Ecosystem Short Quotes

The rain in Florida may be bad for us and good for the citrus crop. A canceled flight may wreck our schedule and bring us face to face with our future spouse in the airport lounge. A forest fire may seem to destroy an ecosystem in the short term, yet renew it with vigor for the long term. When a splendid osprey eats a beautiful fish, it is neither good nor bad. Or, it’s good for the osprey and bad for the fish. Nature makes no judgment. Humans do.

Crutzen wrote up his idea in a short essay, “Geology of Mankind,” that ran in Nature. “It seems appropriate to assign the term ‘Anthropocene’ to the present, in many ways human-dominated, geological epoch,” he observed. Among the many geologic-scale changes people have effected, Crutzen cited the following: • Human activity has transformed between a third and a half of the land surface of the planet. • Most of the world’s major rivers have been dammed or diverted. • Fertilizer plants produce more nitrogen than is fixed naturally by all terrestrial ecosystems. • Fisheries remove more than a third of the primary production of the oceans’ coastal waters. • Humans use more than half of the world’s readily accessible fresh water runoff. Most significantly, Crutzen said, people have altered the composition of the atmosphere. Owing to a combination of fossil fuel combustion and deforestation, the concentration of carbon dioxide in the air has risen by forty percent over the last two centuries, while the concentration of methane, an even more potent greenhouse gas, has more than doubled. “Because of these anthropogenic emissions,” Crutzen wrote, the global climate is likely to “depart significantly from natural behavior for many millennia to come.

If humanity continues its suicidal ways to change the global climate, eliminate ecosystems, and exhaust Earth's natural resources, our species will very soon find itself forced into making a choice, this time engaging the conscious part of our brain. It is as follows: shall we be existential conservatives, keeping our genetically-based human nature while tapering off the activities inimical to ourselves and the rest of the biosphere? Or shall we use our new technology to accomodate the changes important solely to our own species, while letting the rest of life slip away? We have only a short time to decide.

Repeatedly over the next half hour he returned to the word “opportunity.” It kept knocking. “A lot of these viruses, a lot of these pathogens that come out of wildlife into domestic animals or people, have existed in wild animals for a very long time,” he said. They don’t necessarily cause any disease. They have coevolved with their natural hosts over millions of years. They have reached some sort of accommodation, replicating slowly but steadily, passing unobtrusively through the host population, enjoying long-term security—and eschewing short-term success in the form of maximal replication within each host individual. It’s a strategy that works. But when we humans disturb the accommodation—when we encroach upon the host populations, hunting them for meat, dragging or pushing them out of their ecosystems, disrupting or destroying those ecosystems—our action increases the level of risk.

A lot of these viruses, a lot of these pathogens that come out of wildlife into domestic animals or people, have existed in wild animals for a very long time,” he said. They don’t necessarily cause any disease. They have coevolved with their natural hosts over millions of years. They have reached some sort of accommodation, replicating slowly but steadily, passing unobtrusively through the host population, enjoying long-term security—and eschewing short-term success in the form of maximal replication within each host individual. It’s a strategy that works. But when we humans disturb the accommodation—when we encroach upon the host populations, hunting them for meat, dragging or pushing them out of their ecosystems, disrupting or destroying those ecosystems—our action increases the level of risk. “It increases the opportunity for these pathogens to jump from their natural host into a new host,” he said. The new host might be any animal (the horse in Australia, the palm civet in China) but often it’s humans, because we are present so intrusively and abundantly. We offer a wealth of opportunity.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 9: 35 a.m., I am usually in a lecture hall at the university, expounding about botany and ecology— trying, in short, to explain to my students how Skywoman’s gardens, known by some as “global ecosystems,” function.

Your laptop is a note in a symphony currently being played by an orchestra of incalculable size. It’s a very small part of a much greater whole. Most of its capacity resides beyond its hard shell. It maintains its function only because a vast array of other technologies are currently and harmoniously at play. It is fed, for example, by a power grid whose function is invisibly dependent on the stability of a myriad of complex physical, biological, economic and interpersonal systems. The factories that make its parts are still in operation. The operating system that enables its function is based on those parts, and not on others yet to be created. Its video hardware runs the technology expected by the creative people who post their content on the web. Your laptop is in communication with a certain, specified ecosystem of other devices and web servers. And, finally, all this is made possible by an even less visible element: the social contract of trust—the interconnected and fundamentally honest political and economic systems that make the reliable electrical grid a reality. This interdependency of part on whole, invisible in systems that work, becomes starkly evident in systems that don’t. The higher-order, surrounding systems that enable personal computing hardly exist at all in corrupt, third-world countries, so that the power lines, electrical switches, outlets, and all the other entities so hopefully and concretely indicative of such a grid are absent or compromised, and in fact make little contribution to the practical delivery of electricity to people’s homes and factories. This makes perceiving the electronic and other devices that electricity theoretically enables as separate, functional units frustrating, at minimum, and impossible, at worst. This is partly because of technical insufficiency: the systems simply don’t work. But it is also in no small part because of the lack of trust characteristic of systemically corrupt societies. To put it another way: What you perceive as your computer is like a single leaf, on a tree, in a forest—or, even more accurately, like your fingers rubbing briefly across that leaf. A single leaf can be plucked from a branch. It can be perceived, briefly, as a single, self-contained entity—but that perception misleads more than clarifies. In a few weeks, the leaf will crumble and dissolve. It would not have been there at all, without the tree. It cannot continue to exist, in the absence of the tree. This is the position of our laptops in relation to the world. So much of what they are resides outside their boundaries that the screened devices we hold on our laps can only maintain their computer-like façade for a few short years. Almost everything we see and hold is like that, although often not so evidently

Throughout the over 200 years of the field of biogeography, its researchers have discovered some strikingly general patterns in biological diversity, and have advanced an equally intriguing set of explanations for the forces driving those patterns. Despite the many levels, qualitative features, and potential quantitative means of measuring biological diversity, the overwhelming majority of these studies have focused on just one or two relatively simple, but intuitively valuable measures—species richness and endemicity. Species richness is a simple count of the number of species in a particular area of interest (e.g. the number of fish in a pond, lake, or ocean basin). It is a direct, albeit simplistic expression of our innate value for the more complex. But our instinctive valuation of diversity is a bit more ecologically sophisticated than this, as it is also influenced by our apparently innate attraction to the rarest, most precious “gems” of the natural world. A simple thought experiment should bear this out: given two assemblages with the same species richness—one comprising species common to most other ecosystems, and the other solely comprising endemics (so rare that they occur nowhere else), nearly all of us would be drawn to the latter assemblage because it has high endemicity. Beyond this instinctive attraction to the most rare, there clearly is a more pragmatic reason for valuing endemic species over the more broadly distributed (cosmopolitan) ones. If an endemic is lost from its assemblage, it disappears globally and the legacy of many thousands of generations of natural selection are irrevocably lost as well.

These groups were a new kind of vehicle: a hive or colony of close genetic relatives, which functioned as a unit (e.g., in foraging and fighting) and reproduced as a unit. These are the motorboating sisters in my example, taking advantage of technological innovations and mechanical engineering that had never before existed. It was another transition. Another kind of group began to function as though it were a single organism, and the genes that got to ride around in colonies crushed the genes that couldn’t “get it together” and rode around in the bodies of more selfish and solitary insects. The colonial insects represent just 2 percent of all insect species, but in a short period of time they claimed the best feeding and breeding sites for themselves, pushed their competitors to marginal grounds, and changed most of the Earth’s terrestrial ecosystems (for example, by enabling the evolution of flowering plants, which need pollinators).43 Now they’re the majority, by weight, of all insects on Earth. What about human beings? Since ancient times, people have likened human societies to beehives. But is this just a loose analogy? If you map the queen of the hive onto the queen or king of a city-state, then yes, it’s loose. A hive or colony has no ruler, no boss. The queen is just the ovary. But if we simply ask whether humans went through the same evolutionary process as bees—a major transition from selfish individualism to groupish hives that prosper when they find a way to suppress free riding—then the analogy gets much tighter. Many animals are social: they live in groups, flocks, or herds. But only a few animals have crossed the threshold and become ultrasocial, which means that they live in very large groups that have some internal structure, enabling them to reap the benefits of the division of labor.44 Beehives and ant nests, with their separate castes of soldiers, scouts, and nursery attendants, are examples of ultrasociality, and so are human societies. One of the key features that has helped all the nonhuman ultra-socials to cross over appears to be the need to defend a shared nest. The biologists Bert Hölldobler and E. O. Wilson summarize the recent finding that ultrasociality (also called “eusociality”)45 is found among a few species of shrimp, aphids, thrips, and beetles, as well as among wasps, bees, ants, and termites: In all the known [species that] display the earliest stages of eusociality, their behavior protects a persistent, defensible resource from predators, parasites, or competitors. The resource is invariably a nest plus dependable food within foraging range of the nest inhabitants.46 Hölldobler and Wilson give supporting roles to two other factors: the need to feed offspring over an extended period (which gives an advantage to species that can recruit siblings or males to help out Mom) and intergroup conflict. All three of these factors applied to those first early wasps camped out together in defensible naturally occurring nests (such as holes in trees). From that point on, the most cooperative groups got to keep the best nesting sites, which they then modified in increasingly elaborate ways to make themselves even more productive and more protected. Their descendants include the honeybees we know today, whose hives have been described as “a factory inside a fortress.”47

Goals, Strategies, and Fundamentals Missions are generally long term in nature. Goals translate missions into practical, quantifiable medium-term objectives that then trigger the search for short-term action plans. Goals can be broadly quantified around three main dimensions: profitability, growth, and sustainability. It is important that boards and executive teams understand the interactions and especially the trade-offs between these three dimensions. It is impossible to pursue all three goals simultaneously, at least in the short term. Boards need to address this major challenge with executives, as, at least in the short term and possibly also in the medium term, these three goals cannot be pursued simultaneously. Executive teams thus face clear trade-offs which they need to recognize and manage. Boards are there to support executives with necessary clarifications on the goals that need to be pursued. Strategies are the action plans that executives deploy following the choice of mission by owners and the selection of goals by the board, in collaboration with the executive team. In case growth is chosen as the goal, for example, typical strategic choices are: build, buy, or ally strategies.14 The selection of a strategy does not depend solely on goals, it also depends on company fundamentals: the type of industry the firm operates in, the client’s ecosystem, suppliers, competitors, regulators, where and how the company generates cash flows, the types of risks the company faces and needs to mitigate against, as well as the company’s ability to raise financing. Examples are presented illustrating how strategies are selected by examining cash flow generating opportunities.

Government runs in short time cycles, usually less than four years. It often feels like we are in an endless campaign cycle and, in some cases, at least half of the activity of government leaders feels like it is around the process of getting reelected. After an election, there is often a three-month lame-duck period where nothing happens, followed by a six-month period as the new administration gears up, puts new leaders in place, makes its plans, does its studies, writes its reports, and then launches its new initiatives. That’s nine months of a four-year cycle wasted.

Green is more valuable and beautiful, and a positive person notices it everywhere. You will continue to grow as long as your thoughts are green.

In fact, the culture of innovation is so pure and so stridently noble that it often sounds like advertising. You hear about the startup that is going to help with sanitation in African cities; the one that’s going to print out prosthetic hands for disabled children; the one that’s procuring clothes for homeless children. “We’re with people who are curing cancer in a different way, and changing banking technology, and helping folks who can’t see anymore,” says a woman in a short YouTube video about MassChallenge. Inno is going to solve global warming. Inno is coming up with new treatments for autism. Inno is so inherently moral that there is even a UNICEF Innovation team; dial up its homepage and you will encounter the following introductory sentence: “In 2015, innovation is vital to the state of the world’s children.” The fog of righteousness surrounding this concept is so thick it allows all manner of absurdly altruistic claims. “Can startups help solve Boston’s Biggest Problems?” asked an email I received last spring. Of course they can! The group that sent it, CityStart Boston (“Leveraging the Innovation Community to Tackle Civic Issues”), announced plans to mobilize “the entire Boston startup ecosystem” to “collaborate to develop viable ventures designed…” Wait! Stop here for a moment, reader, and try to guess: in what way is the startup ecosystem going to collaborate to solve Boston’s biggest problems? If you guessed “to enhance innovation in Boston’s neighborhoods,” you were right. Startups are going to collaborate to enhance startups.

Like most children of her era, she’d been taught to believe that the genome—the sequence of base pairs expressed in the chromosomes in every nucleus of the body—said everything there was to say about the genetic destiny of an organism. A small minority of those DNA sequences had clearly defined functions. The remainder seemed to do nothing, and so were dismissed as “junk DNA.” But that picture had changed during the first part of the twenty-first century, as more sophisticated analysis had revealed that much of that so-called junk actually performed important “roles in the functioning of cells by regulating the expression of genes. Even simple organisms, it turned out, possessed many genes that were suppressed, or silenced altogether, by such mechanisms. The central promise of genomics—that by knowing an organism’s genome, scientists could know the organism—had fallen far short as it had become obvious that the phenotype (the actual creature that met the biologist’s eye, with all of its observable traits and behaviors) was a function not only of its genotype (its DNA sequences) but also of countless nanodecisions being made from moment to moment within the organism’s cells by the regulatory mechanisms that determined which genes to express and which to silence. Those regulatory mechanisms were of several types, and many were unfathomably complex. Had it not been for the sudden intervention of the Agent, the biologists of Old Earth would have devoted at least the “remaining decades of the century to cataloging these mechanisms and understanding their effects—a then-new science called epigenetics. Instead of which, on Cleft, in the hands of Eve Moira and the generations of biologists she reared, it became a tool. (...) Thousands of years later, epigenetics was sufficiently well understood to be programmed into the DNA of some of the newly created species that would be let loose on the surface of New Earth. And one of the planks in the Get It Done platform was to use epigenetics for all it was worth. So rather than trying to sequence and breed a new subspecies of coyote that was optimized for, and that would breed true in, a particular environment, the GID approach was to produce a race of canines that would, over the course of only a few generations, become coyotes or wolves or dogs—or something that didn’t fit into any of those categories—depending on what happened to work best. They would all start with a similar genetic code, but different parts of it would end up being expressed or suppressed depending on circumstances. And no particular effort would be made by humans to choose and plan those outcomes. They would seed New Earth and see what happened. If an ecosystem failed to “take” in a particular area, they “they would just try something else. In the decades since such species had been seeded onto New Earth, this had been going on all the time. Epigenetic transformation had been rampant. Still, when it led to results that humans saw, and happened to find surprising, it was known as “going epi.

Finally, any successful culture building effort focused on the ecosystem economy needs to promote long-term thinking. Rather than concentrating their energies on meeting narrow targets in the immediate future in order to impress their bosses and advance their own career prospects, employees should be focused on creating something sustainable—something that contributes value for everyone involved. This is particularly important in the context of ecosystems since, as we previously explained, building an ecosystem requires adjusting your expectations in the short term. You may have to sacrifice in the immediate future in order to lay the foundation for a successful ecosystem business later on.

You might wonder how ecosystem companies differ from conglomerates. We'll tackle this question more fully in Chapter 1, but for now, the short answer is that ecosystems are centered on customer needs—whereas conglomerates are not necessarily.

Only myopics judge people, relationships, businesses with short term lens. Any startup or public company that survived the dot com bust and 9/11 came out bigger than anyone imagined. If India wants an ecosystem like USA or China, new age companies need nurturing & patience vs. criticism or outcast.

If something impacts a few in the short run but is beneficial for the entity and ecosystem in the long run; a great leader will go on, despite oppositions.

Coral reefs provide food for hundreds of millions of people, with reef fish species comprising about one-quarter of the total fish catch in less developed countries. They serve as natural protective barriers, sheltering coastal communities from the waves generated by hurricanes, typhoons, and cyclones. They are also the basis of employment through tourism for millions of people in the many regions with reefs in their coastal waters. Apart from these ecosystem services, valued in many billions of dollars, coral reefs have tremendous intrinsic value that is impossible to quantify as anyone who has snorkelled or dived on a healthy reef can attest—without coral reefs our planet and human society would be infinitely poorer.

One aspect of fish physiology is crucially important to replenishment of many fish species: the larger an adult female fish is, the more eggs it will produce. This is possibly an obvious point, but, importantly, the increase in egg production is not linear. To use a hypothetical example, a single 10kg female might produce many millions of eggs per year, while even ten 1kg females combined of the same species would produce only a few thousand per year. If we remember that the larger fish are the most prized in the fishing industry, we can immediately see that the damage done to the ecosystem by removing the largest fish is exponentially greater. I would stress here that no blame should be attached to those fishing at subsistence level for collecting what they can; for these people, it is usually a matter of survival. Leaving this consideration to one side, it is nevertheless a salutary point to note that even a very modest level of fishing intensity can cause much ecosystem distortion very quickly. In areas that were once protected but which then permitted fishing, ecosystem collapse happened in only a very few weeks.

Shortly after dawn on November 1, 1952, a bomb called Mike was detonated, and an island, a home, and ecosystem was blown up, irradiated, and poisoned, leading many to wonder what is the point of having Nevada.

As technological visionaries, they often come from an engineering culture that is long on the hubris that they alone have the answers, and short on empathy and compassion. In the name of greater efficiency, the default setting for many is to take people out of the equation whenever possible, and to put their faith in code and machines. They are in turn encouraged by an ecosystem of venture capitalists and others who prize these qualities as keys to business success.

So before working to design the thing right, we must first be sure we’re designing the right thing. This calls for a process of diverging and converging twice. The “Double Diamond” asks us to discover many possible paths and goals before we define the problem and craft the plan; and then to develop and test prototypes before deciding upon and delivering the solution.[ 45] Figure 1-8. The Double Diamond. At the heart of design is our ability to model the world as it is and as it might be. This is powerful. A sketch or prototype can spark insights and change minds. Goals and vision may shift in a “now that I see it” moment. In recent years, business has begun to adapt these practices to strategy and planning under the aegis of Design Thinking. Post-its and prototypes engage our brains, bodies, colleagues, customers, and ecosystems in distributed cognition. Design helps us solve wicked problems by exploring paths and goals. And it works for individuals and teams, not just big business. In short, design is a great fit for planning, and its practices are the inspiration for this book.

The reason fish with lungs didn’t move to land earlier than 375 million years ago was that it was inhospitable until then. Plants, and the insects that followed them, changed everything; ecosystems now were habitable for any fish with the ability to spend short periods on land.

Nobel laureate Sir MacFarlane Burnet was moved from his perspective as an immunologist to issue similar warnings about humanity’s overconfidence. True, he said, vaccines and antibiotics had rendered most infectious diseases of the Northern Hemisphere controllable. But, he cautioned, “it is almost an axiom that action for short-term human benefit will sooner or later bring long-term ecological or social problems which demand unacceptable effort and expense for their solution. Nature has always seemed to be working for a climax state, a provisionally stable ecosystem, reached by natural forces, and when we attempt to remold any such ecosystem, we must remember that Nature is working against us.”43

A story, whether it be novel, short fiction, screenplay, play or poetry or any form of non-fiction, is like an ecosystem in which everything relates and feeds into the life of the story.” –– Andrew Binks "Brilliant writing and storytelling, the kind we can learn from by example, transcends gender, sexuality, race and religion..." –– Andrew Binks