Humans know how to exploit any environment. Exploitation is the reason we have survived as a species for 200,000 years. Initially, it’s a matter of utility: Need a tool? Pick up a rock, chip it, and there, you have a tool. Discover that rocks contain metal; pick up more rocks. Soon you have a mine. Then you have a mining industry that supports a sophisticated tool-making industry. Need some food, find some grubs, or seeds, or fruit. Want more of the same? Use the tools. Cut the inedible stuff down, and then dig the soil, plant, grow, and harvest.
St. Lucia is a pleasant island. One of the Lesser Antilles, the island is a volcanic pile highlighted on its western coast by its famous twin peaks called the Pitons. In its interior, a tropical rainforest covers steep slopes of quiescent volcanoes. Throughout the island, however, St. Lucians have cut down the inedible stuff to grow bananas. With no appreciable mining or industrial complex, the St. Lucians rely mostly the tourism that makes up more than 50% of the economy, and they rely on banana crops. St. Lucians eat lots of bananas. If you grew up on St. Lucia, you would eat lots of bananas, also. “What’s for breakfast? Bananas again?”
Now tell me. If you were on a tropical island trying to support a population of 200,000, what would you do to survive? What would you eat? It would not be the inedible parts of the rainforest. No, you would eat bananas. Lots of bananas. You would use your tools to cut and plant. Of course, you can’t survive on bananas alone. So, you would grow more bananas than you could eat, and you would sell the excess. With the money you would buy other foods produced by other people exploiting their surroundings, say on one of the nearby continents. You might even import butter from New Zealand.
The penchant for exploiting surroundings is driven first by the need for food and shelter. On the most primitive level of our ancient ancestors, place was defined by its potential to fulfill those two needs. You might argue that you have more sophisticated view of place than those who lived thousands of years ago and that you care for your surroundings because of other considerations, such as aesthetics and preservation of what is “natural.” Long removed from your ancient ancestors, you decry those whose satiation and comfortable surroundings engender overexploitation. “Save the planet,” you cry. “Save the place.”
You are upset that the use of place initially serves as a survival mechanism but morphs into overexploitation. But once people begin to overexploit a place, how does one stop them from growing more bananas? “Well, I care for the planet. I want a sustainable future,” you might say. You are probably genuine in your concern, but take a quick look around.
Look at your place. Do you live in a single room? Do you have only one electronic entertainment device, such as a single radio, single TV, single MP3 player, single computer, or single game player? No? You mean you have a clock radio, a powerful sound system, a car radio, and a cell phone, Ipad, and Ipod with Itunes? All of them? More than one of each? You have more than one TV? What was that you said about all those others out there who are overexploiting place? Want to add your mountain bike, your roller blades, your scooter, your skateboard, your skis, your small car, and your larger car. Have just a few outfits? Have just a couple of pairs of shoes?
How does one stop people from growing more bananas on an isolated island with limited resources? They get tired of just eating bananas, and they need other foods for complete nutrition. People in other places have those foods. People in other places have access to aluminum, iron, manganese, and other metals. The people of St. Lucia might grow bananas, but they don’t make TVs, or cars, or computers. They grow bananas. They replace primitive rainforest with plantations.
But then, maybe this is preaching to the choir. You probably grow your own bananas in a simple local exploitation reminiscent of your ancient ancestors’ use of place. And you probably tilled the soil with a rock you chipped. Right?
Bananas. They are rich in potassium. Pick one up in the grocery store the next time you are in Anchorage or Helsinki.
St. Lucia is a pleasant island. One of the Lesser Antilles, the island is a volcanic pile highlighted on its western coast by its famous twin peaks called the Pitons. In its interior, a tropical rainforest covers steep slopes of quiescent volcanoes. Throughout the island, however, St. Lucians have cut down the inedible stuff to grow bananas. With no appreciable mining or industrial complex, the St. Lucians rely mostly the tourism that makes up more than 50% of the economy, and they rely on banana crops. St. Lucians eat lots of bananas. If you grew up on St. Lucia, you would eat lots of bananas, also. “What’s for breakfast? Bananas again?”
Now tell me. If you were on a tropical island trying to support a population of 200,000, what would you do to survive? What would you eat? It would not be the inedible parts of the rainforest. No, you would eat bananas. Lots of bananas. You would use your tools to cut and plant. Of course, you can’t survive on bananas alone. So, you would grow more bananas than you could eat, and you would sell the excess. With the money you would buy other foods produced by other people exploiting their surroundings, say on one of the nearby continents. You might even import butter from New Zealand.
The penchant for exploiting surroundings is driven first by the need for food and shelter. On the most primitive level of our ancient ancestors, place was defined by its potential to fulfill those two needs. You might argue that you have more sophisticated view of place than those who lived thousands of years ago and that you care for your surroundings because of other considerations, such as aesthetics and preservation of what is “natural.” Long removed from your ancient ancestors, you decry those whose satiation and comfortable surroundings engender overexploitation. “Save the planet,” you cry. “Save the place.”
You are upset that the use of place initially serves as a survival mechanism but morphs into overexploitation. But once people begin to overexploit a place, how does one stop them from growing more bananas? “Well, I care for the planet. I want a sustainable future,” you might say. You are probably genuine in your concern, but take a quick look around.
Look at your place. Do you live in a single room? Do you have only one electronic entertainment device, such as a single radio, single TV, single MP3 player, single computer, or single game player? No? You mean you have a clock radio, a powerful sound system, a car radio, and a cell phone, Ipad, and Ipod with Itunes? All of them? More than one of each? You have more than one TV? What was that you said about all those others out there who are overexploiting place? Want to add your mountain bike, your roller blades, your scooter, your skateboard, your skis, your small car, and your larger car. Have just a few outfits? Have just a couple of pairs of shoes?
How does one stop people from growing more bananas on an isolated island with limited resources? They get tired of just eating bananas, and they need other foods for complete nutrition. People in other places have those foods. People in other places have access to aluminum, iron, manganese, and other metals. The people of St. Lucia might grow bananas, but they don’t make TVs, or cars, or computers. They grow bananas. They replace primitive rainforest with plantations.
But then, maybe this is preaching to the choir. You probably grow your own bananas in a simple local exploitation reminiscent of your ancient ancestors’ use of place. And you probably tilled the soil with a rock you chipped. Right?
Bananas. They are rich in potassium. Pick one up in the grocery store the next time you are in Anchorage or Helsinki.
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