On World Nature Conservation Day, we want to expand our thinking on the right to be housed. The housing crisis affecting humans is a severe and urgent issue. Many people—especially marginalized and racialized communities that have suffered historic and ongoing systemic injustices—face homelessness, inadequate shelter, and a lack of access to safe and affordable housing. Today, in reflecting on the conservation and protection of marine species, we want to extend this discussion on the right to be housed to our other-than-human kin. Ensuring safe and adequate housing for all beings, regardless of what those housing needs may be, must be a priority.
Bees, for example, in search of nourishment and housing, especially in the spring, can get confused and disoriented when the flowers they are seeking have already bloomed and faded, or are struggling to blossom. There are many reasons why bees and other life are in danger around the world, but I’ve found homelessness to be a powerful way to frame the issue.
At GSA, we apply this same framing to the Southern Resident Killer Whale (SRKW)—a charismatic megafauna that is under threat of extinction as projects such as the Roberts Bank Terminal 2 (RBT2) expansion project are challenged in court, and increased marine shipping of LNG continues unabated—TMX has led to a seven-fold increase in traffic, for instance. We are working hard to unsettle the structures in place that are leading to homelessness and possible extinctions in the Salish Sea.
There is a sense of solastalgia—a feeling of homesickness while still at home, as philosopher Glenn Albrecht has termed it—that we can apply to the lifeforms around us, in addition to what we feel as humans. I draw these links to animalize the human, as we are not separate from the homelessness that the SRKWs are experiencing, even though it may look different.
As the UN Environment Programme tells us, “by halting and reversing the degradation of lands and oceans, we can prevent the loss of 1 million endangered species. Scientists say restoring only 15 percent of ecosystems in priority areas can cut extinctions by 60 per cent by improving habitats.”
This is an example of how these twin crises of climate change and biodiversity loss are intricately linked: meeting the challenge of climate change must include meeting the challenge of protecting and restoring biodiversity.
If we were to offer SRKW meaningful protections, they would have a drastically greater chance of survival, produce healthier offspring with greater chances of living to childbearing age, and would restore their population gradually. This is not the current reality.
Earlier in 2024, it was reported that the orca L85 Mystery was missing. In a recent encounter with this pod, this orca was again not observed, leading the Centre for Whale Research to presume that we will not see Mystery again, which will reduce the total population count of SRKW down to 73. He was born in 1991, making him 33 years old—just two years older than I am. Check out this post to learn more. The conditions in the Salish Sea are such that the orcas cannot survive if we maintain the status quo. This is a process of managed extinction, and life—whether human or otherwise—is under threat from a broken system that needs to be deeply transformed.
Conservation work is so big, so interconnected, and so essential. GSA is committed to the deep work of protecting and restoring refuge and sanctuary for life in the Salish Sea as an alliance of movements working together. We’re stronger together—our thriving survival depends on us living and loving together in powerful, uplifting, and liberatory ways that challenge the norms and ideas that got us to where we’re at now.
I have been on a journey for the last decade or so of trying to follow the patterns of the moon and the tides, the weather and climate where I live, and in general trying to sink into the seasons as much as I can. Change is life, and tapping into that flow is where I’ve found a sense of connection and meaning. What connects you to the Salish Sea bioregion? What is your story of connection with this beautiful paradise? How do you like to ground yourself? Does it help to do these things with others, other-than-human critters, or “just” yourself (though this is a bit of a misnomer, as we are always already composed of an estimated 39 trillion microbes that live inside of “us”)?
Please send in a photo, a sketch, a short message, or a poem that speaks to the things you do to keep grounded during these times—ways that you root down and connect to the land, air, and water. If you are okay with it, we’d love to post these to our social media or newsletter to share how we are tapping into the deep reverberations of life around us. We can’t do this work in isolation.
In alliance,
russ
Photos courtesy russ elliott