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pollinators
A Shadowy Campaign Is Targeting Pesticide Opponents. I'm One of Them.
While it may be creepy to read an industry-funded dossier on you online, it pales in comparison to what other pesticide industry critics have faced.
Oct 29, 2024
As I head back from Cali, Colombia after attending the Convention on Biological Diversity this week, I’ve been thinking a lot about the attempts by countless advocates around the world to take on one of the biggest drivers of biodiversity collapse: toxic pesticides. Reducing the use of pesticides is one of the key ways we can help beneficial insect species rebound, protect vital pollinators, ensure thriving aquatic ecosystems, and much more—all while protecting human health.
With all that we know about the benefits to biodiversity of reducing pesticides, why haven’t we made more progress in tackling these toxic substances? The latest clue came to us last month thanks to an investigation by Lighthouse Reports, which revealed that the Trump administration had used taxpayer dollars to fund a pesticide industry PR operation targeting advocates, journalists, scientists, and UN officials around the world calling for pesticide reforms.
The investigation exposed the details of a private online social network, funded by U.S. government dollars, with detailed profiles of more than 500 people—a kind of Wikipedia-meets-doxxing of pesticide opponents. It showed how the network was activated to block a conference on pesticide reform in East Africa, among other actions.
My interest in the leaked private network is also personal: I’m one of those profiled, attacked for working on numerous reports, articles, and education campaigns on pesticides. In my dossier, I’m described among other things as collaborating on a campaign alleging pesticide companies “use ‘tobacco PR’ tactics to hide health and environmental risk.” Guilty as charged. While it may be creepy to read an industry-funded dossier on you online, it pales in comparison to what other pesticide industry critics have faced.
When you don’t have science on your side, you have to rely on slime.
There’s Dr. Tyrone Hayes, the esteemed UC Berkeley professor, who has persevered through a yearslong campaign to destroy his reputation by the pesticide company Syngenta whose herbicide atrazine Hayes’s exacting research has linked to endocrine disruption in frogs. There’s journalist Carey Gillam who faced a Monsanto-funded public relations onslaught for raising substantive questions about the safety of the company’s banner herbicide product, Roundup. There’s Gary Hooser, former Hawaii State Senator and Kauaʻi County Councilmember who weathered a barrage of industry attacks for his advocacy for common sense pesticide reform—a barrage so effective he lost his seat in office. The list goes on.
Why develop elaborate attacks on journalists and scientists raising serious concerns about your products? It’s simple: When you don’t have science on your side, you have to rely on slime.
This latest exposé does not surprise me, of course, nor many colleagues who are also listed in this private online network. I’ve been tracking industry disinformation and its attacks on those working to raise the alarm about the environmental and human health impacts of pesticides for decades: this is what companies do. They try to defame, marginalize, and silence scientists, journalists, and community advocates who raise concerns about the health harms of their products.
Growing up, I saw this up close. My father, the toxicologist and epidemiologist Marc Lappé, was a professor of medical ethics and a frequent expert witness in legal cases where chemicals were a concern. He died at age 62 of brain cancer. By the time he passed away, I had heard countless tales of his legal wranglings in depositions and on the stand. Cases where he served as an expert witness for lawsuits on behalf of people harmed by exposure to dangerous chemicals, lawsuits against some of the biggest chemical companies in the world.
Thanks to this investigation, we now have another example of how the pesticide industry tries to shift attention away from these very real concerns, even using taxpayer dollars to do it.
The defense attorney’s strategy with my father was always the same: undermine his expertise, rattle his equanimity so juries would trust well-paid lawyers, not my dad. There was the time they quoted an excerpt of one of his journal articles to make it sound like he was contradicting himself, which backfired when he asked the lawyer to read for the jury the rest of the paragraph, putting the words in context and solidifying his point. The worst story was from a trial not long after my stepmother died in a tragic accident, leaving behind my three younger half-siblings. As my dad walked to the stand, one of the defense lawyers said under his breath, “Marc, how was Mother’s Day at your house this year?” Slime indeed.
But while they have the slime, we have the science: We know that many of the pesticides now ubiquitous in industrial agriculture are linked to serious health concerns, from ADHD to infertility, Parkinson’s, depression, a swath of cancers, and more. The insecticide chlorpyrifos is so toxic there are no determined safe levels for children or infants. Paraquat, linked to Parkinson’s, is so acutely deadly a teaspoon of the stuff can kill you—something its largest producer, Syngenta, has known for decades. And, 2,4-D, the defoliant used in the Vietnam War to wipe out forest cover in that country has been linked to birth defects among children there—and in the United States—even decades after the war.
The threat for biodiversity is severe, too. A 2019 comprehensive review of more than 70 studies around the world powerfully tied widespread pesticide use to insect declines worldwide. And, as reported in the Pesticide Atlas (I edited the U.S. edition), despite these known risks, pesticide use is increasing in many regions in the world. In South America, pesticide use went up 484 percent from 1990 to 2017. In Brazil, alone, pesticide sales have shot up nearly 1000% between 1998 and 2008
Thanks to this investigation, we now have another example of how the pesticide industry tries to shift attention away from these very real concerns, even using taxpayer dollars to do it. As I land in Colombia, where tens of thousands are gathered to envision a world conducive to thriving biodiversity, I hope this reporting will remind policymakers to rely on science, not spin.
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Discovering Intelligence in Unexpected Places
If our human intelligence has discerned over thousands of years which plants are edible and nutritious and healing, wouldn’t the evolutional ingenuity of plants which feed and sustain us and all life also constitute intelligence?
Aug 27, 2024
From the largest to the smallest and the oldest to the youngest creatures on Earth—Antarctic blue whales and coastal redwood trees, minute bacteria and human beings—we are all enmeshed in layers of relationships. We need each other, though some more than others.
Plants evolved hundreds of millions of years before the first humans and transformed the Earth—through their creativity in surviving predators—into a livable environment for all animals, including humans. We needed plants for our evolution and need them now for our survival from climate disaster. They, however, did not need us for their existence and would survive without us.
Putting humans at the top of the evolution chain as the crown of intelligent life, a Western worldview, is—as some keenly grasp—mistaken. The baleful consequences of this simplistic hierarchy are everywhere: out-of-control climate change; accelerating rates of animal and plant extinction; dead zones in the oceans and mass mortality of coral reefs; the vast pollution of land, air, and water; and the mounting likelihood of human extinction with nuclear war. All caused by humans, humans with financial and political power much more egregiously than others.
Perhaps you have you noticed that late summer asters and goldenrod tend to grow as companions. Why? Together—their combined beauty—attracts more pollinators.
Certain scientists who study plants—from the simplest to the exotic—are stirring controversy with their “ Are plants intelligent?” Consider that we humans owe our lives to plants for their food, medicines, and critical balance of 21% oxygen in the air we breathe. If our human intelligence has discerned over thousands of years which plants are edible and nutritious and healing, wouldn’t the evolutional ingenuity of plants which feed and sustain us and all life also constitute intelligence?
Studies have found that elephants recognize themselves in a mirror, crows create tools, dolphins demonstrate empathy and playfulness, and cats exhibit similar styles of attachment as human toddlers. The given explanation is that they have brains with neurological capacity for consciousness and intelligence.
But plants do not have a central brain. Could their mode of learning to evade insect predators and maximize their growth come from a diverse form of intelligence, possibly be distributed across their roots, stems, and leaves? Could the whole plant, then, function as a brain? Recent studies of plants have stirred the possibility that they are conscious and intelligent. Take communication, something we humans claim as our domain through language and more recently acknowledge that animals also possess.
Botanists have found that not only do alder and willow trees alter their leaf chemistry to defend themselves against an invasion of tent caterpillars, but that leaves of faraway trees also change their chemical composition similarly. Warned, as they are, by airborne plant chemicals released from the original trees under attack. Goldenrods signal an attack by a predator through strong chemical communication sent to all other goldenrod neighbors, just as humans warn their neighbors about a nearby fire or flood or crime.
Without any recognizable ears, plants sense sounds. The vibration of a predator insect chewing on its leaves causes a plant to make its own defensive pesticide. Beach evening primrose responds to the sound of honeybees in flight by increasing the sweetness of its nectar to attract them for pollination. Tree roots grow toward the sound of running water, including in pipes, where the roots often burst through causing great difficulties for municipalities. How do the various plants hear these stimulating sounds?
Plants have memory, some anticipating from past experience when a pollinator will show up for the plants’ pollen. Plants express social intelligence: Members of the pea family form relationships with bacteria living in their roots to have the bacteria supply beneficial nitrogen for the plants’ growth. Several kinds of plants provide a home and food for compatible ants who then attack the plants’ ant pests. Perhaps you have you noticed that late summer asters and goldenrod tend to grow as companions. Why? Together—their combined beauty—attracts more pollinators.
In finishing, I express my immense respect for the Indigenous worldview where wind, rocks, air, and rain are our kin, together with plants and nonhuman animals. We, humans, the most recent beings, depend on all of these elder kin; and this awareness, this worldview of connectivity among all beings, is our path back to Earth well-being.
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Kamala Harris and Donald Trump Agree on a Key Point: Moths Will Not Be a 2024 Campaign Issue
The biosphere has been sent to hospice, and we are all on a morphine drip called election coverage.
Aug 05, 2024
In a recent column, Paul Street wrote how there "are plenty of deadly sirens in contemporary American life but few are as powerful as the savagely time-staggered big money corporate crafted narrow spectrum major party big media candidate-centered 'quadrennial [electoral] extravaganzas'—Noam Chomsky's term—that are sold to the masses as 'politics,' the only politics that matters."
Street is absolutely right. In the thousands of years of bread and circuses—from Roman gladiators to free internet porn—never have the masses been bought off by such vapid shtick.
This is our presidential election year, and a batshit crazy one with two demented geezers slobbering through a debate that would elicit head shakes and chuckles if it occurred in a bar or in the waiting room for a Peter Pan bus. Then one geezer gave up the ghost....I don't have to retell the story. You might not know the name of your home galaxy, but you know Kamala Harris and Donald Trump—you can hear their voices scratching and echoing in the passageways winding through your brain. You see their faces—as though they pressed up threateningly just inches from your nose.
If a mass shooter sprayed your local Big Y with gunfire you might offer a minute of thoughts and prayers, but then the election would gently bring you back to your reserved seat in the collective fantasy, because this election—just like all the others—will decide the fate of creation, the balance of force between democracy and Nazi wannabeism, and pretty much everything else. This election will determine if the greenness of trees, the blueness of skies, the beige hue of dirt and the wetness of water continues for another four years or not.
Now my porch light shines on a dead zone—no moths, no spiders, no nothing. When did this happen? A year ago? Five years ago? I wasn't fucking paying attention. Don't ask me. I am watching election coverage on MSNBC—where no one dares to talk about moths.
But I just discovered something so secretly horrific, that it demands our complete attention—turn off the election coverage. You might have discovered the exact same thing. It is the nature of collapsing cultures to keep secrets out in the open. The collapse itself is a secret, even when it loudly and openly proclaims itself. We are completely riveted to banal spectacles, to siren songs as Street writes, and almost nothing can bring us back to nominal reality. While we are diddling away time on this stupid election, the shit has hit the fan. What sort of jolt would slap us hard enough to wake us all up?
Maybe an alien invasion would knock the cobwebs aside. A techno-superior, intergalactic army of cosmic conquerors claiming our world for the flag of some nameless solar system at the far edge of the Laniakea Supercluster—that might reset our priorities. Let Trump build a wall between Andromeda and the Milky Way—and boast that Andromeda will pay for it.
Another thing that might alter our perspective would be a super volcano eruption. Human history has yet to see the fury that patiently gathers beneath the paper thin layers of crustal plates. We have had tiny pop-gun doses of tectonic rage like Vesuvius or Krakatoa, but never the real deal. If Yellowstone, Campi Flegrei, or Lake Toba blow their calderas, that might reorder our priorities in a hurry. I could describe the cubic miles of homicidal magma, the sulfuric, sun blocking emissions, and subsequent buildup of greenhouse gasses, but you can go to YouTube to savor a limitless collection of videos that recreate volcanic Armageddon with special effects.
Unfortunately, neither an alien takeover nor a super-volcanic display of cross continental lava can equal the destruction already hiding in plain sight.
Scientists tell us that greenhouse gasses now increase in atmospheric density at a speed ten times faster than the velocity created by Permian mega eruptions. The Siberian Traps super volcanoes (that drove the mother of all mass extinctions 252 million years ago) would sit on the bench of a dream team comprised of Exxon, Shell, Chevron, BP and Saudi Aramco.
Allow me to digress and obliquely approach my main point by going back in time - not deep time, but my own time. It is 1964 and I am a high school freshman playing basketball from sunup to sundown with hoop dreams percolating in my head. My two elder companions and summer league teammates (let's call them Doug and Dobie) walk along the border of North Hartford one evening and talk about their philosophy regarding girls and fighting. The topic is about unwritten rules - if you are out with a girl and someone makes a provocative remark, do you stare him down, push him aggressively or throw a sucker punch? This discourse strikes me rather abstractly as I had never been "out with a girl.” The conversation makes me uncomfortable—my naivete will inevitably be targeted. Fortunately, the ritualized display of preening masculinity is preempted by a street light mounted on a telephone pole. Around the light, in a fluttering frenzy, fly thousands of moths.
The sheer number of them creates a mosaic of gyrating shadows at our feet. While each moth flaps silently, the utter mass of them, the aggregate force of weightless creatures, creates a dry, hissing sound—evil and magnetic. These creatures belong to the spirit world—a place greater than our lives of hoops, school and adolescent pretense. We all look up at the lamp and mutter "holy fuck."
That many beating wings have the capacity to induce awe that we don't normally associate with the lowly moth. Moths have, like all insects, the superpower of industrial breeding. They overwhelm the law of averages with such prolific egg production that the remnants of the hungry Mesozoic (birds) can't scarf their way to a mothless world. Moths can gather in dizzying swarms that mock mortality. These communities, swirling vortex-like around every light bulb, prove the strength of numbers.
The ancestors (Holometabola ) of moths and butterflies (Lepitoptera) evolved some 300 million years ago—as such, this superorder that emerged in the late Carboniferous has survived three of the five mass extinctions of deep time—specifically, the aforementioned end Permian, the Triassic and the Cretaceous/Paleogene. The worst, most murderous conditions that mother-nature can concoct in her most terrible moods have never derailed our fluttering masters of hard times.
Moths have evolved spectacular means of adjustment—including the ability to consume the nectar of flowering plants (which emerged in the Cretaceous) and the capacity to sense sonar waves emitted by bats that prey upon them. The leptitopterans have radiated into 180,000 species. This mind blowing fact might be weighed against the six and a half thousand mammalian species currently struggling to limp into the next century.
Moths are one of the most critical pollinators. They also break down rotting leaves and create fertile humus to nourish fields and forests. Their larvae (caterpillars) sustain countless famished species. Moths are the superglue holding the biosphere together—or rather, they once were.
Unfortunately, I have bad news. While I had my face buried in the internet, moths went extinct—at least the sorts that hovered about street lamps in clouds of organic confusion while Doug, Dobie and I looked on in wonder a mere six decades ago. The street lamps in Northampton, Massachusetts—where I now reside as an old man—are now empty, lonely, and silent places.
And in my backyard, funnel spiders would build their webs next to the porch light and grow to enormous sizes feasting on the moths that fell into their ancient traps. Now my porch light shines on a dead zone—no moths, no spiders, no nothing. When did this happen? A year ago? Five years ago? I wasn't fucking paying attention. Don't ask me. I am watching election coverage on MSNBC—where no one dares to talk about moths.
We have gotten the narrative ass backward. The dystopian story of human extinction formulated that we would destroy ourselves, and the bugs would be heirs to our misfortune. But no—the toxic brew of extermination is taking them out first. The good thing about mass extinction is that T-Rex and the Gorgonopsia had ambitious heirs. But we have created a mass extinction so powerful that heirs have become irrelevant - think about that for a moment. The degradation of nature is now threatening to be total. The toxic sludge, industrial fumes, agricultural poisons, plastics, greenhouse gasses, artificial light, nuclear waste and deforested wastelands have snuck up on us like a hooded assailant in a dark ally.
The dystopian story of human extinction formulated that we would destroy ourselves, and the bugs would be heirs to our misfortune. But no—the toxic brew of extermination is taking them out first.
My anecdotal musings may not suffice as an official signature on the Lepitopteran death certificate, but the experts say that bugs are collapsing at record rates—unprecedented in evolutionary history.
While I announce the complete demise of moths in my backyard and my street, a study in the UK has moth populations down 32% since 1968 in the UK. A study in Scotland puts the local moth decline at almost 50%.
A recent study in a small Florida city concluded:
Comparing the rural site with the greatest total abundance and the urban site with the lowest total abundance across the entire year, we documented a 68% reduction in caterpillar frass mass, an 80% reduction in pooled micro-moth abundance, and a staggering 97% reduction in pooled macro-moth abundance.
Macro-moths means simply, big moths. The decline in population referenced above is not about a reduction across time, but a comparison between populations in urban parks and rural woodlands. Proximity to human beings has not gone well for moths.
And it’s not just moths—it’s all insects. Researcher, Francisco Sanchez-Bayo regarding insect population declines, told The Guardian in 2019: “It is very rapid. In 10 years you will have a quarter less, in 50 years only half left and in 100 years you will have none.”
So scientists have been talking about a total insect genocide for a while now, and after a lifetime of obliviousness, I suddenly notice that the moths that have existed in vast numbers throughout my life—creatures that have flourished by the trillions of trillions for almost half the time since the "Cambrian Explosion" have now dropped dead in a finger snap. I could write about birds, bees, butterflies or a million other clades, orders and species getting fucked by humanity’s satanic religion—capitalism.
Imagine yourself going to the doctor for a routine checkup and being told that you have metastatic cancer. "It is in your bones, your brain, in your blood and has colonized the organs in your body." The biosphere has been sent to hospice, and we are all on a morphine drip called election coverage.
I don't know if Kamala Harris and Donald Trump are going to debate, but I am certain that if they do, neither one will say a word about dead and dying moths. Insects are the proletariat of the planet's organic systems, and you can depend on US politicians not to talk about the working class.
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