Remarks to the Environmental Law Institute upon receipt of the ELI National Wetlands Award for Science Research
Washington, D.C. 9 May 2007
I am deeply honored to accept this award. I deeply appreciate the efforts of the ELI and their collaborating agencies to establish the National Wetlands Awards program. I particularly appreciate the effort of my nominator, Dr. Doug Wilcox, as well as those who supported my nomination.
My love for wetlands, my mother tells me, was already evident when I was only eight. Whenever she asked me where I’d like to go, I would always reply “Rat Creek”, a modest stream on the outskirts of Portage La Prairie, Manitoba. I also vividly recall in high school coming across a pond that bulldozers had just filled in, and being horrified by the fish and turtles choking in the few muddy puddles that remained. I ran home, got a bucket, and spent the rest of the day carrying survivors to a creek. Although my first interests centered on frogs and turtles, I later graduated to plants, realizing that if we get the plant communities right, in most cases the frogs and turtles and birds will return.
During my 30-year career as a scientist, three principles have guided my investigations — (1) utility (will it help conserve biological diversity?), (2) generality (is there potential for broad application to many species, habitats, and regions?) and (3) context (is the work truly a new contribution and does it respect historical insights?) I tell my students that with millions of questions for us to explore, our challenge as scientists is to pick the important ones. Equally, scientists who have gone before us had a lot of wisdom— we need to read their work so that we don’t just go out and repeat it. We need to apply the knowledge we already have wisely instead of reinventing the wheel.
I, alone, have produced more than 100 science research papers. Multiply this by the number of researchers working with wetlands, and you get some idea of the enormous volume of work that is waiting to be read! How can those who manage wetlands be expected to make sense of it all? Increasingly, I am reluctant to write a paper unless it has something new and important to say. I wish others had the same self restraint. Unfortunately the ‘publish or perish’ syndrome, like hurricanes, is increasing in strength and threatening the quality of university science.
To deal with the flood of scientific studies, my response has been to put more emphasis upon synthesis, particularly books — for conservation purposes, three stand out:
Wetland Ecology (for which I received the Merit Award from the international Society of Wetland Scientists last year),
The World’s Largest Wetlands, and, to be released this month,
Plants and Vegetation. For each book, I poured over thousands of research contributions to identify the important studies, and then tried to distill general principles. Wading through hundreds of papers by scholars is every bit as difficult as wading through the mud in a swamp, although it may not have the glamour. In
Wetland Ecology, I set out to prepare a tool box to serve future generations of managers. It goes through each factor that contributes to wetland function – water levels, fertility, grazing, for example – and their consequences for wetlands around the world.
A scientist’s responsibility does not stop once such work is done— although too many of my tenured colleagues seem to think it does. Once you have done the science, you often have to beat the drum to make people use it. Professor Eugene Turner has been quoted by ELI on my tendency to follow up on my research— he says Keddy finds ways “to insert himself in appropriate places”. For me, this insertion has included work with organizations including World Wildlife Fund, The Nature Conservancy, Earthjustice, and most recently, the Lake Pontchartrain Basin Foundation. I dread to count the number of meetings I have attended to try and inject good science into coastal planning in Louisiana. But it is necessary.
Whether in such private meetings, or in public, it is the duty of scientists to speak the truth. My university administrators seem to discourage this, thinking that the real role of scientists is to raise money. But tenure exists not so that we can raise money, but to allow us to say what people may not want to hear. It is our duty to speak up, and silence is a dereliction of our professional and moral responsibility.
Some of my closest friends agree with the principle, but fear the consequences. My most trusted Louisiana friend has been relentless in her determination to re-educate me for the world according to Louisiana politics. She always warns me against saying things people don’t want to hear. I have driven her to tears. I guess I’m a slow student.
When this friend heard that I was going to Washington, she reminded me of our sojourn on the Atchafalaya River— an adventure by which she would always remember me. As we neared the river mouth, I became quite excited. Here we were at the only spot where sediment-laden water from the Mississippi River was actually building Louisiana shoreline. Suddenly, to her surprise, I leapt out of the boat to stand on an emerging, table-sized island of mud. That was the only way to fully appreciate the situation. There is true beauty in such a situation.
This state’s natural beauty always seems so much at odds with the ugliness and self-destructive nature of the politics. I’m sure each of you has a story about this problem (and probably not just one)! You may think that Washington is the hotbed of politics, but let me assure you, in Louisiana, politics is served with Tabasco, from our own Avery Island. Oliver Houck, a law professor who has spent many years around Louisiana, has concluded that money and cronyism continue to obstruct common sense solutions to wetland problems.
Let me relay an example … While Cathy and I lived through Hurricane Katrina, a political hack from an Arabian horse association ran FEMA. Remember Michael D. Brown, the crony who let hundreds drown? I was in Louisiana, without power, and the highways blocked, when President Bush told him “you’re doing a heck of a job, Brownie". If you have seen the continuing ruin in New Orleans, you will appreciate the destruction that can be wrought by a single incompetent crony. We can be thankful that Brownie was only running FEMA, and not the EPA! But typically, there are no consequences for such buffoonery. This was criminal incompetence. It would have been fitting to have sentenced Michael D. Brown to dig graves first for the people, and then for the thousands of dogs and cats that drowned, and then he could have been put to work repairing homes in New Orleans. Of course, he’s doing none of these as the good ol’ boys look after each other.
As I have traveled the nation, speaking with scientists and managers, I have been struck by the number of intelligent and dedicated civil servants who labor day in and day out to protect the nation’s environment in general and wetlands in particular. They need our support and protection from the destructive forces of cronyism. They need to be protected from the Michael D. Browns and the good ol’ boys who elevate fools to power.
I can speak of this problem, what we might call the Brownie effect, from direct experience. Consider this paradox. Here I am before you this evening to receive your award in recognition of the national significance of my research and scholarship. Yet, a few months ago, just days before Christmas, I was informed by my university president, who knows next to nothing about wetlands or science, that my inadequate scholarly performance made me unfit to continue as holder of the school’s Schlieder Endowed Chair for Environmental Studies. It seems that while I was out working in the marshes, and writing books, the good ol’ boys had time to hang out at the local bars and golf courses to work their back room magic. Our days in Louisiana, it seems, are numbered.
I have had to fight chronic illness for the past 15 years. Perhaps, as my doctor suggested, it resulted from wading in just too many wetlands— another hazard of the profession. As a result,
Wetland Ecology was written in bed, sometimes only a couple of lines in a day. Now, with deep appreciation, I acknowledge my spouse, Cathy, who has served as my nurse, caregiver, travel coordinator, editor, and my office assistant replacement at the university. My accomplishments would have been impossible without her.
I am grateful to those who continue to stand firm as part of the thin front line of wetland science and conservation. I admire everyone in this room who has done their best to protect wetlands. The living beings in those wetlands cannot speak for themselves, and they depend on us. Chronic illness, not to mention the aforementioned events at the university, remind me that each of us is impermanent. We have to work knowing that our time is limited. We each must ensure that we leave behind us healthy wetlands, and the knowledge to care for them. As one inspiring example, I often reflect on Michael Collins. He championed Irish freedom in the full knowledge that any day a British assassin could end his life. His response to this threat was a direct challenge to each of us. If they get me, he said, “Who will take my place? Who will take my place? Who will take my place?”
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