The Guilt/Animal, Observed
“I think I’ve finally identified my type,”
Karen exclaims. “I’m into lost boys!” She and
I walk along a coastal trail, carrying garbage
bags and filling them with the litter were
picking up from the sand. The air full of min
erals, the oily smell of Manzanita, birds back
from migration. A primatologist, Karen is a
keen observer of animal behavior—in marked
contrast to me, a keen observer o f animalistic
behavior.
“I guess it’s still an improvement from what
used to be my type...” she continues.
“Imaginary men?” I quip.
“Thanks, Nick.”
“Like that Pearl Jam song,” I reply. “I t’s
evolution, baby!”
“Funny that you’d say that,” Karen says, slip
ping into her professional voice. “In my work,
I’m frequently struck by two things. First off,
evolution is happening constantly, on the level
o f the organism and of the environment.” She
pushes up the sleeves o f her burgundy North
Face fleece.
“Here’s a great example— all this Scotch
broom you see around here?” Karen asks, ges
ticulating toward the bushes growing thickly
along the trail. H er porcelain-white hand is
stark against the deep green. “Highly invasive.
I t’s crowding out all the native species on this
coast.” Delicate yellow blossoms extend along
the trail to the horizon.
“Scotch broom got here as an ornamental
REMEMBER
TO
BREATHE
\>y N k k M a t l o ' ,
I think of oil the times that I
hesitated in m/ life .... O f not
living up to standards that were
im possibly high, for leaving
relationships I knew w ouldn’t
work, for making my life the way
I needed it to be.
plant, but now it’s so dominant in the ecosys
tem that it’s become integral. In other words,
the ecosystem evolved to include Scotch
broom.”
“But humans brought it here!” I object.
“Sure, but seeds and spores travel all over
the place, on winds and water currents and in
animal shit,” Karen says, picking up a plastic
bottle from the side of the trail. “W hy is it
okay or natural’ when it happens like that,
but not okay when we spread those seeds and
spores?”
I hear a hawk cry in the distance, the
sand crunch beneath my boots. “That’s a
great point.”
“In nature, everything is constandy chang
ing. W hile humans certainly have the tools to
change things very quickly—cases in point,
oil spills or the beedes we’ve introduced to
fight the Scotch broom—we’re still primarily
animals, and still included in the ecosystem.
This is the problem I find with conservation-
ism. It overlooks the fact that environments
and organisms evolve and change, and draws
a very arbitrary line between people and the
environment.”
“I guess you’re right,” I concur. “There’s a
human tendency to think o f ourselves as out
side o f nature, or somehow above it. It’s easy to
forget that there isn’t really a clear distinction
between us and the ecosystem at large. Except,
I suppose, in our perception.”
“That’s totally in line with the second
thing I’ve noticed,” she continues, pushing
her blonde hair behind her ear. “Humans
really are the only species that even gives a
second thought to altering their environment.
The primates I’ve observed have absolutely
no qualms about changing the space around
them. I f they want or need something, or have
a desire to change something, they simply go
out and do it. Humans don’t fault them for it,
either. We find an evolutionary explanation for
the actions. Animals don’t hesitate to act, but
we do— and then feel guilty for our actions.”
I look at the bay to our left, and know that
Karen is correct. I think o f all the times that
I hesitated in my life. I swallow and feel the
lump o f guilt, the reminder o f not living up to
standards that were impossibly high, for leav
ing relationships I knew wouldn’t work, for
making my life the way I needed it to be.
Karen’s steel blue eyes look over the still
water, the sandpipers picking delicately at the
earth. “Maybe what sets us apart from the
other animals is guilt,” she says. “I t’s not that
we change our environment, or are conscious
of the environment. Lots o f organisms are.
W e’re just the only ones who feel culpable for
it, who feel guilt about being animals.”
We reach the end o f the trail— a minivan
full o f children is unloading in the parking lot,
birders with their binoculars drink water from
plastic bottles. We walk alongside the gravel
parking lot, the smell o f dust mixing with the
salt, and reach the garbage cans.
There among the Scotch broom and the
sandpipers, the gravel and minivans and Karen
and I, amid the terrible guilt of being a human
animal, I drop the bag o f litter into the open
can. I hear the bottles crash against the metal
and each other for a moment, alarmingly loud.
Then, there is silence. J K
Nick Mattos may be accused o f tokenism, but
really does believe that everyone needs a prima
tologist in their stable o f friends. He invites you to
share your reactions: nickmattos@justout.com.
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