How Wild is Your Elephant?

By Hillary Rosner, 8-29-05

It's been almost two weeks since Nature published a brief essay by a Cornell grad student boldly outlining a plan to restore the Great Plains to a rough approximation of what it looked like 13,000 years ago. Called "Pleistocene re-wilding," Josh Donlan's scheme would install elephants, cheetahs, camels, and other large animals in those wind-swept areas of Nebraska and elsewhere on the plains that people have been abandoning for years. The essay, also published in more colloquial English on Slate, fueled a mini-panic, at least among the media, prompting newspapers, online 'zines, and blogs of all stripes (from USA Today to Dentalplans.com) to run stories with headlines like "Big Game Could Roam US Plains,'" and "North America, Home to Lions and Elephants."

Many—though by no means all--of the stories mocked the idea, or attacked it on various grounds, pointing to political impossibilities, flaws in the science, safety issues, and the general absurdity of African wildlife roaming the abandoned main streets of farming ghost towns. (New West ran a piece titled "Great Plains Serengeti," in which another grad student chastised Donlan for misunderstanding the culture of the region and promoting "displacement" of its residents.) Several articles quoted members of Africa's conservation community expressing outrage at Donlan's supposed proposal that Americans abandon that continent's efforts and steal all the animals for ourselves.

But Donlan's idea--which is really a sort of extreme version of the species re-introduction programs that have brought wolves, lynx, and other animals back to the West and are supported by groups like the Rewilding Institute—raises some fascinating questions that have been ignored in the ensuing scare over elephants running amok in Wal-Mart parking lots. Can you truly "re-wild" a place, and if so, is that more or less important than attempting to preserve the few wild places that remain? And, as Donlan himself asks, "Will you settle for an American wilderness emptier than it was just 100 centuries ago?"

Of course, if the answer to the latter question is "no," that does not necessarily mean you need to support the Pleistocene-style reintroductions. One legitimate objection to the plan is that many of the large mammals that once roamed North America are now extinct, and could only be replaced by the closest living relatives. The question of the ecological merits of an American landscape populated by African cheetahs is best left to the scientists. But the ethics, the aesthetics, the goals—these are the issues we should be considering, because they help shed light on our broad value system.

Limited resources—and, realistically, limited public attention spans—make decisions about where to focus conservation efforts critically important. A group of researchers in New Orleans has been breeding endangered species using frozen embryos and cloning technology, with closely related domestic species serving as surrogate mothers. Among other charges, critics have accused the researchers of diverting scarce funds from habitat conservation and other vital efforts, and charge that breeding these species is misguided if there's nowhere for them to live. Donlan's proposal leads to similar sorts of questions, which was likely what bothered the African conservationists. Why not put money into preservation efforts in these animals' native landscapes instead of moving them here? Again, though, there seem to be larger questions we must answer first.

Vast tracts of land populated by free-roaming large mammals would undoubtedly constitute a sort of wilderness area—if not in our legal definition, certainly on a cultural or visceral level. But what would it mean if this wilderness was largely of our creation? One facet of Donlan's plan calls for "ecological history parks": "perimeter fencing would limit the movements of otherwise freeliving ungulates, elephants and large carnivores, while surrounding towns would benefit economically from management and tourism related jobs." Research by the Sonoran Institute has shown that large areas of preserved public land can be beneficial to surrounding communities (provided other factors are present as well, such as a nearby airport), and there is no doubt thousands would flock to go on safari in South Dakota. But how would we feel about the wildlife and the land, knowing the whole thing was engineered by humans? Would it be one step above a wild animal theme park?

The wolves reintroduced to Yellowstone have inspired the same sort of respect and awe—and venom—that otherwise "wild" wolves trigger. But they were set free in an already existing—albeit human-altered through time—ecosystem. The "Pleistocene re-wilding" calls for, over time, reintroductions of various species that could first require creation of appropriate habitat. The interactions of animals and land would become more "wild," as human management took a back seat to a healthy functioning ecosystem. Future generations might barely even consider the fact that their ancestors built the wilderness.

Or not. In another scenario, this Great Plains wilderness might be one more sign that no part of the planet is free from human influence. The lion stalking the gazelle near Omaha would be just another pawn in our global-scale chess game, and children would come to think of these great creatures as little more than mildly diverting sights best seen from the window of the minivan between episodes of "Dora the Explorer."

The former seems far more likely. And there's something deeply satisfying about the idea that an area could become re-wilded—that nature will take over and fix our mistakes, even if we have to give it a jumpstart.



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