How Mass Effect Taught Me about Collective Action Problems

Gerald Singh and Karina Benessaiah

In today’s technological world, it’s important to keep in mind that every medium has something insightful to say, not just books and literature.

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Consider a story. In this story you are the hero(ine). Although you command respect based on a long history of past exploits, it's still difficult to convince others to follow your advice, let alone save the world.

You are a Spectre - an agent of cosmic importance - and you report directly to the galactic council, an interplanetary organization that outshines the UN in terms of bureaucratic complexity. Oh, have we mentioned that this is a science fiction universe set in a video game? Specifically, the universe of Bioware's Mass Effect?

Anyway, you are a Spectre, and you found out the galaxy is under threat by an alien previously unknown. Naturally, you assume that all sentient life in the galaxy must unite under a common banner to defeat this threat.

You assume.

What you fail to recognize is that uniting means that the galactic council has to cut through never-ending bureaucratic procedures to act fast. Uniting also means that the Quarians and the Geth people have to set aside centuries-old enmities, all races are probably going to have to take orders from the Turians (the species with the greatest military might), the Krogan feel they have no future anyway (they are an infertile species so what's the point), the Salarians are the reason the Krogan have no future, the Asari are hesitant to heed advise from a species whose individuals can barely (if at all) live a century, and species like the Batarians take pride in never have joined the Council in the first place. Let's not forget that Humanity is universally believed - and in some ways rightly so - to place its own interests over those of other species and to work politics in ways that raise its status in the galaxy.

And of course, so does every other species.

It is these power grabs, the pride and distrust and political jockeying - it is these individual and tribal goals that prevent any larger collective goals from being accomplished. You are frustrated because they won’t pull together. You’re even more frustrated because the reasons that everyone won’t pull together are not all trivial. And you suddenly realize why harnessing collective action can be so problematic.

It's a good thing you are such a charismatic and valiant hero because in the end the fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

Luckily, should you fail you always have resets.

***

Stepping out of the science fiction, most see our Earthly challenges as rather less dramatic. There is no alien threat; there are no malicious beings out to get us. What happens to us on Earth now happens because we do it to ourselves. And the problems we face are planetary in scale, not galactic. (But really, isn't that big enough?)

And there's no lone hero to save the day.

Yet, Mass Effect is allegorical for many social and environmental issues we face today, as is the best science fiction. 

Mass Effect and International negotiations aren’t exactly the same, but they’re similar, if you look close enough.

Humanity is poorly equipped to address global climate change and other planetary issues (desertification, resource shortages, etc.) because global concerns tend to take a backseat to national and local concerns. Results from past international meetings to take action to slow or prevent further climate change, species loss, and other forms of pollution and environmental degradation are widely seen as failures, because, as with the universe of Mass Effect, the goals and agendas of smaller groups can hinder action on the issues that the larger group faces. And the reasons for these outcomes aren’t trivial.

Not always.

We cannot overlook concerns over who will benefit, and who will lose from what outcome. In climate debates, many argue that those countries that caused the problems in the first place should take the bulk of the steps to reverse them. Some countries will be hit harder and faster than others, so the immediacy of environmental threats differs across groups. There are tribal and national interests everywhere there are tribes and nations. And while the concerns of small groups are worthy of consideration, sometimes only considering what's good for the small group is counterproductive or detrimental to the larger group. The trick is finding ways that compensate the concerns of smaller groups while achieving the larger objective. Those who benefit could recompense  those who don’t, or groups can mobilize to work together to achieve mutual or reciprocal goals. 

Collective action is difficult, but imagine yourself as the hero(ine) again. Imagine how frustrating it is to know that all your attempts to save others are thwarted by the same people you're trying to save. It's not malicious: no one wants environmental problems to persist just as no species wants to see the end of the galaxy. Everyone wants to see the larger goals achieved, just after the more personal goals are met first. Commander Sheppard helps multiple alien species achieve their individual goals, and in doing so wins their trust and their support to fight back the Reapers. Winning trust among groups can help foster the compromises, compensation and group mobilization to achieve collective action.

Then remember that there are no solitary heroes. Winning trust takes multiple groups working with each other. Collective problems require collective action.  

And remember, in our world there is no reset option. 

Connecting the Dots: Why there are no straight paths to becoming an interdisciplinary scholar

Steve Jobs mentioned in his famous 2005 Stanford graduation speech that you can only connect the dots looking backwards.  He speaks of learning calligraphy as a Reed College dropout and how it informed the fonts in Apple’s first computers.  He explained:

“. . . you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

These words have often encouraged me as I look at my life and wonder how all the pieces fit together.  I have followed my heart and my passions and they have led me to Indonesia and Guatemala, photography and woodworking, anthropology and ecotoxicology.  Yet even when each step feels right to me at the moment, I often doubt myself, wondering: how might I ever have, as my grandmother implores, a “marketable talent”? And more importantly to me: how will this seemingly random collection of experiences allow me to contribute anything worthwhile to the world? Is ‘follow your heart’ just some Pollyannaish hippy advice sure to leave me unemployed and useless?

Yet my recent Master’s thesis research gave me hope and made Steve Job’s words come alive.  There were moments when I had the feeling that the disjointed experiences from my past came together to prepare me for the task at hand.  Once, I was hiking through an abandoned field with a couple farmers, looking for the source of the river, a place where I could take my control water samples.  Chatting in Spanish, analyzing the landscape for run-off patterns, and tromping around a Colombian swamp in rubber boots—I saw all the dots connect. 

Looking for the source.

Years ago when I decided to learn Spanish and spent months and months straining to understand farmers, learning tricks to get by, I had no idea that I would be using it to discuss the watershed structure and local history with these farmers in Colombia. 

When I signed up for fluid dynamics and hydrology courses in my undergrad years I had no idea these would inform my analysis of this one watershed in Colombia. 

 Walking through a swamp in Patagonia (with my husband Claude).

And when I traveled to Patagonia to see the glaciers I had no idea that the days I spent learning to walk through a swamp in rubber boots would help me navigate this field in Colombia.

Even all the hours waiting for the bus by the side of the road years earlier in Costa Rica, when I learned to be patient and let events progress on Latin time, gave me the frame of mind to accept the slow but steady progress of my master’s research. 

Collecting a water sample in Colombia.

This is the reserve of life experiences that I drew on to guide me.  To do my Master’s research, required all my being, my experiences, my patience, my knowledge. It was precisely my broad and diverse experiences, the avenues I had pursued without knowing where they would lead, that enabled me to conduct my research.

Now I am starting my PhD at an interdisciplinary institute and I face the uncertainty of my future with more comfort.  The work we do is founded on bringing together diverse experiences. These experiences are what allow us to see a problem from many angles and to know that no matter how many angles we analyze, we will always miss part of the story.  As we pick apart an issue we each connect the dots in our own way, finding the linkages that a traditional career path would never prepare us for. 

And my grandma would be happy too—they even pay me to do this!

-Mollie Chapman

The Real Motivation behind the Opposition to Alberta's Energy Sector: An open letter to Ms. Vivian Krause, tax researcher

Dear Ms. Krause -

Your recent contribution to the Financial Post ("Canadian pipelines targeted by US funds" - June 26 2012) has pushed us past the tipping point, and we are now fed up enough to take the time to state the obvious regarding your over-interpretation of the tax data you have compiled.

You have diligently pursued the flow of environmental funding in Canada, and seem to have found irregularities in how some environmental groups in Canada handle their finances. Although we have seen no evidence of 'moneylaundering' (as bizarrely implied by the Harper Government) or other wrong-doing, such irregularities should rightly be investigated. Everyone should play by the rules. However, in your recent article, as in many that have preceded it, you continue to assert that the goal of US funding to Pacific Canadian conservationists is to landlock Alberta's bitumen for the benefit of the US, at the expense of the Canadian economy. 

Really? But Ms. Krause, you do not have data on motives - you have tax data. And while such data may tell us how money flows, they do not tell us why it flows. Your conclusions about motive are therefore mere speculation, and continuing to assert that the primary objective of conservationists is to cripple Canada's economy for the benefit of the US thus borders on conspiracy-theory, particularly since you blithely dismiss the stated objectives of concerned Canadians and their funders. By engaging in such speculation, you insult all Canadians concerned about the consequences of oil spills and the contribution of Alberta's energy industry to climate change, painting them as dupes of nefarious US economic interests.

Ms. Krause, are you and your enablers truly so ideologically isolated you cannot believe Canadians are actually concerned about risks to the natural environment and the services it provides? Many Canadians believe that the risks from pipelines, particularly in remote, pristine areas, are just too high. Unsurprisingly, many also believe the independent economic analyses of Robyn Allan and Robin Gregory, both of which suggest either minimal economic gains or even economic losses to Canada from unfettered bitumen development, more than they do the simplistic analyses and inflated claims of large oil companies focused on their own bottom line.

Why do environmental groups target the diluted bitumen ('dilbit') pipelines out of Northern Alberta? Perhaps because they present tremendous risks to marine, freshwater, and terrestrial ecosystems. Or because the pipelines are adamantly opposed by the vast majority of First Nations, for whom a contaminated environment would be so devastating, that no amount of money could compensate for the loss. Or because fully developing Alberta's bitumen reserves will raise atmospheric carbon dioxide concentrations to a level that will put human civilization at risk (by adding more carbon dioxide to the atmosphere than has already been added by fossil fuels in the last 150 years (James Hansen, NASA). Or maybe because future generations deserve more than an environment degraded for short-term profit by foreign-owned, multi-national corporations, which is a plausible outcome given the relevant data (i.e., not just tax data).

Everyone understands that restricting pipelines and slowing the pace of development in Northern Alberta will have economic consequences. However, this is more complicated than the oil- and growth-obsessed would have us believe. Slowing development may actually be economically beneficial for Canada, as indicated in Allan's economic assessment. Furthermore, many Canadians continue to hold values beyond economic ones, values which may trump any potential economic consequences. They are willing to pay more for products, including gasoline and plastics, to ensure social and ecological values are preserved. Does this make them 'radicals' determined to block trade and undermine Canada's economy?

Concerned Canadians are opposing tarsands and pipeline development as a means of protecting invaluable natural resources from degradation. And while this may incur some short-term economic consequences, assuming all consequences will be losses and imputing that such losses are what pipeline opponents seek (rather than side-effects of conservation and risk avoidance) is simplistic and distasteful. It assumes - without evidence - the worst possible motivation when a plausible positive motivation is in plain view. The truth is that many accept economic consequences as necessary in the pursuit of the true end objectives of sustainability, ecological integrity, and a healthy environment for future generations. We therefore respectfully ask that you stop over-reaching your data, and desist from intentionally or otherwise confusing the means and end objectives of those opposed to the expansion of Alberta's bitumen reserves.

Sincerely,

Edward J. Gregr and Kai M.A. Chan

EJG is PhD Candidate working with KMAC, Associate Professor and Canada Research Chair (Tier 2) at the Institute for Resources, Environment and Sustainability, UBC, in Vancouver British Columbia.

Contact: ejgregr@gmail.com; twitter: @EcoRational

Remember Your Roots

Post-PhD defense (2003), new Dr. Kai Chan
takes a dip in the fountain of Robertson Hall,
sprayed by Dr. Penny Chan (Kai's mum).

I just returned to Princeton University, nearly nine years after receiving my PhD in ecology and evolutionary biology and a certificate in science, technology and environmental policy. Nearly nine years after a celebratory dip in the fountain that Woody Woo students earn upon graduation, I recall the triumphant feeling that I could conquer the world. This homecoming was a rush of life lessons I want to share with you, but it all boils down to this: Remember your roots.

That is, your academic genealogy.

Walking around this quaint pocket of the Garden State, my feet felt the texture of the pavement, cobblestones, and granite in a way only possible when walking on paths that I walked almost daily for six years, but not for nearly a decade now. Countless corners, rooms, and patches of nature sprung memories on me. At Mediterra restaurant, I could feel the frog in my throat from when my parents dropped me off, a bright-eyed baby-faced 22-year-old. By Dillon Gym, my knees shook in reverberation from my first saunter into a Princeton cycling team ride. At the train station, my heart fluttered as I envisioned spotting my Torontonian then-girlfriend (now wife) at the train station for a visit. In Eno Hall's crusty but adorable circular kitchen-cum-lounge, I flashed back to the blurry, grainy eyes and soaring spirit of celebrating my PhD candidacy, and then years later, my defense.

Princeton was where I finally grew up, not just academically, but in every way. I left for grad school knowing who I wanted to be, as a scholar and a person; I left being that man.

The tower at the Graduate College, home
for three years.

At the time, the experience was just life. In the intervening years, I’ve had thousands of ah-ha moments recognizing when and where I finally learned this insight or that: for examples, the fundamental purpose of the requisite mid-PhD flail (really grappling with where what you want to do meets your comparative advantage); that of course Simon was going to have something nice to say about me in his reference letters; and that I didn’t need to (and really oughtn’t) compete with my lab-mates. It’s only with the passage of time that I can see how much I learned over those six years, how much I owe to my tremendous mentors, my colleagues, and Princeton itself. And most of all, how much I owe to my academic father, my PhD supervisor, Simon A. Levin.

When so much that is learned goes unnoticed for so long, and when so much is learned from the person who guides a student through graduate school (our supervisor), and what we experience from our supervisors is a carefully filtered set of lessons they've learned (in part from their supervisors), genealogy matters. It matters all the more because most supervisors take great care in choosing their students, and in nurturing them. It's not the nurturing of a mother, but nor should it be.

At dinner after my STEP seminar, Simon introduced me to the math genealogy project. Now, I don't consider myself a mathematician, but that's besides the point: my academic ancestors happen to be mathematicians. It's a powerful idea that I can trace my roots in just eight generations to Carl Friedrich Gauss (of Gauss' and Gaussian this, that, and the other thing).

We stand on the shoulders of giants. Also
the only time that Simon (far left) was on
his knees at my feet (at my wedding). Here
with (lab-mates) Jonathan Dushoff (right),
Kerstin Wiegand (2nd row, left), Helene
Muller-Landau (2nd row, right), and Carole
Levin (Simon's wife, on top, of course).

As I intimated above, the genealogy by supervisor is only a partial representation of this network that makes us who we are and sustains us. That I’m still connected to Simon, and to many of my other Princeton mentors (Steve Pacala, David Wilcove, Henry Horn, Andy Dobson, Dan Rubenstein, the Grants, Peter Singer) was reinforced unequivocally by the time they spent reaching out to me, listening to me, and chatting with me.

David Wilcove nailed it at dinner when he joked about the supervisor-student relationship: it matures, gets friendlier, more comfortable, but your supervisor is always your supervisor. One manifestation of that, David pointed out, is that a little piece of us continues to want to impress, to wonder, “Is he (or she) excited about my work? Is he proud of what I’m doing?”

Sheesh, David, was I so obvious?

Simon’s response to David was interesting, “Don’t you think he [John Terborgh, David’s supervisor] feels the same?” An interesting question, but not surprising to me—because I know how I feel as a supervisor, but also how Simon does. Simon didn’t have to say explicitly that he cared what his students think. He didn’t have to, because he says so, inaudibly, in everything he does. Not by bragging to us, of course, or showing even the slightest hint of insecurity. Rather, he shows it through all the little extra things he does, that you see if you know where to look. He didn’t have to say it explicitly, but he did.

During my PhD, I occasionally felt lonely. Now I know how that feeling was my own doing, and also that it was only an illusion. My roots and fellow branches were there with me all along, nurturing, supporting, nourishing.

Let’s remember our roots. And our future leaves!

See Part 2: After His Death, I Saw How My Dad Shaped Me
Part 3: My Dad Taught Me about Relational Values

BABY SERVICES

Ask not what your planet does for you …
A shorter version of this article was published in Conservation Magazine

Kai M. A. Chan

I recently spent twelve weeks on paternity leave, enjoying the many benefits that my baby provides me—free of charge. I call them ‘baby services’.

That’s one way to explain my parental leave to people who otherwise don’t get it, but to most people it’s jarringly absurd. Yet—as I realized one sleepless night—it parallels the way that I and many others have been explaining our ecology and conservation work through ‘ecosystem services’. Just as ‘baby services’ overemphasizes the me-first benefits of children, an extreme ‘ecosystem services’ narrative overemphasizes the passive reception of benefits and extends the sphere of appropriateness for economic analogies of factory production, potentially undermining stewardship tendencies.

Furthermore, the term ‘ecosystem services’ is dead in the water as a tool for public communication. Polling clearly reveals such a widespread discomfort with ‘ecosystem services’ that The Nature Conservancy—one of the world’s biggest conservation NGOs—has revamped its communication to steer away from this term. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking issue with the ecological research enterprise focusing on ecosystem services: I’m a whole-hearted believer that we will foster improved decision-making through a better understanding of how ecosystem structures and processes relate to the things that we want and need. What I’m talking about here is how we verbalize these patterns of thought—and the overarching or undercutting way we present them to society, through the stories we tell.

What I’m railing against here isn’t the benefits part of ecosystem services (which is key), and it’s only partly the over-extension of economic production analogies. Mainly it’s the (unintended) association with a passive and expectant reception of benefits that reinforces the ‘me-first’ attitude and risks signaling acceptance of the notion that ecosystems are or ought to be organized first and foremost for those benefits. It’s a pattern of thought that is clearly reflected in the Economist’s 2005 irksome but memorable cover text and graphics for ecosystem services, “Are you being served?”

There’s a great logic to the notion of ecosystem services. We absolutely need to connect what we do to conserve ecosystems to the things that matter to people—clean water, productive soil, stable climate, and a host of less-quantifiable services. And dollar valuation can play an important role, sometimes. But since when did people only care about their passive reception of benefits? Behavioural psychology, cognitive science, and anthropology have demonstrated convincingly that economic assumptions characterizing people as rational utility-maximizers are inaccurate simplifications, albeit occasionally convenient ones. People care about caring—for people, homes, and landscapes—even when that caring comes with considerable cost and sacrifice. Parenthood made this easier for me to understand. About having a baby, fellow parents didn’t tell me, “You’ll love all the great things she’ll do for you!” They told me, “It’ll change your life forever, but it’s magical. I never knew I could love anything so deeply and completely.”

Of course I’m not going to promise anyone this kind of love of ecosystems, but I will promise fulfillment and a sense of belonging to anyone who strives to build a relationship with nature. People can be receptive to messages that don’t lead with a promise of benefits, but generally this requires a relationship—like the kinship relationship of many native peoples with nature. We can bring out caring tendencies in ourselves and in others if we do more to facilitate a sense of connection to nature. The literature on ecological restoration suggests strongly that getting people outside and actively participating in ecosystem care—especially with others—can help build the kind of ‘ecological citizenship’ that I think we seek (Light 2006). We can then link the caring of local ecosystems to (particular) more distant ecosystems, just as aid organizations so effectively hook people with pictures and stories of (particular) distant children, and from there we can build support for particular actions that benefit nature diffusely. Care begets care: I know how much more receptive I am to those messages now that I have two daughters. Social psychologists confirm this rule, having shown that engaging people’s self-interest serves to suppress their concern for others. So let’s encourage ecosystem-care for the fulfillment it provides through relationships, and also because it is crucial for humanity.

As an organizing principle for conservation and ecology, I’m now deeply suspicious of us-first ecosystem services and a firm believer in stewardship + life support systems. That’s not because my scientific understanding has changed, but rather because I find myself wanting to communicate with and partner with a broader cross-section of humanity. If we concentrate on the ways that ecosystems happen to fulfill our current preferences—labile and unpredictable as they are—we will miss the many opportunities that present themselves for us to grow into our roles as stewards, for us to fulfill ourselves not only through benefit-reception but through care.

Reference:
Light, A. 2006. Ecological Citizenship: The Democratic Promise of Restoration. Pages 169-182 in R. H. Platt, editor. The Humane Metropolis: People and Nature in the 21st-Century City. University of Massachusetts Press, Amherst, MA.

Triage Terror

Are conservation scientists ready to let endangered species blink out? Think again!

 

A New Scientist reporter writes: “Is it time to let some threatened species go extinct? The heretical notion is worthy of consideration, says a majority of conservationists contacted in a poll.” This survey, by Murray Rudd and published in Conservation Biology, found that a majority of conservation scientists agree that "Species and ecosystems are going to unravel so it is important that the conservation community considers criteria for triage decisions. If we don’t, ad hoc decisions could be even worse."

The term triage comes from war-time medicine, where a medic has to choose who will get their attention and likely survive versus who will be neglected and presumably perish. It involves three groups: those healthy enough not to need immediate medical attention; those who need immediate attention and could likely survive with it; and those who are close to death and from whom medical attention is withheld. The logic for this crucial cold-hearted third part of triage is that those most vulnerable would die despite efforts, and/or that efforts to save them would take away from time and resources to save others with a better chance. So conservation triage is the uncomfortable choice not to take action to save a population, species or ecosystem, knowing full well that withholding effort will likely lead to the extinction of that population or species, or to major changes in the ecosystem.

 
Are conservation scientists really ready to stop trying to save the more-endangered species because they're too far gone, as suggested by Rudd and the New Scientist? The survey actually suggests otherwise. A strong majority of the conservation scientists surveyed thought that the most vulnerable species should be the highest priority for conservation efforts: most agreed strongly that "the species with highest probabilities of extinction and ecosystems with highest probability of land-cover conversion should receive the highest levels of investment." That’s not cold-hearted triage, but its polar opposite.

Sure, many conservation scientists are willing to “consider criteria for triage decisions”, but apparently they’re not ready to cut their losses. They seem more than ready to do ER-type triage, where the more vulnerable are treated first, but no one is left out in the cold. And certainly, most are willing to recognize the finite nature of resources, and prioritize conservation efforts accordingly--but again, that's not triage in its controversial sense.

This controversy over triage is fundamentally a conflict between value systems: principles vs. ‘rational’ decision-making based on economics. We, along with many of our friends and colleagues, support biodiversity conservation largely out of principle, but of course we also favour rational decision-making. We generally believe that it's wrong that humanity should allow a species to go extinct. We don't necessarily believe that we should always save a species regardless of the cost, but we might believe that we should never give up.

Such a ‘heroic’ position is not unreasonable. It's perfectly legitimate to believe that as a society we ought to organize our activities to be life sustaining – for both humans and non-humans. We need creativity and innovation to meet human needs while preventing the extinctions of known species. We can reject any position that takes for granted the current structure or potential future trajectory of our economy. Costly expenditures on desperately-endangered species might be seen by some as a waste of money, but they can also be seen as a critical and appropriately expensive signal that our society is structured unsustainably.

This position does not conform to the prevailing 'rational' decision-making by which everything has its price. But for those who believe in sustainability, it’s perfectly rational.
Note furthermore, that in this case, the heroic position may actually be economically rational. Cold-hearted triage makes sense when resources are fixed (as with war-time medicine), but conservation resources are not fixed: they are a function of donors. And if donors are motivated at least partly by principle-based and heroic thinking, there are substantial risks to appearing cold-hearted and gains for those who attempt heroism. It’s unsurprising that conservation organizations have distanced themselves from cold-hearted triage thinking thus far.

We need conservation scientists and others to take informed, compassionate and, yes, heroic action to staunch species extinction.

~Kai Chan & Sarah Klain