The more CO₂ present, the warmer it gets. Right now, atmospheric CO₂ is about 420 parts per million. This concentration last occurred on Earth between 3 million and 5 million years ago – a period known as the Pliocene. If humanity keeps burning fossil fuels at the current rate, by mid-century CO₂ concentrations will be around 550 parts per million. This level was last approached 14 million to 17 million years ago, in the mid-Miocene period. In both these periods, Earth was warmer than it is today, and sea levels were far higher. In the Pliocene, research shows CO₂ was the cause of about half the elevated temperatures. Much of the rest was due to changes in ice sheets and vegetation, for which CO₂ was indirectly responsible. In the mid-Miocene, the link between CO₂ and warmer temperatures is less certain. But climate modelling does suggest CO₂ was the primary driver of temperature increases in this period. By examining the plants and animals that lived in Australia during these epochs, we can gain insight into what a warmer Australia might look like. Obviously, the Pliocene and mid-Miocene far predate humans, and CO₂ concentrations in the atmosphere in those periods increased for natural reasons, such as volcanic eruptions. Today, humans are causing the CO₂ increases, and it’s happening at a much faster rate than in the past. Read more: Humanity is compressing millions of years of natural change into just a few centuries Today, humans are the cause of high CO2 levels in the atmosphere. Shutterstock Australia in the Pliocene The fossil and sediment record from the Pliocene period in Australia is limited. But the available data suggest much of the continent – and Earth generally – was more humid and warm than today. This helped determine the species that existed in Australia. For example, the Nullarbor Plain, which stretches from South Australia to Western Australia, is today extremely dry. But studies of fossilised pollen show during the Pliocene it was home to Gymea lilies, banksias and angophoras – plants found around Sydney today. Similarly, the western Murray-Darling Basin is today largely saltbush and grassland. But fossil pollen records show in the Pliocene, it was home to araucaria and the southern beech – rainforest trees found in high-rainfall climates. And preserved remains of marsupials dating back to the Pliocene have been found near Hamilton in western Victoria. They include a dorcopsis wallaby – the nearest living relative of which lives in New Guinea’s ever-wet mountains. The nearest relative of the dorcopsis lives in New Guinea. Shutterstock Hot and moist in the mid-Miocene A rich fossil and sediment record exists from the mid-Miocene. Marine sediments off WA suggest the west and southwest part of Australia was arid. In contrast, the continent’s east was very wet. For example, the Riversleigh World Heritage area in Queensland is today a semi-arid limestone plateau. But research has found in the mid-Miocene, seven species of folivorous ringtail possums lived there at the same time. The only place more than two ringtail possum species coexist today is in rainforests. This suggests the Riversleigh plateau once supported a diverse rainforest ecosystem. Similarly, McGraths Flat, near Gulgong in New South Wales, is today an open woodland. But mid-Miocene fossils from the site include rainforest trees with pointed leaves that help shed water. And mid-Miocene fossils from the Yallourn Formation, in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley, also include the remains of rainforest plants. Before colonisation it supported eucalypt forests and grasslands. This evidence of rainforest suggests far wetter conditions in the mid-Miocene than exist today. Read more: If warming exceeds 2°C, Antarctica's melting ice sheets could raise seas 20 metres in coming centuries Dry parts of Australia were once rainforest. Shutterstock An uncertain future You may be wondering, when climate change projections tell us Australia will be drier in future, why we are suggesting the continent will be wetter. We concede there is a real contradiction here, and it requires further research to unravel. There’s another important point to note. While conditions in the Pliocene or Miocene can help us understand how Earth’s systems respond to elevated CO₂ levels, we can’t say Australia’s future climate will exactly replicate those conditions. And there are lags in the climate system, so while CO₂ concentrations in the Pliocene are similar to today’s levels, Earth hasn’t yet experienced the same extent of warming and rainfall. The uncertainty comes down to the complexities of the climate system. Some components, such as air temperature, respond to increased CO₂ levels relatively quickly. But other components will require centuries or millennia to fully respond. For example, ice sheets over Greenland and Antarctica are kilometres thick and as big as continents, which means they take a long time to melt. So, even if CO₂ levels remain high, we shouldn’t expect a Pliocene-like climate to develop for centuries or millennia yet. However, every day we add CO₂ to Earth’s atmosphere, the climate system moves closer to a Pliocene-like state – and it cannot be easily turned around. Tim Flannery is affiliated with the Australian Museum Research Institute and Ambassador to Regen Aqua, water treatment company, and Odonata, biodiversity restoration on private landsJosephine Brown receives funding from the National Environmental Science Program and the Australian Research Council.Kale Sniderman receives funding from the Australian Research Council

A Father Consumed by the Question of What to Teach His Children

Neel Mukherjee’s new novel explores the reality that no decision—particularly as a parent—is perfect.

When I got pregnant last year, I began reading online about parenting and found myself confronted with an overwhelming quantity of choices. On social media, how-to graphics and videos abound, as do doctrines about the one true way to discipline your children, or feed them, or get them to sleep through the night. Parent forums, blogs, and product-recommendation sites are full of suggestions for the only swaddle that works, the formula that tastes milkiest, the clicking animatronic crab that will get your tummy-time-averse baby to hold her head high. Scrolling through all of this advice can make it seem as though parenting is largely about informed, research-based decision-making—that choosing the right gadgets and the right philosophy will help parenting itself go right.This logic can feel particularly visceral for a parent considering how to be a good steward of the environment. (Do I genuinely need a special $160 blender to avoid giving my baby prepackaged food? Or can I just mash steamed veggies with a fork?) Worrying about waste can turn into a variation on the pursuit of perfect parenting—but not worrying about it is illogical. Our children will inherit the climate crisis. Personal decisions cannot undo that fact; can, indeed, hardly mitigate it. Deciding to be a parent anyway means you had better hope that our species and societies can work out a new way to thrive on a changing, warming, conflict-riddled planet—because if not, what have you done?Choice, the Booker Prize–nominated writer Neel Mukherjee’s fourth novel, addresses this question head-on. It’s a triptych novel in the vein of Susan Choi’s Trust Exercise and Lisa Halliday’s Asymmetry, which use their three parts to repeatedly surprise and challenge readers. Compared with these novels, Choice is both more ambitious and less successful, harmed by the fact that its second and third sections just cannot compete with its blistering first.But that first section is a barn burner. Mukherjee starts Choice with the story of Ayush, an editor at a prestigious London publishing house, whose obsession with the climate crisis lands somewhere between religious fervor and emotional disorder—especially as far as his kids are concerned. Ayush and his economist husband, Luke, have twin children, Masha and Sasha, and his portion of Choice is a beautiful, horrifying, detailed, and messy evocation of parenthood, full of diapers and dirty dishes and “Can you help Daddy make dinner?” It also presents having children as a moral crisis, a stumbling block Ayush can’t get past. He tries bitterly to lessen his family’s consumption—we see him measuring the exact amount of water in which to cook the twins’ pasta, boiling it in the electric kettle because he’s read that it uses less energy than a stovetop pot —but he can’t get away from the belief that Masha and Sasha are “not going to have a future anyway.” His conviction that they’re doomed weighs more and more heavily on his parenting decisions, eventually convincing him that he can no longer parent at all.Readers meet Ayush in a scene nearly too painful to read. Home alone with his kindergarten-age twins, Ayush skips their bedtime story in favor of a documentary about an abattoir. Mukherjee describes this moment in vivid visual detail, contrasting the children’s sweet bedroom decor (cherries on the bedding; sea creatures on the night-light) to the laptop screen, which shows slaughtered pigs on a floor “so caked with layers of old solidified blood and fresh new infusion that it looks like a large wedge of fudgy chocolate cake.” Unsurprisingly, the twins sob hysterically as the video plays; their distress upsets Ayush so acutely that he cannot talk. But rather than comfort them once he regains speech, he doubles down on the decision that he has to teach them about cruelty to animals—and about their complicity in it. He puts his children to bed not with an apology or a lullaby, but with the stern reminder that “what you saw was how our meat comes to us.”[Read: The books that help me raise children in a broken world]Ayush seems like a monster in this scene—and not an unfeeling one, which signals to the reader that he may be as much tortured as torturer. Mukherjee swiftly makes it apparent that this is the case. We see him begging Luke to help teach their too-young children to weigh the morality of “things that don’t appear to be choices,” such as eating meat; Luke, in turn, begs Ayush to examine the roots of his unhappiness and anxiety, his compulsion to conserve energy far beyond what could reasonably be useful. Ayush yearns to “shake off his human form” and become one with nature—or, more ominously, vanish into it. At one point, Ayush takes his children to explore some woods outside London, an activity that many parents might relate to: He wants to share the wonder of the natural world with his children, both as a bonding activity and as a lesson in ecological stewardship. But he can’t focus on Masha and Sasha. What he hears instead is that the “great trees are breathing; Ayush wants to still his heart to hear them.” Mukherjee only implies this, but it seems that all Ayush’s experiences lead to this paradox: His love for the Earth makes him want to erase himself from it.Ayush’s relationship with his children is also shaped by a desire to remove himself, as well as a significant amount of attendant guilt. He is the twins’ primary parent, despite the fact that he never wanted children—a revelation that Mukherjee builds to slowly. Ayush’s anxieties about choosing parenthood are legion. He’s upset by the ecological impact of adding to the Earth’s human population, and believes that his twins will face a future of walled cities and climate refugeeism. Having grown up South Asian in Britain, he’s frightened of exposing children to the racism he’s faced his whole life; he also has a half-buried but “fundamental discomfort about gay parenting,” of which he is ashamed. Most of all, before having children, he didn’t want to have a baby who could become like him—“a consumed, jittery, unsettled creature.” His own unhappiness, he feels, should have precluded him from having children. Yet he acquiesced, a choice he partly disavows by suppressing his memory of why he did. Not only does he go along with having children; he takes daily responsibility for raising them.On the surface, this is the case because Ayush earns less than Luke, a dynamic the novel explores with nuance. In straight partnerships, the question of who parents more is very often gendered, which Mukherjee acknowledges: At one point, Luke, who has a big job and generational wealth, dismisses Ayush with a sexist reference to the “pin-money” he earns in publishing. But there are more layers here. Ayush, it seems, takes responsibility for his children in order to atone for not having wanted them. Luke, who pushed for fatherhood, is the more patient and affectionate parent, while Ayush is busy fretting over the environmental impact of disposable diapers. Luke is also much kinder and more open to Ayush than Ayush is to him: Although Luke is an economist, with a genuine belief in the rationality that undergirds his discipline, he’s motivated far more by his emotions than his ideas.Ayush believes himself to be the opposite. His domestic decisions are often logical (or logical-seeming) responses to climate anxieties, but this impulse becomes more disturbing as it influences his child-rearing. Sometimes, he seems to care more about raising Masha and Sasha as environmentalists than he does about any other aspect of their upbringing—almost as though he wants to offset having had them to begin with. He doesn’t necessarily want to be this way: After the somewhat-failed forest outing, Ayush takes the twins on a walk around London and teaches them to come up with similes and metaphors to describe what they see, making a game of comparing dandelions to egg yolks and lemons. Here, he successfully keeps his attention on his children, but he still spins a tender moment into one of moral exigency. “Will this remain in their memory,” he wonders, “make them look up and out, make them notice, and, much more importantly, notice again?” For Ayush, this qualifies as optimism. He’s trying to control his children’s way of seeing the world, but he is also trying to offer them the gift of coexisting, happily, with the Earth.[Read: The book that captures my life as a dad]Mukherjee does give Ayush one way of communing peacefully with nature: his relationship with his dog, Spencer. The writer Joy Williams has said that any work of fiction should have an “animal within to give its blessing,” which Spencer certainly does in Choice. Mukherjee describes Ayush’s devotion to his dog in lush detail; the book’s most beautiful passages have Spencer in them. Ayush’s heart breaks when he realizes that Luke does not see “you, me, and the dog” as family enough; it breaks far more deeply when Spencer grows too old to “bound to the door … surprised by joy, impatient as the wind, when any member of his family comes in.” Among Ayush’s most treasured memories is a spring morning with Spencer: Then a puppy, he had rolled in wild flowers so that his “silky golden throat and chest had smelled of violets for a brief second, then the scent had disappeared. Ayush had sat on the ground, sniffing Spencer’s chest for another hit of that elusive perfume, but it was gone.”Ayush plainly sees Spencer as his child, and yet the dog also gives him a way to experience the “elusive perfume” of a pleasurable connection with the planet. As Spencer ages and that link is harder to sense, Ayush’s unhappiness grows. He understands that he is grieving preemptively for Spencer, but the approaching loss of his dog—an event he cannot control or avoid—does not motivate him to snuggle with Spencer or prepare his children for the loss. Instead, it makes him want to leave his family when Spencer does—as if, without the connection to nature that the dog offers, he can no longer bear to be caged in his family home.By the end of his section of Choice, Ayush has completely lost the ability to make rational decisions. He betrays Spencer in a scene perhaps even more painful than the book’s opening, thinking that he’s doing his beloved dog a service; he also betrays his children, his husband, his life. All of his efforts to control his family’s ecological impact, to do the right research and calculations, to impart all the right moral lessons, lead directly, maybe inexorably, to this tragic point. At the novel’s start, he tells Luke that he wants their kids to understand “choices and their consequences.” But it ultimately becomes clear that he can’t accept the consequences of his choice to have children. He can’t save the planet for his children; nor can he save it from them—and so, rather than committing to guiding them into a future he can’t choose or control, he abdicates his responsibility for them.Mukherjee leaves Ayush’s family behind rather than linger on the aftermath of these betrayals. He moves on to two narratives the reader will recognize as parts of books that Ayush edited: first a story about a young English academic who begins meddling in—and writing about—the life of an Eritrean rideshare driver, then an essay by a disillusioned economist who describes the misery that ensues when an aid organization gives a Bengali family a cow that is meant to lift them from poverty, but radically worsens their situation instead. Mukherjee imbues these sections with a propulsive mix of anger and grace, but neither is especially complicated. Emily, the academic, has no one who depends on her, and her odd choices concerning the rideshare driver, Salim, have no real consequences for anyone but herself. Sabita, the mother of the family that gets the cow, is so wholly at the mercy of her material conditions that choice is hardly a relevant concept to her—something that she understands, though the cow-providing “people from the city” do not.Emily’s section primarily serves as a portrait of choice amid abundance. Sabita’s, meanwhile, underscores the central idea of Ayush’s: that our efforts at control are, by and large, delusions. For parents, this can be especially painful to accept. We want our choices to guarantee our children’s safety, their comfort, their happiness. For Ayush, who believes fervently that his twins will grow up to inhabit a “burning world,” the fact that he can’t choose something better for them drives him away from them. By not showing the consequences of Ayush’s actions, Mukherjee leaves incomplete the book’s exploration of parenting. What his abdication means to Masha, Sasha, and Luke is hidden. What it means to the reader, though, is clear. In Choice, there is no such thing as a perfect decision or a decision guaranteed to go right. There are only misjudgments and errors—and the worst of those are the ones that can never be undone.

Environmental Change, Written in the DNA of Birds

Two studies of California bird populations show how shifting environments can rewrite animals’ genomes — for better or worse. The post Environmental Change, Written in the DNA of Birds appeared first on The Revelator.

As the environment shifts — due to climate change, habitat destruction, or other threats — we can often observe some of the ways that wildlife responds. Populations may decline. Individual animals may move. Some species may alter their behavior. But at the same time, scientists warn, wild plants or animals may experience harder-to-detect changes — for example, alterations to their genomes, the very DNA that defines them. It requires a sophisticated genetics laboratory to see these otherwise invisible changes at first, but they may have important implications for populations’ futures. How exactly can threats such as climate change and habitat loss have hidden effects on a species’ genetic code? Two studies on California birds, both published in the past year, illustrate the potential — both beneficial and problematic. A New Adaptation The endangered southwestern willow flycatcher (Empidonax traillii extimus), ranging from California east to New Mexico and Colorado, depends on rapidly disappearing riparian habitats. As those riverbanks dry up, scientists began to wonder how the birds have adapted. They found the answers by looking to the past. Photo: USFWS In summer 2023 a group of scientists published a study comparing the genomes of flycatcher specimens collected in the San Diego around the turn of the 20th century — taxidermied birds preserved in museums — with those of contemporary birds, using blood samples collected from individuals captured across willow flycatchers’ breeding range today. The study was only possible due to rapid advances in technology. “Until recently, it was very difficult to sequence historical specimens across their entire genome,” says Sheela Turbek, a postdoctoral fellow at Colorado State University who led the project. “DNA tends to degrade over time, and older specimens can have really low DNA concentrations.” The results surprised Turbek and her colleagues: San Diego flycatchers’ genetic diversity has increased over time. Most notably, this increased diversity included areas of the genome linked with climate adaptation. According to the study, it appears the San Diego birds have bred with flycatchers originally from populations in other areas of the West, which may have moved in response to local habitat losses. And as natural selection has acted on this increased diversity, the San Diego birds’ genomes have shifted away from those of neighboring populations, potentially making the local birds better suited for life in a wetter, more humid environment being shaped by climate change. It’s the first time, as far as Turbek knows, that genetic adaptation to climate change has been documented in a wild bird population. “These genetic changes are imperceptible to the human eye, and we don’t know exactly what [these genes] are controlling,” says Turbek, “but we were able to identify several genes that are likely involved in heat tolerance and the birds’ ability to effectively dissipate heat in humid environments.” Turbek cautions that this doesn’t necessarily mean that the future of the San Diego flycatchers is rosy. “Given the unprecedented rate at which environmental conditions are changing, I think this rate of adaptation is likely insufficient, and current records show that the San Diego population is still declining,” she says. But, she admits, it’s “encouraging.” Losing What Matters Scientists call this exchange of genes between populations “gene flow.” Gene flow has also helped boost the genetic diversity of another threatened California bird population — but at a cost. Phred Benham, now a postdoctoral researcher at UC Berkeley, spent his time as a Ph.D. student investigating how two savannah sparrow subspecies, Passerculus sandwichensis alaudinus and Passerculus sandwichensis beldingi, have colonized coastal saltmarshes and adapted to life in a saline environment. “While spending a lot of time driving around California, I became interested in the human impact on these marshes,” he says. Photo: Peter Pearsall/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service He led a study published in January that documented how the genomes of California’s coastal savannah sparrows have changed over the past century — a period during which up to 90% of the birds’ habitat has been destroyed by human activity. Like Turbek, he sequenced the genomes of historical bird specimens preserved in natural history museums and compared them to those of birds alive today. Benham’s study encompassed six tidal marsh populations, and he expected that those that had lost the most habitat would also have lost the most genetic diversity. Instead, he and his colleagues found, in the San Francisco Bay area — where birds had experienced the greatest levels of habitat loss — genetic diversity remained relatively high. This, Benham believes, is probably due to immigration from inland populations of savannah sparrows. There’s just one problem: Those inland birds don’t share the genetic adaptations that make the coastal birds so perfectly suited for life in saltmarshes. Coastal sparrows have larger kidneys, the ability to excrete salt in their urine, and even the ability to distinguish between more- and less-salty water when they need a drink. Now genes from inland interlopers may be diluting the traits that make saltmarsh birds unique. There’s no way to really stop birds from other parts of the state from dispersing into these coastal areas, so Benham would rather focus on preserving and restoring saltmarsh habitat. “The population can tolerate immigrants if the selection [for salt-tolerant traits] is stronger than the rate of gene flow from those immigrants,” he says. In other words, if there’s enough intact saltmarsh habitat for salt-tolerant traits to really have a big impact on the birds’ success, genes from inland immigrants will be naturally weeded out. Genetics Reveal Conservation Priorities Taken together, these two studies illustrate the hidden ways in which environmental change can rewrite animals’ genetic code, and how the same unseen force — in this case, gene flow — can be helpful or harmful, depending on the context. According to Benham, wildlife managers’ views on gene flow have swung back and forth over time. In some cases, conservationists have pushed to eliminate “hybrid” populations, where subspecies have interbred, to preserve genetic purity. On the opposite side of the spectrum, wildlife officials famously brought cougars to Florida from other parts of North America to revive the state’s inbred population. “There’s a lot of evidence showing that when you have a very tiny, inbred population, gene flow can rescue it from the negative effects of inbreeding,” Benham says. But if intermingling populations are adapted for very different environments, the cure may be as bad as the disease. Both studies also highlight the value of natural history collections, an invaluable but underfunded and underappreciated resource for understanding environmental change. Duke University, for example, recently announced that it will close its herbarium, which houses 825,000 plant specimens dating back a century. “I don’t think we can fully grasp at this point the value of all those specimens in museum collections,” says Turbek. “We’re going to continue uncovering that as the technology develops to fully mine them for further information.” It’s too soon to say for sure how these newly revealed genetic-level changes might ultimately affect the health of San Diego’s willow flycatchers or San Francisco’s savannah sparrows. Researchers still lack the data necessary to connect the genetics to the physical traits of individual birds, or to say how those traits might impact their survival. But as climate change continues to accelerate, understanding how it may rewrite the genetic code of the species it impacts will only become more crucial. “Our understanding of [genetic] adaptation to changing climate conditions is surprisingly limited,” says Turbek. We’ll need every resource we have — from historical specimens in the back rooms of natural history museums to cutting-edge gene sequencing techniques — if we hope to untangle these complex relationships in the future. The answers we find may provide the clues we need to keep species from suffering in a world that’s changing around them. Get more from The Revelator. Subscribe to our newsletter, or follow us on Facebook and LinkedIn.  Previously in The Revelator: A New Way to Count African Forest Elephants: DNA From Dung The post Environmental Change, Written in the DNA of Birds appeared first on The Revelator.

A highway in Indiana could one day charge your EV while you’re driving it

Construction of the pilot project on U.S. Highway 52 began this month. State officials hope it can help quell range anxiety and electrify long-haul trucks.

This story was originally published by Inside Climate News and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration. Blake Dollier spoke excitedly as he watched the construction crews pulverize concrete along a quarter-mile stretch of U.S. Highway 52 where it passes through West Lafayette, Indiana. Soon, the Indiana Department of Transportation, or INDOT, where Dollier works as the public relations director, will install a series of copper coils under the highway’s surface to test a new technology Purdue University researchers developed that can provide power to electric vehicles wirelessly as they drive past. “Wouldn’t it really be something if we could just drive over the road and catch your charge for your vehicle as you drive across it?” Dollier said during a phone interview, watching the progress from the parking lot of one of the department’s satellite offices in West Lafayette. The state began construction of its new pilot project this month, and officials say they believe it could spur greater adoption of EVs and redefine the way people think about them. The project, they said, which is being done in partnership with Purdue and the engine manufacturer Cummins Inc., will be capable of providing power to vehicles even as they cruise by at speeds of up to 65 miles per hour. Ultimately, Purdue researchers and state officials hope the project will open up EVs to a wider customer base, largely by reducing battery costs and quelling concerns over range anxiety — the fear that an electric vehicle will run out of juice before reaching its destination. One in four U.S adults say that they would seriously consider buying an EV for their next purchase, but more than half of those who don’t want to buy an electric vehicle blame range anxiety, according to a survey conducted by AAA last year. Purdue professor John Haddock and graduate student Oscar Moncada examine a slab of concrete pavement they tested to handle heavy truckloads with wireless power-transfer technology installed below the surface. Courtesy of Consensus Digital Media While Indiana’s project wouldn’t be the first “dynamic EV charger” in the nation — Detroit installed a similar pilot project on a residential road last fall — it would be the first time the technology was installed on a highway. If successful, the technology could also help to electrify long-haul trucks, which are among the most difficult vehicles to decarbonize, said Nadia Gkritza, a civil engineering professor at Purdue University and the project’s lead researcher.  That’s because heavy-duty trucks would require significantly larger batteries due to their size, weight and the long distances they tend to travel, Gkritza said. However, she said, if they could receive power as they drive, it would allow those vehicles to carry smaller batteries, lowering overall costs and reducing the number of stops to recharge. “Really the possibilities are endless,” INDOT’s Dollier said. “And we’re just hopeful that this is something that can really benefit a lot of people here in the state of Indiana and maybe even across the country going forward.” INDOT says the pilot project should be complete by next summer, though private vehicles won’t be able to use it — at least not yet. Cars and trucks must be equipped with special receivers for the wireless charging to work, meaning current models are incompatible. The coils are installed underground and use magnetic fields to deliver the electricity wirelessly. Each coil only activates when a receiver is above it, Purdue researchers say, so the infrastructure won’t pose a threat to pedestrians, animals or other vehicles. Kaylee Dann, executive director of Greater Indiana Clean Cities, a clean energy advocacy nonprofit that isn’t involved with the project, agrees that the new technology could spur greater EV adoption in Indiana and nationwide. In fact, she said, the project is coming at a time when more and more Hoosiers are choosing to go electric. While Indiana’s overall EV adoption rates still pale in comparison to California and other leaders in the EV market, the state saw an astounding 1,200 percent increase in registered electric vehicles between 2016 and 2022, according to a state report published last year. Some 24,000 electric vehicles were registered in Indiana last year alone, according to the state’s Office of Energy Development. Dann believes that leaning into EVs has been a smart financial move by the state as the nation pivots to cleaner transportation options. Two recent federal policies — the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act and the Environmental Protection Agency’s new tailpipe pollution standards, finalized last month — are expected to dramatically increase domestic production of EVs nationwide in the coming years. Inside Climate News Indiana is already experiencing some of that economic gain. According to a state report published last September, Indiana has received about $8.2 billion in investments related to EV production since 2021. Those include a $3 billion investment by General Motors and Samsung to manufacture EV batteries in the city of New Carlisle and an $803 million investment by Toyota to expand its EV production in the city of Princeton. “We’ve seen a lot of investment from manufacturers,” Dann said. “So we’re gonna see a big influx of EVs being produced in the state.” But the biggest benefits to the state could be environmental. In its annual State of the Air Report, the American Lung Association ranked the Indianapolis metro area the 10th worst city in the nation for year-round particulate matter pollution known as PM2.5. Regular exposure to PM2.5, which is produced any time something combusts, has been linked to increased health risks, including greater risk of asthma attacks, cardiovascular and lung diseases and even premature death.  Because EVs draw power from batteries, not from burning fuel, a higher adoption of them would lead to better air quality for any state. Gkritza said that reducing air pollution is one of the broader goals of Indiana’s pilot project. “Greenhouse gas emissions, air quality, these are really bad across those freight corridors, transit corridors — we have communities that are negatively impacted by freight movement,” she said. More EVs also means fewer greenhouse gas emissions, Dann said, which helps to slow climate change. Transportation is America’s largest source of greenhouse gas emissions, according to the EPA, making up nearly a third of the country’s carbon footprint. In Indiana alone, EVs contribute 60 percent less carbon pollution than their fossil fuel counterparts, Dann said, despite the fact that the state’s electricity — the fuel for EVs — is predominantly produced by coal-fired power plants. More than half of the state’s electricity in 2021 was generated by coal, according to the Indiana Department of Environmental Management.  Having strong EV charging infrastructure in Indiana could be a boon nationwide, given the state’s centralized location in the U.S.  Indiana has more interstate highways passing through it than any other state, Indiana Governor Eric Holcomb touted in a 2021 report. It’s also home to the nation’s second largest FedEx hub and 41 freight railroads, he added, noting Indiana’s motto of being the “Crossroads of America.” “Simply put,” Holcomb wrote, “the world moves through Indiana.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline A highway in Indiana could one day charge your EV while you’re driving it on Apr 27, 2024.

A New Declaration of Animal Consciousness

A group of prominent scientists believes fruit flies, fish, and mollusks might experience pain and pleasure.

This article was originally published by Quanta Magazine.In 2022, researchers at the Bee Sensory and Behavioral Ecology Lab at Queen Mary University of London observed bumblebees doing something remarkable: The diminutive, fuzzy creatures were engaging in activity that could only be described as play. Given small wooden balls, the bees pushed them around and rotated them. The behavior had no obvious connection to mating or survival, nor was it rewarded by the scientists. It was, apparently, just for fun.The study on playful bees is part of a body of research that a group of prominent scholars of animal minds cited earlier this month, buttressing a new declaration that extends scientific support for consciousness to a wider suite of animals than has been formally acknowledged before. For decades, there’s been a broad agreement among scientists that animals similar to us—the great apes, for example—may well have conscious experience, even if their consciousness differs from our own. In recent years, however, researchers have begun to acknowledge that consciousness may also be widespread among animals that are very different from us, including invertebrates with completely different and far simpler nervous systems.The new declaration, signed by biologists and philosophers, formally embraces that view. It reads, in part: “The empirical evidence indicates at least a realistic possibility of conscious experience in all vertebrates (including all reptiles, amphibians, and fishes) and many invertebrates (including, at minimum, cephalopod mollusks, decapod crustaceans, and insects).” Inspired by recent research findings that describe complex cognitive behaviors in these and other animals, the document could represent the beginnings of a new consensus and suggests that researchers may have overestimated the degree of neural complexity required for consciousness.The four-paragraph New York Declaration on Animal Consciousness was unveiled on April 19 at a one-day conference called The Emerging Science of Animal Consciousness being held at New York University. Spearheaded by the philosopher and cognitive scientist Kristin Andrews of York University in Ontario, the philosopher and environmental scientist Jeff Sebo of NYU, and the philosopher Jonathan Birch of the London School of Economics and Political Science, the declaration has so far been signed by 88 researchers, including the psychologists Nicola Clayton and Irene Pepperberg, the neuroscientists Anil Seth and Christof Koch, the zoologist Lars Chittka, and the philosophers David Chalmers and Peter Godfrey-Smith.[Read: Do animals have feelings?]The declaration focuses on the most basic kind of consciousness, known as phenomenal consciousness. Roughly put, if a creature has phenomenal consciousness, then it is “like something” to be that creature—an idea enunciated by the philosopher Thomas Nagel in his influential 1974 essay, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Even if a creature is very different from us, Nagel wrote, “fundamentally an organism has conscious mental states if and only if there is something that it is like to be that organism … We may call this the subjective character of experience.” If a creature is phenomenally conscious, it may have the capacity to experience feelings such as pain, pleasure, and hunger, but not necessarily more complex mental states such as self-awareness.“I hope the declaration [draws] greater attention to the issues of nonhuman consciousness, and to the ethical challenges that accompany the possibility of conscious experiences far beyond the human,” Seth, a neuroscientist at the University of Sussex, wrote in an email. “I hope it sparks discussion, informs policy and practice in animal welfare, and galvanizes an understanding and appreciation that we have much more in common with other animals than we do with things like ChatGPT.”The declaration began to take shape last fall, following conversations among Sebo, Andrews, and Birch. “The three of us were talking about how much has happened over the past 10 years, the past 15 years, in the science of animal consciousness,” Sebo recalls. Scientists now believe, for example, that octopuses feel pain and cuttlefish remember details of specific past events. Studies in fish have found that cleaner wrasse appear to pass a version of the “mirror test,” which some researchers say indicates a degree of self-recognition, and that zebrafish show signs of curiosity. In the insect world, bees show apparent play behavior, while Drosophila fruit flies have distinct sleep patterns that might be influenced by their social environment. Meanwhile, crayfish display anxiety-like states—and those states can be altered by anti-anxiety drugs.These and other signs of conscious states in animals that had long been considered less than conscious excited and challenged biologists, cognitive scientists, and philosophers of mind. “A lot of people have now accepted for a while that, for example, mammals and birds are either conscious or very likely to be conscious, but less attention has been paid to other vertebrate and especially invertebrate taxa,” Sebo says. In conversations and at meetings, experts largely agreed that these animals must have consciousness. However, this newly formed consensus wasn’t being communicated to the wider public, including other scientists and policy makers. So the three researchers decided to draft a clear, concise statement and circulate it among their colleagues for endorsement. The declaration is not meant to be comprehensive but rather “to point to where we think the field is now and where the field is headed,” Sebo says.The new declaration updates the most recent effort to establish scientific consensus on animal consciousness. In 2012, researchers published the Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness, which said that an array of nonhuman animals, including but not limited to mammals and birds, have “the capacity to exhibit intentional behaviors” and that “humans are not unique in possessing the neurological substrates that generate consciousness.”The new declaration expands the scope of its predecessor and is also worded more carefully, Seth wrote. “It doesn’t try to do science by diktat, but rather emphasizes what we should take seriously regarding animal consciousness and the relevant ethics given the evidence and theories that we have.” He wrote that he is “not in favor of avalanches of open letters and the like,” but that he ultimately “came to the conclusion that this declaration was very much worth supporting.”Godfrey-Smith, a philosopher of science at the University of Sydney who has worked extensively with octopuses, believes that the complex behaviors those creatures exhibit—including problem-solving, tool use, and play behavior—can be interpreted only as indicators of consciousness. “They’ve got this attentive engagement with things, with us, and with novel objects that makes it very hard not to think that there’s quite a lot going on inside them,” he says. He notes that recent papers looking at pain and dreamlike states in octopuses and cuttlefish “point in the same direction … toward experience as being a real part of their lives.”Although many of the animals mentioned in the declaration have brains and nervous systems that are very different from those of humans, the researchers say that this needn’t be a barrier to consciousness. For example, a bee’s brain contains only about 1 million neurons, compared with some 86 billion in the case of humans. But each of those bee neurons may be as structurally complex as an oak tree. The network of connections they form is also incredibly dense. The nervous system of an octopus, by contrast, is complex in other ways. Its organization is highly distributed rather than centralized; a severed arm can exhibit many of the behaviors of the intact animal.The upshot, Andrews says, is that “we might not need nearly as much equipment as we thought we did” to achieve consciousness. She notes, for example, that even a cerebral cortex—the outer layer of the mammalian brain, which is believed to play a role in attention, perception, memory, and other key aspects of consciousness—may not be necessary for the simpler phenomenal consciousness targeted in the declaration.“There was a big debate about whether fish are conscious, and a lot of that had to do with them lacking the brain structures that we see in mammals,” she says. “But when you look at birds and reptiles and amphibians, they have very different brain structures and different evolutionary pressures—and yet some of those brain structures, we’re finding, are doing the same kind of work that a cerebral cortex does in humans.”Godfrey-Smith agrees, noting that behaviors indicative of consciousness “can exist in an architecture that looks completely alien to vertebrate or human architecture.”Although the declaration has implications for the treatment of animals, and especially for the prevention of animal suffering, Sebo notes that the focus should go beyond pain. It’s not enough for people to prevent animals in captivity from experiencing bodily pain and discomfort, he says. “We also have to provide them with the kinds of enrichment and opportunities that allow them to express their instincts and explore their environments and engage in social systems and otherwise be the kinds of complex agents they are.”[Read: The mirror test is broken]But the consequences of bestowing the label of “conscious” onto a wider array of animals—particularly animals whose interests we are not used to considering—are not straightforward. For example, our relationship with insects may be “inevitably a somewhat antagonistic one,” Godfrey-Smith says. Some pests eat crops, and mosquitoes can carry diseases. “The idea that we could just sort of make peace with the mosquitoes—it’s a very different thought than the idea that we could make peace with fish and octopuses,” he says.Similarly, little attention is given to the well-being of insects such as Drosophila, which are widely used in biology research. “We think about the welfare of livestock and of mice in research, but we never think about the welfare of the insects,” says Matilda Gibbons, who researches the neural basis of consciousness at the University of Pennsylvania and has signed the declaration.Although scientific bodies have created some standards for the treatment of lab mice, it’s not clear if today’s declaration will lead to new standards for the treatment of insects. But new scientific findings do sometimes spark new policies. Britain, for example, enacted legislation to increase protection for octopuses, crabs, and lobsters after a London School of Economics report indicated that those animals can experience pain, distress, or harm.Although the declaration makes no mention of artificial intelligence, the issue of possible AI consciousness has been on the minds of animal-consciousness researchers. “Current AI systems are very unlikely to be conscious,” Sebo says. However, what he’s learned about animal minds “does give me pause and makes me want to approach the topic with caution and humility.”Andrews hopes that the declaration will spark more research into animals that have often been overlooked, a move that has the potential to further expand our awareness of the scope of consciousness in the animal world. “All these nematode worms and fruit flies that are in almost every university—study consciousness in them,” she says. “You already have them. Somebody in your lab is going to need a project. Make that project a consciousness project. Imagine that!”

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