Paul Greenberg’s fascinating new book Four Fish: The Future of the Last Wild Food, examines the reasons why humans chose to seek out salmon, tuna, bass, and cod, the four staples of our seafood diet, and questions the sustainability of our efforts to continue doing so. I recently lived in Japan for three years, and had my fair share of Toro sashimi, fatty blue fin tuna, along with other delicacies. Having lived in that seafood-based culture, and having fished for salmon myself, I understand the appeal of the current staples of seafood. I was really impressed with the background and the framework with which Greenberg examines these fisheries.
Greenberg grew in Connecticut, fishing along its namesake river (Connecticut comes from the Algonquin word quonehtacut, or ‘long coastal river’), and developed a love of fishing from an early age. He understands fisheries management and aquaculture, and deftly explains how our fisheries came to be in their current state. At root, the book is examining four fish, “Or rather four archetypes of fish flesh which humanity is trying to master in one way or another, either through the management of a wild system, through the domestication and farming of individual species, or through the outright substitution of one species for another.” In fact that is where Four Fish is particularly insightful – Greenberg identifies some potential sustainable aquaculture candidates that are efficient and safe (for both humans and the marine environment), that you probably never heard of, like barramundi and Kona Kampachi.
I recently attended a public hearing about proposed fisheries regulations in Rhode Island, and what became immediately apparent to me was that most of the audience, stakeholders in the fisheries industry, spoke an entirely different language than the fisheries scientists, employees of the Rhode Island Department of Environmental Management (DEM). There were both commercial and recreational fishers of a wide range of aquatic species, ranging from soft-shell clams to cod, stripers to monkfish. Their individual economic incentives often conflicted with each other; party boat captains relied on a large bag limit of tautog, because the state regulations were more liberal than in neighboring states; divers and waders for shellfish fought for different season opening dates, to get an advantage on each other. The fisheries scientists spoke of maintaining sustainable fisheries through regulation, while the fishermen complained they would be unable to make a profit with ‘micromanagement.’
Greenberg’s Four Fish examines the economic aspects of fisheries as well, and he recommends that artisan fishers replace factory trawlers; subsidized fishing fleets should go away and in their place, respectful fishermen-herders who will steward the species as well as catch them. He also argues that blue fin tuna and other species that travel across oceans are unmanageable, and should be protected like tigers and whales. Having seen the Japanese fish markets, I know how difficult that will be, but mercury-laden tuna is simply not sustainable or manageable. Here in Rhode Island, fishermen at the hearing spoke of resources and jobs; while they may sometimes disagree with the fisheries scientists, both will need to work together in the long term to create sustainable fisheries, sustainable jobs, and sustainable seafood. Ultimately, that will require “a profound reduction in fishing effort,” and open-minded consumers.
Last night I attended a public comment hearing on some proposed fishing management regulations, and I could hear the tension that exists between our economy, reliant on steady growth, and our diminishing resources. The proposals, presented by RI Department of Environmental Management (DEM) administrators, were framed by scientific assessments of the health of fisheries. The fish were referred to mainly as biomass and resources. The hearing was attended by 50 people, mainly fishermen and women, but also citizens concerned about sustainable fisheries.
Critics of DEM regulation presented arguments about the rising cost of fuel, and the need to maintain a high harvest in order to make a profit; many of them did not agree with the DEM about their fishery assessments. Ultimately, the administrators and the fishermen seemed to be speaking two languages, much like our national political discourse. When the DEM administrator chairing the hearing referred to ‘management,’ fisherman recoiled as if the word meant ‘closure.’ The DEM assessed fishery populations scientifically, whereas the fishermen offered anecdotal evidence about days when the fish come and days when they don’t. One shellfisherman asked a DEM scientist to explain where the evidence of soft-shell clam underpopulation was.
The hearing was an exercise in democracy, one that both sides seemed familiar with. The DEM administrator chairing the hearing knew many of the fishermen by name, including several leaders of trade associations. Those trade associations take different positions on DEM regulation, but the word ‘micromanagement’ came up many times. Several members of an Advisory Panel, which worked prior to the hearing to offer recommendations to the DEM on the proposals, spoke of the long hours spent trying to identify the best path forward. Several veterans, involved with RI fisheries and regulation going back to the 1970s, spoke of the ‘give-and-take’ that happens with these regulations over time. The process itself offered by the hearing gave me some hope about the ability of our system of government to work ‘for the people and by the people.’ Ultimately, that is the only way we can move forward, especially with the great challenges we will face in coming years.
Nadav Savio, a Google engineer, wrote this insightful post about Apple, Google, and blind spots:
“It’s been said that Google doesn’t get ‘social’ and, though I think that is vastly overstated, there is truth there. Similarly, I’d say that Apple doesn’t understand the internet. Well I have a simple theory about it. There’s a cliché that everyone’s greatest strength is also their greatest weakness, and I believe that applies as well to organizations as to people. Take Apple. They make amazing, holistic products and services and one of their primary tools is control. Fanatical, centralized control. Control over the design, over the hardware, over the experience. And that’s exactly the opposite of the internet, which is about decentralization and messy, unfiltered chaos. Google, on the other hand, gets the internet, but has trouble with humans. And I’d say it’s not so much because it’s an engineering-heavy organization or that Google doesn’t know how to have fun (both reasons I’ve seen stated publicly). I think it’s that one of Google’s biggest strengths is in search, which is largely about things like precision and recall, about stitching the chaos of the internet into some semblance of order. But social interactions happen in the variance, in the messy spaces that seem meaningless. Much social meaning is carried by phatic communication and that is exactly opposite to what Google does, which is to optimize signal vs. noise, looking for the meaning and discarding the meaningless. Presumably, we can find the undoing of other organizations in their strengths. What, for example, is Microsoft really, really good at? Or Facebook?”
This is a brilliant analysis of two great companies, who are really good at certain things; somehow that greatness meets its limits. This is a good lesson for all of us. We know what we know, and we know what we know we don’t know. However, what we don’t know we don’t know is what kills us. This is our blind spot. Unfortunately, unless you question your assumptions, you will bump into your blind spots, often when you least expect it. It really pays to be open to the possibility that a colleague, a friend, an associate, a supplier, or a stranger might have the insight to open your eyes. Sometimes, when we make mistakes, we wonder why we didn’t recognize it earlier; it may be that we actually could have recognized the error, if only we had been open enough to understand the insight.
I was born in a trailer park, and my family did not have resources to provide me with the latest technology, or to travel to exotic destinations around the world. In fact, while I have since travelled to several ends of the Earth, to this day I have still not set foot in Europe, I have not gazed upon the fine art in The Louvre. However, my family did impart upon me an affinity with the Natural world, apart from human civilization.
As a child, in Northwest Pennsylvania and Western New York, I spent summers in the woods, in hills and preserves named after Iroquois tribes, gaining an understanding of the interconnectedness of life. I was raised in the Episcopal Church, but my church introduced me to the wonder and spectacle of landscapes like Death Valley and Joshua Tree National Park. To this day, I consider those deserts to be the most sacred space I have encountered.
The human technological construct is a bubble that we lose our selves in, that we tend to divorce our actions from their consequences. I spent several uninterrupted weeks in Death Valley, and that experience was the first that burst that bubble, that construct, and made clear the extent of which we fool ourselves. The scale of humanity becomes clear in a landscape as grand as that one.
In the last ten years I was fortunate enough to travel across the Pacific and Indian Oceans; once again the bubble was popped, because the bubble of our vessel was so insignificant and vulnerable as compared to the massive oceans, and yet the crystal clear sky, with its infinite stars, made clear the vulnerability of all life on Earth. These spaces, apart from human civilization, wild and open, I hold to be sacred. While I don’t get to travel to them as often as I would like, these spaces hold more spirituality for me than any church or human construct. Despite all the trappings of our technology, I cannot forget them.
Well, once again I am off to Vermont for the weekend, to Brattleboro, where snow and Nordic ski jumps are normal happenings. Stay frosty, friends, I’ll be back next week.
You may have missed it last week, but there was an excellent piece on the opposition to smart meters in California in the New York Times. PG&E has installed 7 million smart meters in California since 2006; they transmit real time data on consumers’ electricity use to the utility, helping them to allocate power more efficiently. The goal is to give consumers information about how they use power, and incentivize them to use less of it. However, opposition to the smart meters comes largely from two different constituencies: Tea Party conservatives and consumers afraid of EMF. Initially, you may remember, opposition to smart meters came when electricity bills increased; critics first charged that the meters were inaccurate, but it soon became apparent that the old meters were undercharging. Now, opposition from Tea Party conservatives to smart meters is predictable; doubtlessly PG&E is just the latest Big Brother out to destroy their lives. However, the anti-EMF opponents are a constituency that PG&E can work with, and should have worked with. After all, it would be easy enough to find a way to connect these meters to broadband lines.
However, if we step back and examine this problem, a lot of the fuss comes down to stakeholder engagement. Both Santa Cruz and Marin Counties put up obstacles to these meters because PG&E did not effectively engage with them beforehand. Ultimately, we are going to have difficulties adapting to our warming climate; as we make policy changes, it will be more important than ever to properly engage and address concerns before and during rollout. Unanimous consent is probably an unrealistic goal, but acknowledging and working with people is a must.
A remarkable new documentary is out this month, called Carbon Nation. Director Peter Byck bills this film as a “climate change movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change.” All I can say is you’ve got to see this film. Take your conservative friends and family, too. Byck really frames the challenges and opportunities of climate change in an elegant and open-minded way – this film is not preachy, it is straightforward; it drives home the point that people are confronting this problem already, with solutions that can be adopted on a much larger scale. This film is a game-changer.
Every time snow falls, climate disinformation artists claim that climate change is not happening, and that our carbon emissions have no demonstrable effect on the climate. Well, these snowstorms and the record precipitation are actually right on schedule. These storms are influenced by the warming weather, but also by natural variability.