by Sarah Penello
In 1493, Christopher Columbus logged what is believed to be the first recorded sighting of Manatees in the new world.
Of this experience he wrote,
“Yesterday, when I was going to the Rio del Oro, I saw three sirens that came up very high out of the sea. They were not as beautiful as they are painted, since in some ways they have a face like a man.”
It doesn’t surprise me that Columbus, ruthless and violent as he was, had no capacity to appreciate the gentlest creatures of the Earth. Luckily, most people do not share his opinion.
Manatees are enormous and slow moving aquatic mammals. Lacking blubber, they keep to the warm turquoise shallows of the subtropics. These waters are also home to apex predators such as Alligators, Crocodiles, and Sharks, yet they all peacefully coexist with manatees. Strictly herbivorous, Manatees pose no threat to anything other than aquatic grasses. Without human interference, Manatees can live a very long time.
In Florida, Manatees are honored as our unofficial state animal, celebrated by locals and visitors alike. Though once considered an endangered species, policy changes and decades of collective effort have enabled Manatee populations to rebound from the brink of extinction. No-wake zones effectively eliminated Manatee deaths by boating accidents, but now these special creatures face an even greater threat.
Every winter thousands Manatees swim upstream through Florida’s many crystal-clear springfed rivers, migrating to the warm waters and eelgrass beds that have sustained their populations since time immemorial. And now, as rampant development and chemically intensive land management practices cut ever deeper into the wilds of Florida, the underwater landscape is changing.
The past three winters have seen Manatees dying of starvation in record numbers. Pollution from fertilizer run-off alters the PH of Florida’s springs, enabling toxic algae blooms to deprive the rivers of oxygen and suffocate all other plant life – including the eelgrass upon which Manatee populations depend.
That brings me to the death of Hugh Manatee, a captive being who once lived at the Mote Marine Aquarium in Sarasota. Hugh was killed by a 14-inch tear in his colon, a wound he sustained during a violent sexual encounter with his brother Buffet, in the tank that they had shared for many years.
Hugh’s tragic death shocked the state. Anyone who has encountered a manatee in the wild can tell you that they don’t seem capable of the kind of violence that mortally wounded Hugh. Compared to many other mammals, Manatee mating rituals are gentle and consensual.
However, there’s no way to predict the long-term psychological effects of captivity. I believe that the employees of Mote Marine Aquarium provided Hugh and Buffet the best life that was possible, within the confines of their enclosure.
Yet, we must remember that even the most well-appointed enclosure is still a prison.
The existential needs of manatees are very simple. They spend their lives afloat, seeking nothing more than grasses to eat, and the shelter of the sweet waters of the springs. Manatees pose no threat to anyone, and no beast is their enemy. Yet even these impossibly benign creatures are capable of choosing violence, when denied the freedom to exist as nature intended.
The existential needs of humans aren’t much different. We want to feel safe, we want to eat snacks, and we crave connection with our communities. We used to procure our snacks from the land and the sea, bathe in the rivers, and spend all our days and nights with the people that we loved. Somewhere along the line, humans divested from the natural world, solidifying our alienation through an ever-escalating series of enclosures, both material and ideological in nature.
Humans traded our freedom and trust in nature for the illusion of security. In making this choice, our ancestors unknowingly burdened us with the Sisyphean task of maintaining the material trappings that uphold said illusion.
Human life has become needlessly complex as it continues to be defined by endless layers of symbolic value. Modern society is a gilded cage that bears no resemblance to the egalitarian encampments of our ancestors, but the chemical programming and evolutionary forces that drive us remain identical. We still want to eat fruit off the trees, bathe in the river with our friends, and make love in the sunshine.
Instead, we have fast fashion and credit scores.
Ours is an era of widespread dysfunction, collective trauma, ubiquitous feelings of disconnection and despair. We have created a society that not only fails to address our existential yearnings, but also overstimulates us beyond the point of trauma.
Are these feelings an inevitable feature of the human condition? Or is this existential unrest symptomatic of an existence that is misaligned with our true nature.
Perhaps pathological human behaviors like greed, violence, and shame are actually trauma responses that are a result of living in artificially constructed habitats.
Within the confines of our enclosures, humans are caught in the same feedback loop as Hugh and Buffett. Like Hugh, we have all been harmed by the misguided energies of others. When our frustration gets the better of us, we are capable of great violence, like Buffet.
The death of Hugh Manatee feels particularly poignant against the backdrop of the Manatee starvation crisis. What can be said about a species whose influence can drive even the most gentle creature to sexual assault and murder? Who are we as a culture, if we can’t even ensure the survival of a species that requires nothing more than clean waterways and aquatic grass?
I don’t know the answer, but I do know this.
The health of our ecosystems is a direct reflection of our spiritual health and potential for longevity. If we continue to poison our springs, a.k.a. the literal wells from which we drink, we won’t be long for this world.
Wild spaces are vital, if we want the Earth to continue to support life. With each act of ecological destruction, we lay the groundwork for catastrophes that could lead to our own demise.
I hate to imagine what the manatees felt after migrating to the eelgrass beds that sustained their ancestors for thousands of years, only to find the rivers choked with inedible algae, all the life-giving grasses gone, nothing at all to eat. I bet it takes a long time for a manatee to starve to death. I bet it’s a sad, slow decline.
And this is what awaits us in the near future, if we don’t immediately prioritize ecological sovereignty, and the protection of all natural systems.
Sarah Penello’s education in plant medicine began at age 4 in her mother’s backyard garden, and it has continued ever since.
She holds a B.S. in Cultural Anthropology and Biology, with a focus on Ethnobotany.
She studied Ayurvedic Herbalism under Leslie Hanks, and became an Ayurvedic Practitioner under Dr. Naina Marballi, at Ayurveda’s World in New York City.
She is fascinated by co-evolution of plants and humans, and all of the lore, connections, symbolism and mythology that has evolved out of our relationship with plants.
