ENVIRONMENTAL ATTITUDES CAN BE PARADOXES

by Whit Gibbons

May 6, 2006

While standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon recently, I was reminded of another natural phenomenon I wrote about years ago.

The bare hills, catching the gold of the morning sun, looked like a distant painting rather than real life. Obvious wildlife was absent on the barren hillsides, all devoid of vegetation save a scattering of small bushes and occasional trees, probably numbering fewer than ten per acre. The region seemed a case study for teaching agricultural courses about the many faces of erosion. Yet the scene held a stark environmental beauty, especially when the exposed soils with their sparse vegetation revealed their colors in a sunrise or sunset.

The strange panorama brought to mind a paradox about environmental attitudes. Suppose the Badlands of South Dakota where I stood were a consequence of human development and degradation of forest lands or prairie rather than the result of millions of years of natural processes? Would we find beauty in the same vista? Would we have made it a national park?

When I first saw the Badlands several years ago, a similar-looking habitat came to mind--Copper Hill, Tennessee. The Copper Hill habitat is viewed as an environmental disaster. All native vegetation disappeared from hundreds of acres over a several year period as a result of fumes from copper smelting plants.

Ironically, the environmental landscape provided by both the Badlands and Copper Hill have many similarities, yet one is considered magnificent and the other an environmental embarrassment. I contend that if the circumstances were reversed, with naturally caused fumes, say from some unusual volcanic activity, having created the view at Copper Hill and with an ill-planned agricultural project having been responsible for the Badlands, our attitudes about the two places would also be reversed. Copper Hill would be a national monument; the Badlands would be an example of poor environmental planning.

Another ironic environmental situation is one that involves clearcutting, the timber industry practice of removing all the trees and other vegetation in an area before planting crop trees. I once was leading a tour group from a national conservation society through a southeastern forest habitat, a public land area managed by the U.S. Forest Service. The particular group was rather outspoken on their opinion that clearcutting was a shameful practice and should not be permitted.

As we drove through one heavily forested section where private timber contracts are permitted, we came onto a clear area of hundreds of acres denuded of all trees. Several members of the group immediately began to take issue about such a practice being allowed on public lands. Some wanted to stop and take pictures that they would use to show the devastation that could be caused by clearcutting, a clear indictment of Forest Service mismanagement. I probably should have said something earlier. I admit that I let them rant for a bit before pointing out a special fact about the treeless expanse: the entire section of forest had been leveled by a tornado the previous spring, a completely natural event.

Why is destruction of a forest by a natural event, like a tornado or hurricane, acceptable, yet if humans cause a similar situation some people protest? Why are two different opinions held about eroded habitats like the Badlands and Copper Hill, where virtually indistinguishable close-up photographs might be taken under the right conditions? Why does a contrast in attitudes exist about the hot waters of Yellowstone compared to those released as cooling waters from reactors? One is a natural wonder; the other is viewed as pollution.

Environmental contrasts in attitudes clearly result from events that go beyond the superficial appearance of a habitat or the wildlife experiences one might have in it. We need to look into ourselves and ask why it matters to us what caused a particular environmental situation.

The answer to the irony must go beyond the simplistic one of our having an inborn love of natural things. Do we also harbor an inherent resentment, apprehension, and distrust when other humans control our natural resources? Do we accept nature's rearrangement of the world's environments but become uneasy about modifications that demonstrate someone else's ability to control our environmental welfare? Perhaps these deeper, unexplored feelings are the underlying cause of many of our environmental conflicts.



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